The candle flame had not relit itself by morning. Shadows clung stubbornly to the corners of Erevan Kael's dormitory, curling along the walls like ink spilled on stone. The air smelled faintly of wax, dust, and the lingering heat of Harrax's presence, which seemed to have seeped into the very mortar.
Erevan sat hunched on his cot, head pressed into his hands. His eyes were raw, heavy from a night spent half-awake, half-praying to survive. He had not dared close them, not fully, not even for a moment. Every time his lids began to droop, the whisper returned—soft, patient, and predatory, circling his mind like a hunter smelling hesitation.
Tonight, child. Tonight, you will know what you are.
The words scraped at his skull. He forced himself upright. His muscles were stiff, uncooperative, as if the simple act of standing was an ordeal he had not trained for. But the Academy waited for no one. Lectures, practices, assessments—they would continue whether he was ready or not.
He pulled his worn robes over his shoulders, the frayed edges brushing against his wrists. The belt cinched with a snap, leaving a faint line of red along his side. Every movement felt cumbersome, as if his bones themselves resisted the idea of rising. Yet he stepped into the hall, each footfall hesitant, measured.
Immediately, laughter and light met him. Spirits flitted between their summoners, leaving trails of luminescence in their wake. A blue flame danced down the staircase ahead, ribbons of frost clung to polished walls, and a pair of wind-birds darted overhead, living emerald streaks of energy.
Erevan lowered his gaze. The eyes are always there. They followed him, scanning the emptiness beside him, the hollow that had once defined his life. But that emptiness was gone. Not empty. Not unbound. You carry me. They cannot see it yet, but they will.
He clenched his jaw, willing the vibration in his chest to still. Not here. Not now.
Hah. So the lamb believes it leads the wolf. Very well. I'll watch how long you keep the mask from slipping.
Master Quellan's lecture dragged on, slow and deliberate. The strict man paced before the chalkboard, its surface glowing faintly with intricate runic diagrams. Ink-stained fingers tapped at the carvings with precision.
Resonance is harmony, the master intoned. The mortal guides. The spirit amplifies. Too much pull, and the bond strains. Too little, and the spirit starves. Balance must be cultivated.
Students nodded dutifully, quills scratching against parchment. Spirits hovered beside their summoners—some perched proudly on shoulders, wings tucked, eyes alert; others drifted like dim lanterns, barely glimmering.
Balance.
Harrax's laughter rippled inside Erevan's mind, sharp and amused. Such fragile words. You are the anomaly, Erevan. Balance has no place here.
Erevan's fingers clenched around his quill so tightly the wood splintered beneath his knuckles. Be quiet, he whispered, the sound swallowed before it could escape.
A student two seats away glanced at him curiously. Erevan ducked his head, hiding the tremor in his hands.
Master Quellan's voice continued, droning. But Erevan no longer heard it fully. He felt Harrax pressing, hungry, patient.
He enjoys their awe. Strike him now. Pierce his glow with shadow. I can show you.
Cassian Valt's golden feline leapt elegantly onto its master's desk. Eyes molten, aura radiant, drawing murmurs of admiration. Cassian leaned back, smirk tugging at his lips, basking in the attention.
You despise him. Let me take him apart. Just once. Show him weakness. Hear the arrogance shatter.
Erevan bit the inside of his cheek until it bled slightly. The dark pulse of Harrax stirred in his chest, heavy, eager. His heartbeat hammered against his ribs. I cannot. I must not.
The thought of wielding the power sent a shiver through him. Exhilaration so sharp it made his limbs tremble.
Yes. That ember. Feed it. Just a taste.
Erevan swallowed hard. I will not. Not here. Not now.
Cassian's gaze lazily slid toward him, smirk widening slightly. The aura flared brighter, mocking, almost alive with judgment.
Something inside Erevan cracked. He shoved the quill down hard, splintering wood echoing faintly across the silent classroom. The dark glow inside him stirred, hungry, but he forced it back.
Very well. For now, you survive. But the mask will slip, little anomaly. I am patient.
Training came next.
Pairs squared off across the practice hall, mana flaring like lightning striking water, sparks flying as spirits collided. Instructors paced the sidelines, sharp-eyed, unyielding.
Erevan stood alone at the far end, as always. No partner arrived. No one asked. The air pressed in, thick with scrutiny, though no eyes could see him.
Cassian passed him with a laugh, golden sparks trailing like fireworks. "Still spectating, Kael? You're getting quite good at it," he said, eyes gleaming with mischief.
Erevan's fists clenched.
Say the word, Harrax hissed, and I will tear him apart before his eyes. His arrogance will crumble.
The temptation flared. He imagined Cassian's perfect smirk shattered, the murmurs of awe turning to horror. I would not be laughed at. For once, they would see me.
Erevan shook his head violently. No.
Cassian frowned and moved on, oblivious.
Even weakness may break its leash, child, Harrax murmured. I will not wait forever.
By day's end, Erevan was frayed, every step back to his dorm weighted with exhaustion, fear, and the persistent presence of Harrax pressing at the edges of his mind.
