Training began at dawn, though dawn in the Veilwood was more a suggestion than a certainty.
Elara woke Kael before the sun—if there even was one beyond the perpetual mist—by dumping a bucket of ice-cold water over his head.
"Up," she commanded, already dressed and looking far too energetic for someone who'd stayed up half the night explaining the intricacies of dimensional theory. "Your first lesson begins now."
Kael sputtered, stumbling out of the cot she'd provided. "What kind of lesson starts with drowning?"
"The kind that teaches you the world won't wait for you to be ready." Elara tossed him a towel. "Get dressed. We're going outside."
Five minutes later, Kael stood shivering in the clearing where he'd fought the shadow-spawn. The grass was wet with dew that glowed faintly silver in the half-light. Elara stood opposite him, staff in hand, looking every bit the stern teacher.
"Show me your shadows," she said.
Kael frowned. "Just... summon them?"
"Yes. Like you did yesterday."
Kael reached for the mark on his arm, focusing on the now-familiar burning sensation. Shadows began to pool around his feet, rising like smoke.
Elara's staff cracked across his knuckles.
"Wrong," she snapped.
Kael yelped, nursing his stinging hand. "What was wrong about it?"
"You're pulling from your life force again. You'll burn yourself out in weeks if you keep doing that." Elara circled him like a predator evaluating prey. "The mark isn't just a conduit for your power—it's a gateway to the Shadowrealm itself. You need to learn to draw from that infinite well, not from your own finite reserves."
"I don't know how," Kael admitted.
"Then learn. Close your eyes."
Kael did, acutely aware of how vulnerable he felt.
"The mark is warm, yes? You feel it burning?"
"Yes."
"That's you forcing power through it. Instead, I want you to... listen to it. The mark is alive in its own way. It remembers every Shadowborn who bore it before you. Thousands of years of accumulated knowledge, waiting to be accessed."
Kael tried to still his mind, to focus on the mark beyond just its physical sensation. At first, there was nothing. Then, gradually, he became aware of something else—a presence, ancient and vast, sleeping within the sigil.
It felt like standing at the edge of an ocean in the dark, knowing the water stretched beyond sight but unable to see it.
"I feel... something," Kael whispered.
"Good. Now ask it for help."
"Ask it?"
"The mark responds to intent. Will it. Command it. But also—respect it. The relationship between Shadowborn and mark is symbiotic, not hierarchical."
Kael took a deep breath and projected his need into the mark: Help me. Show me how to draw from the Shadowrealm.
The response was immediate and overwhelming.
Kael gasped as knowledge flooded his mind—not in words, but in pure understanding. He saw the Shadowrealm as if through another's eyes: an infinite expanse of twilight where shadows had substance and light was the intruder. He felt the pathways that connected it to his world, thin as spider silk but strong as steel.
And he understood how to pull from it.
Kael opened his eyes, and shadows erupted around him—but these were different. They didn't drain him. They felt external, borrowed rather than created. The mark on his arm glowed steady and cool, a comfortable warmth rather than a burning brand.
"Better," Elara said with a hint of approval. "Much better. Now maintain it while I attack you."
"Wait, what—"
Elara's staff whistled through the air toward his head.
Kael's shadows responded automatically, forming a shield. The staff bounced off with a crack of energy. Elara didn't pause—she spun and struck from another angle, then another, her movements impossibly fast for someone who looked ancient.
Kael's shields held, but barely. Each impact sent shock waves through his concentration. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he struggled to maintain the connection to the Shadowrealm while also reacting to her attacks.
"Don't just defend," Elara barked, striking again. "Counter!"
Kael tried to form a shadow-spear like he had against the spawn, but dividing his attention caused the shield to waver. Elara's staff slipped through and caught him in the ribs—not hard enough to break anything, but enough to hurt.
"Ow! Can we take a break?"
"No. On a real battlefield, the enemy won't give you breaks." Another strike, this one aimed at his legs. "You need to learn to multitask. Defense and offense simultaneously."
Kael gritted his teeth and reached deeper into the mark. If there was knowledge there, there had to be something about combat, about fighting with shadows while maintaining shields.
The mark responded, and suddenly Kael understood: he didn't need to divide his attention. He needed to divide his will.
