The rift yawned before him like a wound in the world, swirling with dark energy that twisted light and shadow in impossible patterns. Lucien felt the pull of it in his chest—a subtle tug that resonated deep within, like a memory trying to claw its way back. Every instinct screamed caution, yet curiosity outweighed fear. He stepped closer, the air thick with energy that was both alien and vaguely familiar.
As his foot crossed the threshold, the world seemed to slow. Time stretched, yet not evenly—the ground beneath him felt like it hung in molasses while the rift itself pulsed with a rhythm all its own. Shadows lengthened unnaturally around him, responding not to wind or gravity, but to some inner will. Lucien realized they were extensions of himself, reacting to his slightest thought, moving as if alive. It was the first whisper of what The White had given him—a subtle, instinctive connection to energy he had only begun to understand.
The rift tested him immediately. Fragmented illusions of his mother, twisted reflections of his own movements, and shards of other voids collided in chaotic patterns. He instinctively extended his shadow, forming protective tendrils that deflected attacks before he even consciously decided to. Energy—fluid, malleable, yet razor-sharp—flowed through his limbs, answering his intent. Each movement felt like carving the very air, bending it around him, as if reality itself were clay.
Lucien's mind began to piece together the truth. The White was not just a void. It was a fountain of energy, a lawless expanse where thought and will directly shaped reality. But it required focus, restraint, and understanding. A careless user could be consumed, or worse—broken by their own ambition. He could draw this energy into his shadows, his strikes, even the terrain itself, shaping it, splitting it, or striking from angles no ordinary combatant could perceive.
He tested it cautiously, sending a tendril of shadow outward. It sliced through a floating shard of void, leaving a small crater in its wake. Then another, longer, and the shadows danced independently, anticipating his intent. The realization hit him—this energy was limitless, but only for those who could bend it with precision. Strength alone would not master it; instinct, strategy, and adaptability were the keys.
A sudden roar shattered the moment, and the rift pulsed violently. Figures emerged from the swirling chaos—guardians, mirrored shadows, and echoes of other voids. The test had begun. Lucien tightened his control, feeling the White respond, every shadow, every edge of energy an extension of himself. The rift would not yield its secrets willingly. But Lucien knew one thing: he was no longer just a survivor. He was a force shaped by the White, and every lesson within it would become a weapon.
The battle ahead would not only test his strength—it would test his understanding of the very void that had created him.