Kaelen woke to the smell of coffee and the sound of steel ringing against steel.
For a disoriented moment, he thought he was back in the Knight Academy barracks, listening to the morning training sessions in the yard. Then the soreness in his muscles registered, along with the cold weight of Soulrender lying beside him on the cot, and memory came flooding back.
The storm. The canal. The cultists. The sword.
*Good morning, wielder*, Soulrender purred. *Did you dream of power? Of glory? Of the delicious taste of souls?*
"I dreamed about being a normal person with normal problems," Kaelen muttered, sitting up and immediately regretting it as his bruised shoulder screamed in protest. "Apparently that's too much to ask."
He was in a small room off the main basement area—one of several that Ronan apparently kept for "guests who needed to disappear for a while." The furnishings were sparse but clean: a cot, a trunk, a basin of water, and a mirror that had seen better days. Someone, probably Lia, had left a set of clean clothes folded on the trunk. They weren't knight's attire or even mercenary gear—just simple civilian clothes, the kind a craftsman or shopkeeper might wear.
Camouflage. Smart.
Kaelen stripped off his ruined coat and shirt, then stopped short when he caught sight of himself in the mirror. The black veins he'd seen on his arm the night before had faded, but they hadn't disappeared entirely. Thin lines of darkness traced through his skin like cracks in porcelain, concentrated around his hand and forearm where he'd gripped the sword. When he looked closely, he could see similar marks starting to form around his heart.
Shadow Scars. The physical manifestation of his soul being eaten away piece by piece.
*Beautiful, aren't they?* the sword whispered. *The mark of true power. The price of strength. You should be proud—most wielders die before they accumulate even one Scar.*
"Maybe because they're smart enough to not use you," Kaelen replied, splashing cold water on his face. The shock helped clear his head, push back the sword's insidious voice.
He dressed quickly in the clean clothes and buckled Soulrender to his hip—he'd tried leaving it on the cot, but the moment he'd moved more than a few feet away, a sharp pain had lanced through his chest, and the sword had started whispering more urgently. Bonded. Whether he liked it or not.
The ringing sound was coming from the main basement area. Kaelen emerged to find the space transformed. The furniture had been pushed against the walls, creating an open training area. Lia stood in the center, a practice sword in her hands, moving through a series of forms with surprising grace. She'd changed into practical training clothes—fitted trousers and a sleeveless shirt that showed arms covered in faintly glowing runes.
Ronan sat in one of the displaced chairs, drinking coffee and watching with the critical eye of someone who knew what good swordwork looked like.
"Morning," Lia said without breaking her rhythm. "How's your soul feeling? Still mostly intact?"
"Mostly," Kaelen replied, accepting the cup of coffee Ronan offered him. It was strong enough to wake the dead, which seemed appropriate. "What's with the sword practice? I thought you were a rune mage."
"I am. But my master believed in balanced training—magic and steel, theory and practice." She finished her form and lowered the practice blade. "Besides, if I'm going to help you learn to control that cursed thing, I need to understand the basics of swordwork. Can't teach what you don't comprehend."
"She's not bad," Ronan offered. "Textbook perfect form, actually. No improvisation, no real combat instinct, but solid fundamentals."
"Thanks for the glowing review," Lia said dryly. She turned to Kaelen. "Alright. Time for your first lesson in not becoming a shadow monster. Are you ready?"
Kaelen drained his coffee in three long swallows and set the cup aside. "Ready as I'll ever be. What do I need to do?"
"First, draw the sword."
Kaelen hesitated, remembering the rush of power from the night before, the intoxicating feeling of strength coupled with the horror of losing control. "You sure that's a good idea in an enclosed space?"
"I've inscribed containment runes around the training area," Lia said, gesturing at the floor. Now that Kaelen looked, he could see faint glowing lines forming a circle around them. "If you lose control, the runes will suppress the shadow energy before it can spread. Probably."
"Probably?"
"I'm an apprentice, not a master. Work with what we've got." She smiled, but her eyes were serious. "Draw the sword, Kaelen. You need to understand what you're dealing with."
Kaelen wrapped his fingers around Soulrender's hilt. The moment his skin made contact, he felt it—that seductive whisper, that promise of power, that hunger. It wanted to be used. Wanted to cut, to kill, to consume.
He drew the blade.
Shadows immediately coiled around the sword, thicker in the morning light than they'd been in the storm. The runes along the blade pulsed in rhythm with Kaelen's heartbeat, and the temperature in the room dropped several degrees. From his chair, Ronan tensed, one hand moving instinctively to the dagger at his belt.
*Yes*, Soulrender sang. *Feel the power. Feel what you could become. Let us show you—*
"Stop," Lia commanded. "Kaelen, look at me. Focus on my voice."
