The first lesson Toran taught Kael was simple: power without control is a curse.
Kael learned that the hard way.
The day after the Trial of Ash and Bone, Kael woke up with his body aching, muscles tight, and red markings pulsing faintly under his skin like living circuitry. He still didn't understand what his abilities were. Every time he tried to summon the energy he had felt in the shrine, it flickered—then vanished.
Toran wasn't surprised.
"Power here comes from two things," he said, tossing Kael a dull-bladed training sword. "Purpose and control. You've got the first. Now we work on the second."
"What good is training with a sword if I'm supposed to have powers?"
"Because if you rely on something you can't control," Toran said, tightening the strap on his armor, "you'll die before you ever learn what you can do."
---
Training was brutal.
Toran showed no mercy. Every day began before the light shifted in the sky—if it shifted at all in this strange dimension—and ended only when Kael could no longer stand. They sparred with weapons made of Riftsteel and bone. Kael learned to dodge, deflect, strike, and fall. He learned the names of vital points on monsters that didn't even exist on Earth. He studied maps of the fractured Gravepath and memorized the patterns of Riftspawn migration.
When he collapsed from exhaustion, Toran dragged him to his feet.
When he vomited from pain, Toran handed him a flask of burning blue liquid and told him to drink.
And when Kael finally landed a clean blow across Toran's ribs, drawing blood, the older man grinned like a proud wolf.
"You're learning," Toran said, wiping blood from his side. "Faster than I expected."
Kael collapsed onto the stone floor. "Doesn't feel fast."
"Trust me. Most people who cross over die within days. You're still breathing. That makes you dangerous."
Kael let out a bitter laugh. "Dangerous? I can barely summon a spark."
"You will," Toran said. "Your body is changing. The Garmon energy is embedding itself deeper each day. Once it anchors, it'll flood your system. But it'll come at a price."
"What kind of price?"
"You'll either control it," Toran said coldly, "or it'll burn you alive from the inside out."
---
By the fourth week, Kael felt the shift.
It happened during a sparring match. Toran came at him hard—faster than usual, his blade spinning like a cyclone. Kael blocked the first strike, ducked the second, but the third slammed into his ribs and sent him flying.
He hit the ground with a gasp, pain flaring up his spine.
And something snapped.
Time slowed.
His vision bled red.
And for a heartbeat—he saw everything. The trajectory of Toran's next strike. The shift in his balance. The ripple in the air from his footwork.
Kael moved.
Not with thought.
With instinct.
He surged forward, blade sweeping in a perfect arc. Toran barely managed to deflect it—and even then, he stumbled backward, a look of surprise flashing across his face.
Kael stood still, breathing hard, hands trembling. His veins glowed bright red for several seconds before fading again.
"That's it," Toran whispered. "You're waking up."
Kael looked down at his hands.
"I didn't think. I just… reacted."
"Exactly. It's not about forcing the energy. It's about syncing with it. It's part of you now. But that was just the edge of it." Toran stepped closer. "The real power is still buried deeper. You're just scratching the surface."
Kael's heart pounded. "Then I want more."
Toran grinned. "Then it's time."
"Time for what?"
"Your first hunt."
---
Later that night, they stood at the edge of a cliff overlooking a chasm known as The Shattered Vale—a broken, rotting canyon riddled with Riftspawn nests. Red fog seeped from cracks in the stone, and the air stank of burnt flesh and sulfur.
Kael had been here once before in a nightmare.
Now it was real.
"There's a Riftling nest inside," Toran said. "You need to wipe it out."
"Alone?"
Toran nodded. "There are only five of them. You can handle it."
"And if I can't?"
"Then you die. And I bury what's left."
Kael wasn't sure if he was joking.
He descended into the vale with his sword drawn and his pendant humming faintly against his chest.
He could feel the pressure building already.
Something waited for him in the dark.
---
The first Riftling found him near the entrance to the nest.
It dropped from the ceiling like a spider, all claws and tendrils, shrieking like rusted metal tearing itself apart. Kael swung wide—too wide—and it slammed into his side, knocking him into the wall.
Pain exploded through his ribs.
Get up, he told himself. MOVE.
The creature lunged again.
This time, he rolled beneath it and slashed upward—cutting deep into its side. It screamed and twisted back, bleeding black vapor.
Kael rose.
He wasn't afraid.
He was angry.
The glow in his veins returned—brighter now. His breath came fast, and with each exhale, sparks danced along his fingertips.
The Riftling lunged.
Kael met it head-on, driving his blade through its chest—and as he did, a pulse of red light exploded from the impact, disintegrating the creature from the inside out.
He staggered back, eyes wide.
"What was that?" he breathed.
But there was no time to think.
The rest of the nest was waking.
---
The next two attacked together—one with a long, whip-like tail, the other dragging a barbed spear of bone. Kael barely dodged their first strike, rolling between them and coming up with a blind swing. He hit one in the knee joint, shattering it, then turned just in time to block the tail-swipe.
His sword snapped in half.
He cursed and fell back, scrambling for a piece of debris—anything.
Then he felt it again.
The pressure.
The surge.
The pull inside his chest.
A flash of instinct told him what to do.
He raised his hand.
The broken hilt still clutched in his fist began to glow—red veins spreading across the steel like fire cracking ice.
With a burst of light, the blade regrew, reforged in real time.
A blade of pure, crystallized Garmon energy now pulsed in his hand.
The Riftlings paused—sensing something had changed.
Kael lunged—and this time, they couldn't keep up.
He moved like a blur, slicing through the first, then parrying the second with a reflex that surprised even him. The blade pulsed with each impact, sending shockwaves through the air.
By the time he stood among the ashes, Kael was panting, dripping sweat, but alive.
Only one Riftling remained.
And it was different.
---
It stepped out from the deepest chamber of the nest—taller than the others, with armor-like plating and eyes that burned purple instead of red. It didn't rush him.
It watched.
Judged.
Kael took a shaky step forward. His energy was fading.
The red glow along his arms began to flicker.
The creature raised one claw and pointed it toward him.
Kael raised his blade.
This was it.
He charged.
The Riftling moved like lightning, slamming into him with bone-cracking force. Kael flew across the chamber, hit the wall, and crumpled to the ground.
His vision blurred.
He coughed blood.
> Get up.
He couldn't.
> GET UP.
He screamed—and the light exploded again.
But this time, it wasn't red.
It was white.
---
He didn't remember much after that.
Only fragments.
Screaming.
Flashes of light.
The Riftling crying out in pain.
And then… silence.
When Kael came to, the nest was gone.
Burned to ash.
He stood alone in the wreckage, his sword pulsing faintly with light. His body felt like it had been torn apart and reassembled with fire and wire.
But he was alive.
He had won.
---
Hours later, Toran met him at the top of the cliff.
"You lived," the older warrior said.
"Barely," Kael muttered. "I think I lost a lung."
Toran handed him a flask. "That'll grow back."
Kael drank it—nearly gagging from the taste. It burned going down, but his body warmed almost instantly.
"What happened in there?" he asked.
"You tapped into something deeper," Toran said. "The energy is responding to your will now. It's still raw, still unstable—but it's waking up."
Kael looked out over the valley.
"I want to get stronger," he said. "Strong enough to kill the ones leading these things. The Blightlords. The Sovereign."
Toran smiled faintly. "Good. Because that's exactly where we're going next."