As soon as Ebdo's words—"Let's begin"—escaped his mouth, countless fireballs formed in the air and rushed at Anir with shocking speed. Almost too late to react, Anir used wind to boost his agility, narrowly dodging the first fireball as he evaded the others.
"Not bad... you got used to it already," Ebdo muttered, watching as Anir swiftly dodged each fiery attack.
Once Anir managed to avoid the last fireball, he launched his own attack. He quickly formed an icicle, enhanced it with wind for extra velocity, and shot it straight at Ebdo. To Anir's astonishment, Ebdo stood still, allowing the icicle to hit him. But at the last moment, Ebdo casually caught the icicle between two fingers, shattering it effortlessly.
Inwardly, Ebdo was taken aback. I didn't expect it to pack that much power. If I had let that hit me… Ebdo hid his surprise, his gaze turning calculating.
Anir didn't let up; he quickly conjured a large fireball and launched it toward Ebdo. Ebdo, unimpressed, dodged the ball effortlessly. But Anir smirked as his mentor dodged—this was only a distraction. As Ebdo evaded, he was struck by a smaller, faster fireball, one that Anir had hidden within the larger one.
Ebdo blinked in shock, wincing slightly from the unexpected sting. Anir, thinking he had landed a solid hit, rushed over, concern in his eyes. "Hey! Are you okay?"
Before Anir could get too close, a spike of earth shot up from the ground, narrowly missing his hand. Anir jerked back, startled, as he heard Ebdo's amused laughter.
"Looks like I don't have to hold back," Ebdo chuckled, his tone carrying a playful threat. In the blink of an eye, dozens of fireballs and icicles materialized, forming around Ebdo and aiming themselves at Anir from all directions. They shot toward him like a deadly rain.
Reacting instinctively, Anir conjured a massive fireball, hurling it to intercept the oncoming assault. A deafening explosion filled the room, followed by a thick cloud of steam that obscured his vision.
That was a mistake, Anir thought, realizing too late that he'd blinded himself in the process. He held his breath, straining his senses as he tried to gauge Ebdo's position in the thick fog. A moment later, he felt the heat of a fireball approaching fast from behind.
Anir dodged just in time, but only to be met by another fireball directly in his path. With no time to evade, he raised his hand instinctively, hoping to dampen the impact. In that split second, something clicked inside him—an idea—and he summoned the shadow element. Darkness coated his hand like a glove, and as the fireball collided, the shadow dispersed, leaving his hand only minorly burned.
Ebdo, watching from across the room, stared in disbelief. "Wait… you can already use shadows? That usually takes years!"
Anir laughed awkwardly, scratching his head. "I… found a way, I think. My father's diary—it mentioned some motivational techniques."
"Motivational, huh?" Ebdo's expression softened, a hint of pride and admiration crossing his face. "Like father, like son. But I think you're on a path that even he couldn't reach."
After a moment's silence, Ebdo called the session to a close. "That's enough for today. You're progressing fast, but remember: never let your guard down, and always stay cautious."
Anir nodded, absorbing the advice. As he walked home, he replayed the sparring match in his mind, analyzing each movement, each element. He was beginning to see the true potential of shadows—a unique, mysterious power that held secrets of its own.
Once home, he settled down, mulling over his performance and mentally noting areas where he could improve. His gaze drifted toward his father's room, and his chest tightened. The room was filled with memories, some haunting, some comforting. And then his eyes landed on his father's old diary, resting on the desk. He approached it, fingers brushing the worn cover as he recalled his father's voice, his lessons, his wisdom.
As he stood in his father's room, he felt a strange shift beneath his feet, like an imperfection in the floor. Kneeling, he pressed his hands against the wood, trying to locate the source. Sure enough, there was a hollow sound from one spot.
Could there be something hidden here? His curiosity piqued, Anir scanned the room, searching for any clues. He remembered the secret room in Ebdo's basement and wondered if his father might have had something similar.
His eyes fell on a peculiar symbol behind the desk—a black insignia shaped like three crossed swords with a skull at the center. Driven by intuition, he reached out, touching it. When nothing happened,he tried using magic,but still nothing.
As Anir sat on his bed, he noticed his hand—the one that had been injured during training. A few drops of blood still clung to his skin, their crimson hue standing stark against his pale fingers.
His mind drifted back to his father's diary and the cryptic, haunting message scrawled within: "They killed me... and you're next."
He suddenly had an idea, he raised his hand and made the blood droplets touch the mysterious symbol.
The moment his blood touched the mark, the ground rumbled slightly, and a hidden door opened up beneath him, revealing a set of stone steps descending into darkness.
Excitement and trepidation mingled within him as he took the first step downward. He had always loved uncovering secrets, but this felt different—a darker, heavier discovery awaited him. The descent seemed endless, but finally, he reached a chamber where the air was thick with a metallic smell. Anir summoned a small fireball to illuminate the space.
His stomach twisted. The room was bathed in old, dried blood. The walls bore countless strange symbols, all painted in what he could only assume was blood. The floors were lined with disturbing patterns that looked like runes, each one ominously glowing a faint red. And in the center of it all was a large golden bowl filled with a dark, coagulated liquid.
A chill ran down his spine as he spotted a statue at the back of the room. It was unmistakably a likeness of his father, yet twisted. The statue had horns like a goat's, curling back from the forehead, and was smeared in streaks of dried blood.
Anir swallowed hard, barely able to process what he was seeing. He averted his gaze, his eyes falling upon dozens of skeletons scattered around the chamber. Some were arranged in strange positions, others chained to the walls, while others seemed to have been suspended from the ceiling.
Overwhelmed, he stumbled back, fighting the urge to vomit. The symbols on the walls, the stench, the eerie silence—it was all too much. This can't be real… This must be a nightmare, he thought, struggling to keep his breathing steady.
In the dim light, he noticed that the statue's eyes appeared to be hollow. Curious but terrified, he approached it slowly. Within the statue's eye sockets, two small vials were tucked away. Carefully, he removed one, examining its dark, inky contents. He couldn't decipher its purpose, but something about it sent a chill through his core.
Taking a shaky breath, he placed the vial back and turned to leave. As he ascended the stairs, he was haunted by images of the grisly chamber. He closed the hidden door behind him, sealing away the dark secret below.
Returning to his room, Anir sat on his bed, staring blankly ahead. Sleep was impossible as his mind raced, plagued by disturbing questions. What was my father doing down there? What did those symbols mean? And why did he hide this from me?
He tried to shake the images from his mind, but the blood-soaked chamber and his father's twisted statue lingered. In a moment of desperation, he opened his father's diary, hoping for an explanation. He scanned the pages, but they only provided fragments, vague hints about his father's journey into darkness.
One phrase caught his eye, a cryptic passage scrawled near the back of the book: "The line between power and madness is razor-thin. Once crossed, there's no return."
Anir closed the diary, his heart heavy.