The morning after their return from the Hollow Forest, the training grounds were thick with tension. Survivors stood in silence, some trembling, others hollow-eyed, their silver veins pulsing faintly beneath their skin. Where there had been nine initiates, now there were six. The three who had not returned were never spoken of again.
Kael stood at the edge of the group, his wound from the deer stitched roughly by sect physicians. The scar across his ribs burned faintly whenever he breathed too deep, but his gaze was steady. He had endured the forest, and he had the fragment to prove it sealed now within a small iron talisman provided by Master Daran.
But even as his body steadied, he felt the shift among the others. Surviving had changed them. No longer were they equal initiates thrown into the same crucible. Each had glimpsed death, and each now measured the others differently.
It was not camaraderie. It was rivalry.
During morning drills, Kael noticed eyes lingering on him. The tall youth who had scoffed at Daran's warnings before the one named Rhovan watched him with a predator's patience. Rhovan's strikes against the stone pillars were fierce, his residue flaring violently with every blow. His veins blazed brighter than most, proof he had taken a strong fragment in the forest.
When training ended, Rhovan approached. His presence carried arrogance, but his voice was smooth, calculated.
"You fought well in the forest," Rhovan said. "Better than most." He smirked faintly. "But I saw the way Master Daran looked at you. Curious, wasn't it? He's not a man who wastes thought on the weak."
Kael wiped the blood from his knuckles. "Curiosity can be dangerous."
Rhovan leaned closer, his smile widening. "So can envy. Be careful who you draw attention from. Some might decide your veins glow too brightly."
He walked away without waiting for a reply.
That night, the barracks were restless. Some initiates whispered in corners, trading fragments of rumor and speculation. Others sat alone, meditating with their talismans clutched tightly. Kael sat cross-legged on his bed, eyes closed, focusing on the faint thrum of the residue in his veins.
But then he felt it a shift in the air, a presence moving toward him. His eyes snapped open just as a shadow fell across his bunk.
It was Varen, a gaunt youth whose veins flickered weakly compared to the others. His face was tight, drawn, but his eyes were sharp.
"You survived the forest," Varen whispered. "That means you've seen them. The creatures. The way the residue twists them."
Kael said nothing, waiting.
Varen glanced around, then leaned closer. "Did you feel it? The whispers?"
Kael's chest tightened.
"I thought so," Varen continued. "The sect doesn't tell us the truth. They say the residue is just power, but it's not. It's something else. Something alive. The fragments aren't dead they're pieces of the gods themselves. And the more we take in, the less we stay human."
Kael's mind flashed to the deer's glowing veins, to the voices that had spoken in his skull. To the way his scar had absorbed the poison instead of letting it consume him.
"You speak as though you've already lost," Kael said quietly.
Varen's smile was bitter. "Haven't we all?"
Before Kael could reply, footsteps echoed through the barracks. Master Daran entered, his gaze sweeping the room. Silence fell instantly.
"You will duel tomorrow," Daran said. "One against one. Strength is nothing if it cannot dominate strength. Survive, and your training continues. Fail, and your veins are forfeit."
He turned and left without another word.
The dueling grounds were carved from the mountainside, a ring of black stone etched with seals that shimmered faintly in the morning sun. Disciples gathered along the edges, their silver veins glowing faintly like veins of molten ore.
Kael stood opposite Rhovan. Of course it would be him. The tall youth's smirk was sharper than ever, his confidence radiating like a blade unsheathed.
"Looks like fortune favors me," Rhovan said, rolling his shoulders. "I've been curious to see how bright your veins really are."
Kael flexed his bandaged arms, his gaze steady. The scar on his forearm burned faintly, as if anticipating the clash.
"Begin," Daran commanded.
Rhovan moved first, residue flaring as his veins blazed silver. His strike came fast, a sweeping kick that cracked the stone beneath it. Kael dodged, the air splitting where the kick passed. He countered with a palm strike, his conduit-guided energy flaring. Their strikes met with a crack like thunder, residue colliding violently.
The impact sent Kael skidding back, his ribs flaring with pain. Rhovan laughed. "Stronger than you look."
He pressed forward, his blows relentless, each strike carrying the raw violence of residue forced into motion. Kael blocked, dodged, absorbed but each clash sent jolts of pain through his body. His conduits buckled under the pressure, and the whispers surged louder in his skull.
Break him. Break him. Break him.
Kael gritted his teeth, forcing the voices aside. He let Rhovan drive him back, waiting. Then, when Rhovan overextended with a heavy downward strike, Kael stepped inside the arc. His fist drove into Rhovan's ribs, residue surging violently through the conduit.
Rhovan staggered, coughing blood. But instead of faltering, his veins blazed brighter. He roared, seizing Kael's arm and slamming him against the stone floor. Pain exploded across Kael's back.
"You endure well," Rhovan growled. "But not enough."
He raised his hand, residue flaring for a final strike.
And that was when Kael's scar burned like fire.
The residue inside him surged violently, not from will, but from something deeper. His veins flared brighter than before, and with a roar, he twisted free. His palm strike slammed into Rhovan's chest, sending him sprawling across the ring.
The crowd erupted with shouts. Rhovan lay gasping, his veins flickering weakly, the residue inside him unstable.
"Enough," Daran's voice cut through the noise. His gaze fixed on Kael, unreadable. "Victory."
That night, Kael sat alone in the barracks. The other initiates whispered about the duel, about the way his veins had flared. Some looked at him with fear. Others with envy.
But Kael himself was not comforted. His scar had acted on its own, pulling power he had not willed. The whisper inside him lingered still, faint but insistent.
Not your power. Ours.
Kael clenched his fists. He had survived the duel. But survival was no triumph. Within the sect, enemies were forming. And within himself, something else had begun to stir.