Kaelen tore his gaze from the hypnotic movement of the shadows to Lia's face. She was tracing symbols in the air, creating luminous runes that floated between them like protective barriers.
"The sword is going to try to overwhelm you with sensation," she said, her voice calm and clear. "Power, hunger, bloodlust—it's designed to bypass your rational mind and speak directly to your hindbrain. Your instincts. Your survival drive. That's how it hooks wielders."
"I can feel it," Kaelen admitted. His hand was shaking slightly, and the cold from the blade was creeping up his arm. "It's like drowning again. Like being pulled under."
"Good. Acknowledging it is the first step." Lia's runes brightened. "Now, I want you to do something counterintuitive. Don't fight the sensation. Don't try to push it away. Instead, observe it. Examine it. You're not your thoughts, and you're not the sword's whispers. You're the awareness between them. Does that make sense?"
"Not even a little bit."
"Try anyway."
Kaelen took a deep breath and tried to do as she instructed. Instead of fighting the whispers, the pull of the shadows, the hunger emanating from Soulrender, he... watched them. Like examining a painting or observing a storm from a safe distance. The sensations were still there—the cold, the power, the seductive promise of strength—but somehow, by simply observing rather than engaging, they lost some of their overwhelming immediacy.
"That's it," Lia encouraged. "You're creating mental space between yourself and the sword. That space is where your control lives. In that gap between impulse and action."
"This feels like meditation," Kaelen said, surprised.
"It is, essentially. Magical control is fundamentally about maintaining awareness while channeling external energy." Lia's hands moved through more complex patterns, and new runes appeared—these ones wrapping around Kaelen's sword arm like luminous vines. "Now comes the hard part. I want you to channel a tiny amount of the sword's power. The smallest amount you can manage. Don't let it take control—you stay in that space of observation and guide the power yourself."
"How do I—"
"Intent," Ronan interjected. "In combat magic, it's all about intent. Don't ask the sword for power. Don't beg or bargain. Simply decide what you want it to do and will it to happen. The blade is bonded to you—that means it's your tool, not your master. Act like it."
Easier said than done, but Kaelen focused his will on the sword. Instead of letting the shadows run wild, he imagined directing them—a thin stream of dark energy, controlled and purposeful. He thought about the cultist's attack from the night before, how the shadow magic had manifested as physical tendrils.
*Just a little*, he thought at Soulrender. *Just enough to prove I can control you.*
The sword resisted at first, trying to flood him with power as it had before. But Kaelen held firm, maintaining that mental distance, that space of observation. Gradually, reluctantly, the blade yielded. A single tendril of shadow energy extended from the sword, thin as a thread, moving in response to Kaelen's will.
"Perfect!" Lia exclaimed. "That's exactly right. Minimal output, maximum control. Now try moving it."
Kaelen concentrated, and the shadow tendril waved through the air like a snake. It felt strange—like moving a limb he'd never had before, responding to mental commands that shouldn't work. He made it coil, extend, retract. Basic movements, but entirely under his control.
No overwhelming power. No loss of self. Just a tool, being used as a tool should be.
Then his concentration slipped.
The moment his focus wavered, Soulrender lunged for the opening. Power exploded out from the blade, a wave of shadow energy that smashed against Lia's containment runes. The luminous barriers held, barely, crackling and sparking as they absorbed the surge. Kaelen staggered backward, fighting to reassert control, to stuff the power back into the blade.
*No!* the sword howled in his mind. *We had a taste! Let us feast! Let us grow strong!*
"Containment!" Lia shouted, and her runes blazed with brilliant blue light. The shadow energy writhed against the barriers, seeking escape, seeking targets, seeking souls to consume. Kaelen could feel it trying to use him as a conduit, to bypass his will and unleash itself on the world.
He thought about the cultist becoming a shadowfiend. Thought about Lia's master, killed by a lost wielder. Thought about everyone in the tavern above, innocent people who would die if he lost control.
"NO!" Kaelen roared, and shoved back with all his will. "You. Don't. Control. Me!"
The power snapped back into the blade like a rubber band, and the shadows vanished. Kaelen collapsed to one knee, gasping for breath. On his arm, the Shadow Scars had darkened, and he could feel a new one forming near his elbow—the price of that momentary loss of control.
Lia's containment runes slowly faded, their energy depleted. She was pale and shaking, but still on her feet. "That," she said breathlessly, "is why we practice in a contained environment."
"Are you okay?" Kaelen asked.
"I'm fine. Are you?" At his nod, she managed a shaky smile. "Good. Because we're doing that again. And again. And again, until you can maintain control for more than thirty seconds."
"How long did I last?"
"Twenty-eight seconds," Ronan said, consulting a pocket watch. "Not terrible for a first attempt. Most new wielders lose control in under ten."
