Alaric stood alone on the edge of the cliff, looking down into the endless abyss of the Realm of Shadows. The wind howled like the whispers of forgotten souls, and Alaric couldn't shake the feeling that they were calling out to him. For months now, since the Aetherium Relic had fused with his powers, the pull of the shadows had grown stronger, and it frightened him.

It wasn't the power that scared him—he had grown used to the intoxicating rush of magic surging through his veins. No, it was the voice. The one that whispered in the back of his mind, telling him he could be more. That he could reshape reality itself if only he gave in. The voice was familiar, almost comforting, but Alaric knew it for what it was: the first whisper of madness.

He closed his eyes, trying to steady his breath. He had come too far, lost too much, to falter now. But the truth was undeniable: the deeper he ventured into the shadows, the more he risked losing himself. Was he still the same man who had set out on this journey? Or had the shadows already claimed too much of his soul?