Lynn landed gracefully, her feet touching the ground with ease. She turned toward Varyn, her gaze a mix of relief and curiosity. His glowing, slit-like eyes began to fade, and he collapsed to his knees, gasping for air.
"Looks like we found your ability," she said, her tone carrying both awe and amusement. The small red bird on her shoulder flickered out of existence as she added quietly to herself, 'What was that, though?'
Varyn stared at his trembling hands, his mind racing. 'What just happened? I lost control for a moment...' He hadn't meant to keep attacking after their initial clash.
Adrian observed him silently, his frown deepening. 'That ability... It's unlike anything I've seen.' For someone discovering their power for the first time, it's too strong.
"Seems like you'll need to work on controlling your impulses," came a calm yet firm voice. Both Varyn and Lynn turned toward the approaching figure.
"Master Orrin!" Lynn exclaimed, guilt flashing across her face.
"What were you thinking, Lynn? That could've ended badly if Adrian hadn't stepped in," Orrin said, his usually easygoing demeanor replaced with disapproval.
Lynn bowed her head. "I'm sorry, Master Orrin. I didn't expect him to be this strong from the start."
Orrin sighed but placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "It's fine. Just be more careful next time." His gaze shifted to Varyn, softening slightly. "Come with me. I'll show you to your room."
Varyn followed Orrin as he led the way, leaving Adrian and Lynn behind. Silence hung in the air until they reached a modest wooden door. Orrin pushed it open, gesturing for Varyn to step inside.
The room was simple yet inviting, filled with the scent of aged wood and faintly burning oil. Smooth, polished planks creaked softly beneath their feet. Against one wall stood a plain bed with a neatly folded blanket, positioned under a small window that let in the warm, golden glow of the setting sun. A sturdy desk sat on the opposite side, its surface cluttered with papers, quills, and an old oil lamp. The shelves above it were crammed with books, odd trinkets, and jars of unidentifiable substances. A wardrobe leaned against another wall, its slightly ajar doors revealing neatly arranged tunics and cloaks.
"Well," Orrin said with a casual wave, "it's not much, but it's yours now. Make yourself at home."
Varyn sat heavily on the bed, the events of the day catching up to him. His body ached, and his mind was awash with questions.
"Master Orrin..." he began, but Orrin cut him off with a raised hand.
"I know you've got a lot on your mind, but rest for now. There isn't much time left, so we'll need to train you as quickly as possible." His words left Varyn with even more questions, but he nodded quietly. Orrin smiled faintly before turning to leave.
As he shut the door behind him, Orrin muttered to himself, "This is going to be interesting." He had witnessed the clash earlier and seen the potential in Varyn's power.
---
Inside the room, Varyn sat in silence, replaying the fight in his mind. The memory of that overwhelming power both exhilarated and terrified him. Tentatively, he tried to summon it again. His shadows wobbled slightly, their edges rippling like water.
"I think it was like this..." he murmured, focusing on the movement of his fingers, he could still remember the feeling. Slowly, a small spike of shadow emerged from the ground, rising like a dark tendril. A sense of pride and curiosity sparked within him.
"So this is the ability I got from the beast," he muttered. "Pretty simple if I'm to say." He glanced over his shoulder toward the door. "But why hasn't my beast appeared like theirs? Am I doing something wrong?"
His thoughts spiraled as he lay back on the bed, exhaustion finally overtaking him. The day's events, the discovery of his power, and the looming questions all faded into the background as sleep claimed him.
What Varyn didn't know was that someone—or something—had already taken notice of his awakening.
***
Elsewhere,
The air was heavy with the stench of sulfur and decay, the ground beneath clawed feet cracked and blackened like scorched earth. Faint whispers filled the gloom, an unceasing chorus of anguish carried on the stagnant wind. The sky above churned with ominous, blood-red clouds, offering neither light nor solace to those who dwelled below.
In the center of this desolation stood a monolithic obsidian spire, jagged and menacing, its surface pulsing faintly with veins of crimson energy. Within its hollowed core, a grand chamber sprawled—a throne room carved from shadow and despair. Columns of twisting, writhing forms rose to support the vaulted ceiling, their grotesque shapes seemingly alive, though frozen in tortured stillness.
At the far end of the chamber, seated upon a throne forged from jagged black steel, sat the Abyssal lord. His towering figure exuded a suffocating aura of power, his form shrouded in a cloak that seemed to devour the faint light emanating from the molten cracks in the walls. His face was mostly obscured by a living shadow, save for a single glowing crimson eye that pierced the darkness, unblinking and unyielding.
Before him knelt another Abyssal, smaller but no less fearsome. Its chitinous armor glistened like wet obsidian, and jagged spines jutted from its back. It spoke in a voice that clicked and hissed like a blade scraping over stone.
"My lord, the attack on the Legion's base was... not without incident," it reported, its head bowed low. "The human forces were scattered, their defenses overwhelmed. But..." It hesitated, the pause drawing out as though the words might summon punishment.
"Speak." The single word, low and resonant, filled the chamber, carrying a weight that pressed the lesser Abyssal further to the ground.
"A shadow wielder emerged amidst the chaos," it finally said. "One unlike the others. Their abilities were... potent. They defied us, my lord. Turned the tide of our assault."
The glowing eye of the Abyssal lord narrowed, the faintest curl of disdain crossing what little of his mouth was visible beneath the shadows. "Potent? Do you mean to say you were bested by a mere human?"
The kneeling Abyssal quaked, its claws scraping against the stone floor. "Their power... it felt ancient, my lord. Something buried, now awakened. It was as though the shadows themselves answered their command.
The Abyssal lord leaned forward, the darkness around him shifting and writhing like a living entity, stretching toward the cowering figure. "And yet, you live. Tell me, why should I not end you for this failure?"
The lesser Abyssal trembled, pressing its forehead to the cold, blackened floor. "Because I bring you this knowledge, my lord. Knowledge of a potential threat. If they are what I suspect..." It dared a glance upward, its voice quivering. "They could disrupt everything."
The Abyssal lord reclined once more, the living shadows retreating to their place around him. He seemed to ponder this for a moment, the silence stretching until it was unbearable.
"Find this wielder," he commanded, his voice sharp and final. "Learn his identity and limits. Then bring him to me."
"Yes, my lord," the subordinate rasped, retreating from the chamber, its claws scraping the ground as it backed away.
As the room fell silent once more, the Abyssal lord's single eye glowed brighter, the shadows around his throne hissing and coiling in anticipation.
"A shadow wielder," he mused, his voice a low rumble. "How... amusing."