The shadows followed Silas wherever he went.
He couldn't escape them—not in the quiet solitude of his dormitory, not in the bustling halls of the academy, and certainly not in his mind. They whispered to him constantly, faint and unintelligible, like a half-forgotten memory clawing its way to the surface. No matter how hard he tried to focus, the edges of his vision seemed to blur, and the world around him felt… slower. As if time itself had decided to match the lethargy that now clung to his very soul.
Lira visited often, though he could tell she was unsure how to help. Her presence was a comfort, but even she couldn't reach the parts of him that the Sin of Sloth had touched. It was as if the power was building a wall between him and the world, brick by brick.
On the third day after the trial, Silas was summoned to the Headmaster's tower. He climbed the winding staircase slowly, his steps dragging against the cold stone. It wasn't just physical exhaustion—his mind felt fogged, like he was wading through tar. By the time he reached the heavy oak door at the top of the stairs, he was already winded.
"Come in," Orson's voice called before Silas even knocked.
He pushed open the door and stepped inside. The Headmaster's study was as imposing as the man himself. Towering bookshelves lined the walls, filled with tomes that seemed older than the academy. A large desk sat at the center, its surface covered in papers, ink bottles, and glowing crystals. Behind it, Orson stood with his hands clasped behind his back, staring out of the tall window that overlooked the academy grounds.
"You look like you haven't slept," Orson said without turning around.
"I haven't," Silas admitted. "It's… difficult."
Orson nodded, his gaze still fixed on the horizon. "That's to be expected. The Sins are not gentle masters. They demand much of those who awaken them."
Silas's fists clenched at his sides. "Why me? Why did it have to be me?"
At that, Orson turned to face him, his expression unreadable. "You are not the first to ask that question, nor will you be the last. The Sins do not choose their bearers lightly, Silas. There is something within you that called to the Sin of Sloth—something that even you may not yet understand."
Silas looked away, the weight of those words pressing down on him. He wanted to argue, to deny it, but deep down, he knew Orson was right. He could feel it—the shadowy presence within him, entwined with his very being. It wasn't just a foreign invader. It was a part of him now.
"I called you here for a reason," Orson continued, walking around the desk to stand before Silas. "You cannot continue like this. If you let the Sin control you, it will consume you. You must learn to control it."
Silas raised an eyebrow. "And how am I supposed to do that?"
Orson's lips quirked into a faint smile. "By facing it."
Silas soon found himself standing in the academy's underground training chamber—a massive, circular room carved out of stone. The walls were inscribed with runes that pulsed faintly with protective magic, and the air was heavy with the scent of earth and old magic.
Orson stood across from him, his arms crossed. Between them, a faint circle of light flickered on the floor, marking the center of the chamber.
"Step into the circle," Orson instructed.
Silas hesitated. The light was unnerving, its glow unnatural, like a living thing. "What's going to happen?"
"You're going to confront your Sin," Orson said simply. "The circle will amplify its presence, forcing it to manifest. This will give you the chance to interact with it directly."
Silas felt his stomach twist. "That doesn't sound like a good idea."
"It isn't," Orson said with a faint smile. "But it's necessary. Now step in."
With a deep breath, Silas stepped into the circle. The moment his foot crossed the glowing boundary, the air around him seemed to shift. The temperature dropped sharply, and the shadows in the room grew darker, deeper. He could feel the presence of the Sin stirring within him, its whispering voice growing louder, more distinct.
"Close your eyes," Orson said. "Focus on the presence within you. Call it forth."
Silas closed his eyes, his hands trembling at his sides. He focused on the dark presence, the shadowy figure he had seen during the trial. It was there, lurking just beneath the surface, waiting for him to acknowledge it.
"Show yourself," he whispered.
For a moment, nothing happened. And then, the shadows in the room began to coalesce, swirling together in the center of the circle. Silas opened his eyes just as the figure emerged—a tall, hooded silhouette that seemed to absorb all the light around it. Its presence was overwhelming, suffocating.
The Sin of Sloth.
Silas's breath caught in his throat. The figure didn't move, but its very existence pressed down on him, making it hard to stand, hard to breathe.
"What do you want from me?" Silas demanded, his voice shaking.
The figure tilted its head, its hood obscuring any features. When it spoke, its voice was a deep, echoing rumble, as though it came from the depths of the earth.
"I want nothing from you," it said. "I am you."
Silas staggered back, the weight of those words hitting him like a blow. "You're not me! You're… you're something else. Something wrong."
The figure's laughter echoed through the chamber, low and hollow. "You fear what you do not understand. But I am not your enemy, Silas. I am your truth. Your potential."
"My potential?" Silas spat. "All you've done is make me feel weaker. Slower. I don't even feel like myself anymore."
The figure stepped closer, its movements slow and deliberate. "That is because you resist me. You deny what you are. Embrace me, and you will find strength."
Silas shook his head, his heart pounding. "No. I won't let you control me."
The figure stopped, its form rippling like smoke. "Control? You misunderstand. I do not seek to control you. I seek to awaken you. To show you what you are capable of."
Before Silas could respond, the figure raised a hand, and the shadows around him surged forward, enveloping him in darkness. He felt a crushing weight pressing down on him, forcing him to his knees. His mind screamed at him to fight, to resist, but the Sin's voice was louder, filling his thoughts.
"Stop fighting," it whispered. "Feel the stillness. The power in letting go."
Silas gasped, his body trembling. He wanted to resist, to push back against the overwhelming force, but he couldn't. He was too tired, too weak.
And then, in the depths of that darkness, he felt it—a spark. A faint, glowing ember buried deep within him. It was small, almost imperceptible, but it was there. A core of strength that he hadn't known he possessed.
He reached for it, his fingers grasping at the faint light. As he did, the crushing weight began to lift, and the shadows receded. The Sin of Sloth's presence was still there, but it no longer felt suffocating. It felt… manageable.
Silas opened his eyes, his breathing ragged. The figure of the Sin still stood before him, but its form seemed less imposing now, less overwhelming.
"You have taken the first step," it said, its voice quieter now. "But this is only the beginning."
The shadows dissolved, and the figure vanished, leaving Silas alone in the circle. Orson stepped forward, his expression unreadable.
"Well done," the Headmaster said. "You faced it and came out stronger. But this is just the start. The path ahead will not be easy."
Silas nodded, his mind still reeling from the encounter. He didn't fully understand what had just happened, but he knew one thing for certain.
The Sin of Sloth was not his enemy. It was a part of him. And if he wanted to survive, he would have to learn to live with it.