The city streets pulsed with life as neon lights flickered to life, casting their colors on the wet asphalt. Sam moved through the crowd, his senses heightened from the day's training. The subtle hum of the medallion beneath his shirt was a constant reminder of its power and its burden. Every step he took echoed with the awareness that he was being watched.
He turned a corner into an alley that cut behind a row of old shops, the air cooler and tinged with the faint scent of rain. The dim glow of a lone streetlamp highlighted the sheen of moisture clinging to the brick walls. It was here, in the dimness of shadows and quiet, that Sam heard the footsteps behind him.
He didn't stop, but his muscles coiled, ready. The knife at his side, an unassuming yet crucial part of his training, felt heavier now. He focused, drawing on the senses he'd sharpened over days of practice, and caught the whisper of a time thread—something distinct yet elusive, brushing the edge of awareness.
A figure emerged from the shadows. Tall, wrapped in a dark cloak that shifted like liquid ink, the man's presence was as unsettling as it was familiar. Gideon. His eyes, a striking pale silver, locked onto Sam's with the same calm authority that had marked their first meeting in the sanctuary.
"So, this is where you seek solitude?" Gideon's voice was smooth, but there was an edge to it, a challenge.
Sam's heartbeat quickened, though he forced his expression to remain neutral. "What do you want?" he asked, keeping his tone even.
Gideon's lips quirked in a shadow of a smile. "To see if the sanctuary's prized student is as ready as they claim." He took a step forward, the distance between them shrinking, and in an instant, Sam felt time shift, subtle and almost imperceptible—a test.
Before Sam could react, Gideon flicked his wrist and the world around them blurred. The streetlamp flickered, the sound of the city dulled, and time itself seemed to slow. Sam moved instinctively, his hand gripping the knife as he lunged forward. The blade, though simple, felt alive in his grasp, resonating with the lessons Kael had imparted: control, precision, adaptation.
Gideon dodged effortlessly, his movements fluid as he drew a thin, ornate blade from beneath his cloak. The two circled each other, the air between them vibrating with latent energy. Sam felt the strain, the pull of time urging him to misstep, but he held his ground.
"Good," Gideon said, his voice low. "But not enough."
The older man swept forward, his blade slicing a thin arc that shimmered with a silvery glow. Sam barely deflected the strike, the clash of metal sparking in the half-light. The moment their blades touched, Sam felt a surge of something—an echo of power, of time bending to Gideon's will. He grit his teeth, trying to focus on the threads of time he sensed around him. If he couldn't outmatch Gideon in skill, he would have to find another way.
Summoning his training, Sam let the knife lead him, pushing a ripple of energy through it. He aimed not for Gideon, but the air around them, twisting the fabric of the moment just enough. A sudden rush of wind whipped between them, forcing Gideon back a step, his eyes narrowing in surprise.
Sam's chest heaved, the strain of bending time pressing into his bones. He felt the knife in his hand grow warmer, responding to his will, a promise of potential beyond its steel. Gideon nodded once, an unspoken acknowledgment of Sam's progress.
"Your potential is undeniable, but potential alone isn't victory," Gideon said, his blade vanishing beneath his cloak as suddenly as it had appeared. "When the time comes, you'll need more than fleeting control. You'll need conviction."
With that, Gideon stepped back, and the world shifted once more, colors brightening and sounds crashing back into place as if a veil had been lifted. Sam stood there, breathing hard, muscles tense as he watched Gideon fade into the dark alley, leaving only the faint echo of footsteps behind.
---
The tension of the encounter stayed with Sam as he made his way back home. The city, lively and bustling, felt distant, a blur as thoughts of Gideon's test looped in his mind. His body ached, but it was not fatigue—it was awareness, the kind that settled deep in the marrow.
When he finally stepped into his apartment, the quiet was a relief. He sank into the chair by the window, eyes staring out at the moving lights of cars below. His fingers brushed the knife at his side, and for a brief moment, he could almost feel the weight of a sword in its place—a vision, a whisper of what could be.
The path ahead wasn't just difficult; it was treacherous, layered with mysteries and choices that would test more than just his skill. And if Gideon's words were true, conviction would soon matter as much as strength.
The medallion pulsed gently against his chest, and Sam closed his eyes, ready to face whatever came next.