Kaelor awoke with a start, his chest still aching from where the shard's energy had burrowed into him. Darkness clung to his vision as he took in his surroundings— a dim, cold room with brick walls, and the faint mumble of distant city noise outside.
Lyle stood at the door, arms crossed, watching him carefully.
"You almost died back there," Lyle said flatly. "The Abyss shard isn't something you just wield. It's something you endure."
He pawed his fist, feeling the energy of the shard still pulsing faintly within him. Though his strength was still but a cloud of what he once had, he could sense that he was different.
More dangerous.
"Do you think I fear this?" He scoffed, pushing himself upright. "I am willing to suffer whatever it takes. You wouldn't understand."
"Maybe I don't." Lyle's voice was quiet but firm. "But I know that if you keep using that shard recklessly, it'll consume you from the inside out."
He ignored him, his mind was already determined. He knew the path he had chosen was fraught with peril, but he had come too far to turn back. Every pain, every risk— it was all a part of his journey back to power.
"Fine," he said, adjusting his cloak. "Then tell me. Where do I go from here?"
Lyle hesitated, wearing an unreadable expression.
"There's someone you need to meet. A… scholar, of sorts. She deals in forbidden knowledge, and if anyone can help you control the shard, it's her. But she doesn't come cheap, and she certainly won't take kindly to your arrogance."
"Lead the way," he replied, a smirk tugging at his lips. "I've dealt with worse."
The journey took them through narrow alleyways, and down a maze of stairs that led to a cavernous underground hall filled with towering bookshelves. Burning candlelight cast a long silhouette across the room, and a figure sat at a desk in the center, her face obscured by the deep hood of her cloak.
"Name's Zyrelle," Lyle said, keeping his voice low as they approached. "She's… temperamental. Don't try any of your usual tricks."
Kaelor stepped forward, feeling her gaze on him from beneath the hood. Her voice, when she spoke, was smooth as silk yet cold as steel.
"So, the lost mage seeks answers." Her eyes glowed faintly as she studied him, her gaze lingering on the shard. "You've made a foolish bargain."
He crossed his arms, meeting her gaze with defiance.
"I've made many foolish decisions. This one will pay off."
Zyrelle chuckled darkly.
"Spoken like every arrogant mage who has tried to cheat the Abyss. Do you even know what that shard is?"
"It's a source of power," he replied, irritation prickling in his tone. "That's all that matters."
"A source of power," she repeated, almost mockingly. "No, that shard is a fragment of a spirit far older and darker than you can imagine. It's bound to you now, feeding on your own essence as you use it."
He felt a pinch of unease, but he squashed it quickly.
"So be it. Show me how to control it."
Zyrelle's smile faded.
"Control? You don't control the shard. It controls you. Every time you use its power, you're giving it a piece of yourself. And one day, there will be nothing left."
The words sank into him like icy needles, but he steeled himself, refusing to let fear creep into his resolve.
"Then I'll find another way to gain power. The shard is only the beginning."
"Perhaps." Zyrelle's gaze softened, though her voice remained cold. "But heed my warning— there is a limit to what even the most powerful mage can handle. Take my advice, and tread carefully. The shard won't stop with your power. It will consume your very soul if you're not careful."
A silence hung between them, sturdy and oppressive. His jaw tightened. The shard's cost was higher than he had anticipated, but he knew he couldn't abandon it now. It was his only means of fighting back in this strange world.
Finally, he spoke. "I'll take my chances."
Zyrelle sighed, as though she had expected his answer.
"Then, I'll at least offer you something useful. 'Tis a guide to the runic markings on the shard. They're the key to controlling its power. Master them, and you might last a little longer."
She handed him a scroll covered in strange symbols and patterns.
"Each rune corresponds to a different aspect of the Abyss. Study them, but remember… one wrong move, and the shard could consume you in an instant."
He took the scroll, feeling the pressure of its knowledge. For the first time, he felt a small glimmer of hope. Maybe this shard was dangerous, but if he could learn to wield it, he would be unstoppable.
As they left Zyrelle's lair, Lyle turned to him, his face pale and tense.
"You're walking a dangerous line, Kaelor. She wouldn't have warned you if it wasn't serious."
"I don't need your lectures," he snapped, clutching the scroll. "I know exactly what I'm doing."
"Do you?" Lyle's voice was soft, almost pitiful. "You may be powerful, but even you have limits. And if you don't realize that, it won't be the shard that kills you— it'll be your own arrogance."
He scowled, dismissing Lyle's words as the paranoid ramblings of someone who didn't understand true power. But as they made their way back to the city's surface, he couldn't shake a nagging doubt, like a mumble at the back of his mind.
For days, he poured over the scroll, studying the runes with relentless focus. Each symbol was like a piece of a puzzle, fitting together to reveal secrets of the Abyss. With each rune he mastered, he felt a surge of power, a hint of the strength he once wielded.
But the shard was merciless, and each time he used it, he could feel it leeching from his very essence, draining his life even as it granted him power.
One night, as he attempted to channel the shard's power, the runes flared brightly, and a voice sounded in his mind. A low, guttural whisper that made his blood turn cold.
"You are mine," it hissed. "Every use, every thought… you are bound to me."
He staggered, clutching his head as the voice spoke within him, growing louder and more insistent. The shard pulsed, like a heartbeat, each throb drawing him deeper into its grip.
"Release me!" he snarled, his voice raw with desperation. But the shard only pulsed harder, binding him tighter. He could feel its essence creeping into his mind, seeping into his soul.
And in that moment, he understood what Zyrelle had meant. The shard wasn't just a tool, it was alive, a dark, malevolent force that sought to consume him.
With a final burst of effort, he forced the voice back, the runes dimming as he released his grip on the shard's power. He fell to his knees, gasping for breath, his body weak and trembling.
But he survived. Barely.
As he struggled to his feet, he felt a new determination harden within him. The shard's power came at a price, yes, but he was not the same naive mage he once was. If he had to dance with the Abyss to regain his strength, then so be it.
The shard may have been a curse, but he would turn it into his greatest weapon. And whatever force lay behind its dark whispers… he would find a way to conquer it, even if it meant facing death itself.