Chapter 302 — The Shape of Power
The council yard was different on the third day. The recruits were silent this time, not rowdy or mocking, because the air itself carried weight. Magic hummed in the stones, mana clung to the grass, and even the wind seemed to hesitate before crossing the training ground.
Selina stood at the center, hands clasped behind her back. Her crimson eyes gleamed with pride and impatience in equal measure.
"You've played with words. Now give them weight. Your attacks must be your essence, your will. A name isn't just a trick—it's a declaration. When you call it, the world must listen."
She snapped her fingers. "Rogan. You first."
Rogan
The giant warrior grinned, hefting a warhammer so massive most recruits couldn't even budge it. He twirled it once, the head glowing with faint earthen mana.
"Yesterday I thought brute force was enough," Rogan said, cracking his neck. "But Kael's right. Control matters. So let's try this again."
He raised the hammer over his head, mana surging down the shaft, grounding into his legs. His voice thundered like an avalanche.
"Earthshatter!"
He slammed the hammer down. The ground convulsed, a shockwave blasting outward in a ring of force. Training dummies toppled like wheat, and cracks spiderwebbed through the yard. Even Selina stumbled a step.
Rogan laughed, lifting the hammer again. "Now that feels like me."
Varik
"Always so loud," Varik muttered, brushing dirt off his dark tunic. His blades glimmered faintly with poison sheen, his movements sharp and precise where Rogan's were brute and crushing.
He closed his eyes, then lunged. His body flowed like water, impossible to pin down. He crossed his blades in a downward X, whispering,
"Viper's Kiss."
The strike landed with a hiss, his blades sinking into the dummy's chest. At first it seemed minor—but then the wood began to blacken, veins of corruption spreading outward until the target collapsed in silence.
The recruits shivered. Rogan frowned, muttering, "Creepy."
"Efficient," Varik corrected coldly.
Thalos
The mage stepped forward reluctantly, brushing his robes. His first attempt at naming had been ridiculous—but today, his eyes burned with determination. He raised his staff, light gathering at the crystal tip.
"I am not a warrior," Thalos said firmly. "But I am the mind that guides us. So my power will strike not just flesh—but certainty itself."
Mana spiraled upward, then exploded outward in a blinding ray.
"Judgment's Dawn!"
The beam tore through three targets in a line, leaving nothing but charred wood and smoke. The recruits shielded their eyes, murmuring in awe.
Thalos allowed himself the barest smile. "Concise enough for you, Kael?"
Kael smirked. "Much better."
Lyria
When it was her turn, Lyria stood silently for a long moment, her hand resting on the hilt of her curved blade. She breathed deep, letting the wind tug at her hair and cloak.
She moved suddenly, her blade singing through the air. She spun once, her entire body flowing with the grace of a storm.
"Silver Tempest!"
A cyclone of shimmering blades erupted, slicing through a cluster of targets with surgical precision. When the wind died, not a shred of straw remained.
Selina's lips curved. "Grace and fury. Fitting."
Kael caught the proud glint in Lyria's eyes and felt a warmth stir in his chest.
Azhara
Azhara hesitated, clutching her staff. Her first attempt at Sanctuary had been beautiful, but she knew she needed more. She thought of Kael, of the battlefield, of nearly giving her life to save everyone.
"I am not made for killing," she whispered, voice trembling. "But I can still protect. And I can still end threats without blood."
She raised her staff, her mana pouring outward, heavy and suffocating.
"Burden of Mercy!"
The recruits gasped as their knees buckled, their arms sagging as if lead weights had been tied to them. Even Rogan cursed as he struggled to move. In seconds, half the yard was pinned to the dirt—not wounded, but utterly incapacitated.
Azhara lowered her staff, panting. "If I must fight, I'll make sure they can't hurt anyone again."
Kael's chest swelled with pride.
Zerathis
The upper daemon stepped forward at last, disdain still etched on his face. His violet aura pulsed like a heart of fire, his every movement predatory.
"I once thought naming attacks beneath me," he growled. "But if I must bend to chains, let them be forged of fire and fear."
He spread his arms, dark flames swirling into his claws. His voice echoed like thunder in a cavern.
"Abyssal Rend!"
He slashed the air. The flames screamed, warping into a jagged rift that shredded half a row of dummies before snapping shut. Silence fell across the yard as smoke drifted lazily skyward.
Zerathis grinned, fangs bared. "Now that feels worthy of me."
By the time the sun dipped low, the council stood amid scorched earth and shattered targets. Each of them, for the first time, wielded power not just as individuals—but as something defined, sharpened, unmistakably their own.
Selina's voice cut through the quiet. "Good. Now remember this—names aren't just words. They're your will carved into the world. Fail to own them, and they will break you instead."
Kael stood tall, his magisteel blade resting on his shoulder. He glanced at each of his companions, pride swelling in his chest. Their blows, their magic, their resolve—it was becoming something greater than just survival.
The Hollow was no longer a hidden refuge. It was becoming a force the world would learn to fear.