That night, the demand returned.
The candle sputtered, last light guttering. Shadows thickened, stretching across the walls. Harrax unfolded from them, taller, coiled around Erevan like a living thing, ember-eyes glowing brighter.
You denied me today. Twice. Admirable. But you cannot deny me always. Tonight, the first act. You will not sleep until it is done.
Erevan shook his head. "I—I can't. If anyone sees—"
Then choose well. Not all acts must be public. But one act must be made. You owe the bond its due.
The air pressed down, thick and suffocating. Something sharp, hungry, undeniable stirred inside him.
What kind of act? he whispered, voice cracking.
An offering. A spirit. Small, weak, worthless. I hunger, and you will feed me.
Erevan froze.
Do not pretend pity, child. You have seen them—those flickering sparks that cling to novices. They will not be missed. One will suffice.
He staggered, heart hammering, mind screaming no.
Power. Just once.
Hands over his ears, knees folding beneath him, Erevan whispered, I… I can't…
You can. You will.
Shadows leaned closer, thick and alive, edges of his vision blurring.
The next morning, the Academy grounds buzzed with life as though nothing had changed. Students practiced in dueling circles, spirits flitting across polished stone floors, trailing streaks of color and light. Laughter, shouts, the clash of summoned elements—it was a symphony of progress and power.
Erevan lingered at the edge of the practice field, blending into the shadows, muscles taut, mind tauter. His robes clung damp to his shoulders, and every breath carried the low, predatory hum of Harrax.
There. Perfect. Weak. Unnoticed. Take it.
He spotted her—a novice, barely twelve, struggling with a pale, flickering water-sprite at the periphery of the hall. The girl murmured encouragement, hands trembling, unaware of anyone but her spirit. Instructors' attention was elsewhere, judging duels in the center.
Erevan's chest burned. His heartbeat drummed in his ears. Harrax coiled within him, whispering of dominance, of power, of the thrill of command.
Open to me. Just once. I will do the rest.
Erevan's hands trembled. He shut his eyes, willing himself to resist. No. I can't. I won't. Not like this.
But then—pressure. A surge of Harrax's power, heavy and insistent, pulsing against the walls of his chest. It whispered of mastery, of control, of exhilaration beyond mortal bounds.
Yes. Just a taste. One moment. They will see. They will all see.
The shadows inside him unfurled, silent and unseen, spreading like wings across the floor. Erevan's stomach lurched. Every thread of the sprite's being—small, fragile, flickering—was tangible, exposed to him.
The sprite flared in alarm, its faint glow jittering. The girl's eyes widened, voice trembling, "Wha—? Where—?"
Erevan's muscles froze. His body screamed in revolt. Stop. You cannot. This is… wrong.
And yet… he could not.
The shadows coiled tighter, siphoning the spark from the sprite. Its light dimmed, dwindling, until it vanished entirely. The girl stumbled backward, hands clawing at empty air, lips quivering with a sob that cut sharply across the hall.
There it is, Harrax purred inside him, voice rolling like molten gold across his nerves. The first act. Do you feel it? The strength? The rush? This is ours now.
Erevan's body went rigid. Cold bile rose in his throat. Sweat stung his eyes. Shadows retreated like satisfied predators, but the pulse of power lingered.
This… this is what you are, little anomaly. Harrax's ember-eyes glowed inside his mind. This is power. Do you understand now?
He pressed trembling hands to his face, sobs catching in his throat. The hall seemed alive with whispers he could not hear, echoes of guilt, fear, and horror ricocheting off the walls. I've… I've done it. I've… fed him.
The intoxicating thrill of stolen strength crawled along his nerves. The bond thrummed, alive, dominant. And yet beneath it all yawned a pit of horror, hollowing him from the inside. He could not unfeel it. He could not undo it.
Instructors' sharp voices finally cut through, alarms rising as they rushed toward the girl at the edge of the field. She cried, hands clutching at the space where her sprite had been, fear etched into every line of her small frame.
Erevan turned and fled. Shadows curled around him protectively, shielding him from view as he stumbled across the marble floor toward his dorm. Every step burned with shame, fear, and the residual thrum of power pulsing through him.
That night, alone, he sat on the edge of his cot, staring at his hands. They shook uncontrollably. The room smelled faintly of wax, sweat, and the lingering presence of Harrax, coiled like a predator, watching, waiting.
Now you begin to understand, little anomaly, Harrax whispered, triumphant. This bond is not a curse. It is a gift. And you will crave it again.
Erevan's chest heaved. He wanted to deny it, to push it away. But the memory of the surge—the intoxicating pulse of stolen strength—lingered like a brand burned into his very soul.
Yes, he thought, silent. Yes, I feel it.
Tears streaked his face as he pressed his hands against his temples. The moral weight, the exhilaration, and the horror blended into one suffocating truth. Harrax was part of him now, entwined with his power, his thoughts, his instincts.
And he knew, with cold certainty, that there would be no turning back.