Power was everything.
It wasn't just about physical strength or the ability to dominate others. Power shaped the world, it defined it. Without it, one was nothing more than a shadow, an insignificant entity under the vast gaze of those who possessed it. It was a primordial, inescapable force that governed both the celestial realms and the depths of the earth. And in that place forgotten by light, where the air was heavy and the shadows seemed to have a life of their own, power felt more distant than ever.
The mines were a raw reflection of that reality. Deep within the caverns, men and women who lacked power were reduced to mere tools in the service of those who dominated. The slaves, trapped in the endless routine of digging and hauling, moved like automatons in a world where light and control were beyond their reach.
A young man with sky-blue eyes and golden hair rested against one of the rough walls of the mine. Around him, the dense, dry air offered little relief from the fatigue that enveloped him. The dim torchlights flickered, casting uneven shadows over his pale skin. The oppressive heat of the mine, a product of volcanic depths, permeated the environment, yet an underground chill managed to seep in, creating a strange mix of sensations in his body. The other slaves were scattered in silence, some sitting, others lying on the rocky ground, trying to make the most of the scarce moments of rest before returning to work. Despite the stillness surrounding him, he couldn't relax. His gaze was fixed on the walls, but his mind was far away.
Power.
He knew the Paths existed. They weren't myths or legends. They were real forces, present in the world, accessible only to those who managed to understand their mysteries. The Paths offered those who walked them a control that went beyond the physical. It wasn't enough to desire power; one had to comprehend it. Only those who possessed the proper knowledge could use these forces to their advantage.
Fire, wind, earth, shadows... or more abstract things like time, gravity, pressure, or even weapons. The Paths could manifest in many ways, but what they all shared was their ability to transform those who walked them. And yet, knowledge alone wasn't enough. It wasn't sufficient to know about the Paths. The young man knew this better than anyone.
He averted his gaze from the wall and focused on the Overseer approaching. The figure of that man was impossible to ignore. It wasn't just his imposing stature or the way the other slaves stepped aside from his path. It was something more. Something that came from deeper within. There was power in the Overseer, although he hadn't fully mastered it. But even the slight touch of that power set him apart from the others.
The Overseer stopped near one of the torches, his eyes scanning the slaves gathered there. The young man with sky-blue eyes watched him intently. He knew what was going to happen. He had seen it before. The Overseer wasn't a master of his Path, but he knew enough to make the air around him feel different, heavy, charged with something invisible.
Without a word, the Overseer extended a hand toward the torch. The flames responded immediately, rising in a sudden explosion of heat and light. The nearest slaves stepped back, fearful of being reached by the fire, but the Overseer didn't even blink. He controlled the fire, or at least part of it. The young man watched him in silence, aware that what he saw was only a rudimentary display of what the Paths could offer.
The Overseer lowered his hand, and the flames returned to normal, flickering in the darkness. It was a simple spectacle, but in the gloom of the mine, where power was as scarce as sunlight, it was enough to remind everyone of their place.
"It's time to get back to work," said the Overseer, his voice firm, though he didn't need to raise it. "Anyone who lags behind knows what awaits them."
The slaves began to move immediately, gathering their tools and preparing to return to the tunnels. The Overseer walked away, disappearing into the darkness with the same calm with which he had arrived, leaving behind a sense of absolute control.
The golden-haired young man also stood up, picking up his tools in silence. Despite his apparent calm, his mind was still trapped in what he had seen. The Overseer's power didn't reflect the true extent of the Path he had brushed against. It was only a small sample, a glimpse of what the Paths could grant to those who managed to walk them fully.
He knew that the Paths weren't simple routes to power. They were more complicated, deeper. Strength or skill wasn't enough to walk one. They demanded something more. The price to pay for that power wasn't just physical. The Paths required understanding, a kind of knowledge that went beyond what most men could grasp. It was a constant sacrifice, a mental and spiritual challenge that only some were willing—or capable—of facing.
And yet, there was something missing. Something that kept him and others like him apart from the Paths. The Call. He knew that to truly access a Path, one had to feel the Call. That first step that connected the individual with the power they sought. Without that Call, no matter how much knowledge one had, no matter how many times someone tried to understand it, the Paths remained closed, inaccessible, like a sealed door.
The young man walked toward the tunnel, following the other slaves, but his mind was elsewhere. There was something inside him that kept him alert, an unsettling feeling that somewhere, his Path was waiting for him. But he hadn't found it yet. He hadn't felt the Call. And until he did, he would remain a shadow among shadows, unable to claim what he believed was his by right.
The darkness of the mine enveloped him, but his mind wasn't entirely in the depths. There was something beyond, something that kept him on edge. As his feet carried him back to work, a spark of determination grew within him.
One day, he would find his own Path. One day, he would receive the Call.
And on that day, the name he had almost forgotten would resonate once more with strength. Aldric Voltaris.