The second day of rest in Arford dawned quietly, the small room bathed in pale light filtering through the uneven shutters. The air was cool and still, but inside Caden's mind, the storm raged on.
He sat cross-legged on the cot, his eyes closed, struggling to follow Garrick's advice. Center yourself. The words echoed faintly in his mind, but the whispers from the shard were louder. They twisted every thought, each one pulling him deeper into a pit of doubt and desire.
"They're weak. You're stronger."
"They hold you back."
"Take what you deserve."
"Shut up," Caden muttered under his breath, his voice breaking the silence. He gritted his teeth, focusing on the steady rise and fall of his breathing.
Kael watched from the doorway, leaning against the frame with her arms crossed. She said nothing, but her sharp gaze took in every flicker of tension in Caden's face, every twitch of his fingers as he clutched at the shard.
Finally, she stepped inside, her boots soft against the wooden floor. "Meditation isn't your thing, huh?"
Caden opened his eyes, glaring at her. "I'm trying."
"Trying too hard, maybe," Kael said, sitting on the edge of the table. "You're fighting this thing like it's a wild beast. But maybe it's more like quicksand. The harder you struggle, the deeper you sink."
"What do you know about it?" Caden shot back.
Kael smirked, though her eyes remained cold. "Not much. But I know a thing or two about survival. And this? You're letting it win by playing its game."
Caden exhaled sharply, leaning back against the wall. "Then what am I supposed to do? Just let it pull me under?"
"No," Kael said. "You take control. Not by pushing it away, but by owning it. Make it yours."
Her words hung in the air, sinking into Caden's thoughts.
The afternoon brought Garrick, who entered with a small bowl of steaming liquid. The scent of herbs filled the room, sharp and earthy. "Drink this," he said, setting it on the table.
Caden eyed the bowl warily. "What is it?"
"Something to steady your nerves," Garrick replied. "And to help your mind recover from the shard's influence. You're carrying a weight most people can't imagine, Caden. You need every bit of strength you can get."
Caden hesitated before taking the bowl. The liquid was bitter, but as it slid down his throat, a faint warmth spread through his chest. He set the empty bowl aside, watching as Garrick sat on the stool.
"How do you deal with it?" Caden asked. "Your magic. The toll it takes."
"It's different," Garrick admitted. "Arcane magic comes from study and discipline. It's something you control, not something that tries to control you. But even then, it has its price."
"Like your arm?" Caden said, nodding toward Garrick's bound limb.
Garrick's expression darkened, and he glanced at the injury. "Yes. Like my arm." He leaned forward, his voice steady. "But that's the lesson, Caden. Every power comes with a price. The question isn't whether you're willing to pay it—it's whether you can afford it."
By evening, Caden stepped outside for the first time since their arrival in Arford. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of wood smoke and damp earth. He leaned against the wall of the guildhall, watching the sun dip below the horizon, its fading light painting the town in hues of gold and red.
Kael appeared beside him, her movements silent. "Feel any better?"
"Not really," Caden said, his voice quiet. "But I feel... clearer."
Kael nodded, her gaze distant. "That's something, at least."
They stood in silence for a moment before Kael spoke again. "You know, you're not the first person to carry a burden like this. People have survived worse. And if they can, so can you."
Caden turned to her, his brow furrowed. "Why do you care?"
Kael smirked, her usual mask of sarcasm slipping back into place. "I don't. But Garrick does, and he's the reason I'm here. Don't make me regret it."
Caden chuckled softly despite himself, the tension in his chest easing just slightly.
That night, as Caden lay on the cot, the whispers returned. But this time, they were softer, less insistent. He focused on his breathing, grounding himself in the sensation of the cot beneath him, the faint creak of wood as the wind brushed the guildhall.
"You'll fall..."
"You'll break..."
"You'll fail..."
"No," Caden whispered, his voice steady. "I won't."
The whispers faded, and for the first time in days, Caden felt the edges of peace. It wasn't victory, but it was enough.
The next morning, Garrick entered the room as sunlight spilled through the shutters. "Time's up," he said. "We leave today."
Caden sat up, his body still sore but stronger than before. The shard's weight was still there, but it no longer felt as overwhelming.
"Ready?" Garrick asked.
Caden nodded, his gaze firm. "Ready."
As they left Arford, the forest ahead seemed less oppressive, the shadows less suffocating. The shard was still a burden, and the path ahead was far from clear, but Caden had taken the first step toward mastering it.
And he wouldn't stop.