It was a subtle difference but crucial. Instead of consciously controlling each shadow, he set intentions and let the mark execute them. Shield here. Strike there. Maintain the connection to the Shadowrealm.
Shadows flowed from him like water from a fountain, no longer jerky and hesitant but smooth and coordinated. A shield intercepted Elara's next strike while a tendril snaked toward her ankle.
She jumped over it with a cackle of delight. "Yes! Now you're learning!"
The training intensified. Elara's attacks came faster, more unpredictable. She used magic now—bolts of silver light that burned his shadows on contact, forcing him to constantly regenerate and adapt. But Kael found his rhythm, found the flow state where thought and action merged.
He lost track of time. Minutes or hours might have passed. His body moved on instinct, his shadows responding to threats before his conscious mind registered them.
Finally, Elara called a halt.
Kael collapsed to his knees, gasping. His body was bruised and sore, but he felt... good. Accomplished. The mark on his arm glowed contentedly, no longer burning.
"Not bad for a first session," Elara said, barely winded. "You learn faster than I expected. The mark has accepted you fully."
"That was insane," Kael panted.
"That was basic conditioning. Tomorrow we'll start real training."
Kael groaned.
Elara laughed—a genuine, warm sound—and helped him to his feet. "Come. You've earned breakfast. And then we need to discuss the politics of your situation."
Over a meal of bread, cheese, and something Elara called shadow-fruit that tasted like plums dipped in starlight, the witch explained the larger picture.
"The Church isn't your only enemy," she said. "There are factions who know about the Rift and want it opened wider. They believe they can control what comes through, use it for power."
"That's insane," Kael said.
"Yes. But insanity has never stopped the ambitious." Elara poured him tea that smelled of cinnamon and smoke. "There's also the Council of Mages—what's left of it. They went underground after the Purge, but they're still active. Some might help you. Others will see you as either a threat or a tool."
"And the things beyond the Rift?"
"Them most of all." Elara's expression darkened. "The Void-spawn, the entities that exist in the spaces between dimensions—they've been testing the barriers for decades. Small probes. Minor incursions. But now that they know a Shadowborn lives again..."
She didn't need to finish. Kael understood.
"So I'm a target from all sides," he summarized.
"Essentially, yes. Which is why you need to become strong enough that being a target doesn't matter."
Elara stood and walked to a shelf, pulling down a leather-bound journal. She handed it to Kael.
"This belonged to Kaelith the Veilwalker, the first Shadowborn. His personal training journal. I've had it for seventy years, waiting for someone worthy to use it."
Kael opened the journal carefully. The pages were filled with elegant handwriting in a language he shouldn't have been able to read—but the mark translated it automatically. Notes on technique, philosophy, warnings about the dangers of shadow magic.
"Study this," Elara said. "It will teach you things I cannot. But remember—Kaelith was a genius and a monster in equal measure. Learn from his brilliance, but don't repeat his mistakes."
"What mistakes?"
"He became convinced he could reshape reality itself using shadow magic. He believed he could create a perfect world by merging all dimensions into one. He nearly succeeded—and nearly destroyed everything in the process."
Elara's eyes were distant, remembering.
"The Eternal Rift isn't a natural phenomenon. Kaelith created it, trying to tear down the barriers between worlds. When he realized what he'd done, he used the last of his power to partially seal it. But the damage was done. The Rift has been bleeding ever since."
Kael stared at the journal in his hands with new understanding—and new horror.
"You're saying I'm carrying the power that nearly ended the world."
"Yes. And you're also carrying the power that might save it. That's the burden of the Shadowborn, Kael. You are the knife and the surgeon both."
Before Kael could respond, Elara's head snapped up. Her expression shifted from teacher to something far more dangerous.
"We have visitors," she said quietly. "Stay behind me."
Kael felt it then—a disturbance in the air, a wrongness that made his mark pulse with warning. Something was approaching through the forest. Multiple somethings.
And they weren't friendly.
Elara stepped onto her porch, staff in hand, and Kael followed. Through the perpetual mist, figures were emerging—tall, armored, carrying weapons that glowed with holy light.
Inquisitors. At least twenty of them.
And at their head, riding a horse that shone like polished silver, was a man in white-and-gold armor bearing the sunburst sigil of the Grand Inquisitor himself.
He was here. For Kael.