"Most new wielders?" Kaelen asked. "How many people have tried to wield Forbidden Blades?"
"More than you'd think, less than survived." Ronan stood and moved to the weapon racks, pulling down a practice sword that had been modified with runic inscriptions. "The Cult of the Shade has been trying to create controllable wielders for decades. So far, the success rate is somewhere around five percent. The other ninety-five percent become shadowfiends, die from corruption, or go insane from the mental strain."
"You're really not selling this," Kaelen muttered.
"I'm not trying to. I'm giving you reality." Ronan tossed him the practice sword. "Before we do another channeling exercise, let's work on your fundamentals. If you're going to fight with Soulrender, you need to be able to fight with a regular blade first. The sword should enhance your technique, not replace it."
For the next two hours, they drilled. Ronan put Kaelen through his paces with a brutality that would have made his Knight Academy instructors proud. Every stance, every strike, every defensive posture—all examined, critiqued, and refined. Whenever Kaelen tried to compensate for his fatigue or injured shoulder, Ronan was there to correct him, forcing him to fight through the weakness.
"Pain is information," the former Shadow Hunter said after knocking Kaelen's practice blade aside for the dozenth time. "Learn to use it. Your body is trying to tell you something—listen to it, adapt to it, but don't let it control you."
The same lesson as with the sword, Kaelen realized. Observe, don't be overwhelmed.
When Ronan finally called a break, Kaelen was drenched in sweat and every muscle screamed in protest. But he felt more centered, more focused. The sword's whispers had faded to background noise, easier to ignore.
"Better," Ronan pronounced. "You've got good fundamentals. Your Academy training wasn't wasted. Now we integrate the shadow magic."
They moved through a series of exercises, combining basic sword techniques with minimal applications of Soulrender's power. A thrust enhanced with a thread of shadow energy to extend its reach. A parry reinforced with a tendril that could catch an opponent's blade. Footwork accelerated by channeling power into the legs instead of the sword.
Each exercise brought the risk of losing control, of letting the blade's hunger overwhelm him. And each time, Kaelen had to find that space of observation, that mental distance that let him command rather than be commanded.
It was exhausting. More exhausting than any physical training he'd ever done. Using magic—real magic, not just the minor cantrips he'd learned at the Academy—required a level of focus and willpower he'd never had to maintain before.
But slowly, incrementally, he improved.
By midday, he could maintain a thin coating of shadow energy around Soulrender's blade for nearly two minutes without losing control. It wasn't much—Lia explained that true masters could channel power for hours—but it was progress.
"Not bad for a first day," she said as they broke for a meal. "At this rate, you might survive your next real fight without turning into a monster."
"Might?"
"I'm being optimistic."
They ate lunch in the basement—sandwiches and soup provided by Ronan's tavern staff, who seemed entirely unbothered by the secret training facility beneath their workplace. Either they were extremely loyal or extremely well-paid. Possibly both.
"So what's next?" Kaelen asked between bites. "More channeling practice? Combat drills?"
"Next," Lia said, "we need to figure out what the Cult of the Shade is planning. They weren't trying to sacrifice me for fun last night—they had a specific ritual in mind. And if I'm right about which one..." She frowned. "We might have bigger problems than your Shadow Scars."
"What kind of problems?"
"The kind that involves them trying to break the seal on the Netherveil and release the Shadow Lord."
Kaelen stopped mid-bite. "They can do that?"
"Not alone. They'd need multiple Forbidden Blades, or a massive amount of shadow energy, or..." Lia's eyes widened. "Or a Star Core fragment. Kaelen, where exactly did you find Soulrender?"
"In the East Canal. I told you, it just appeared when I was drowning."
"But why there?" Lia was on her feet now, moving to the table covered in maps. "The East Canal runs from the upper city down to the old industrial district, past the ruins of..." She traced a path with her finger, and her face went pale. "Oh no."
"Oh no?" Kaelen prompted. "I hate 'oh no.'"
"The ruins of the original Eredor Academy. The one that was destroyed two hundred years ago during the Mage Wars." Lia looked up, meeting his eyes. "The academy was built on top of a minor Star Core node—a place where the world's magical energy concentrates. If Soulrender was sealed anywhere near there, it would have been feeding on ambient magic for centuries, growing stronger."
"And if the Cult knows about that node..." Ronan said grimly.
"They'll try to use it to power their ritual," Lia finished. "We need to check the ruins. Tonight."
"Tonight?" Kaelen asked. "Shouldn't we, I don't know, tell the city guard? The Mage Council? Someone official?"
"And tell them what? That we think cultists are planning to use a Star Core node to free an ancient evil, and we know this because you're carrying one of the Forbidden Blades they're trying to collect?" Lia shook her head. "They'd arrest us both on the spot. No, we need proof. Hard evidence that can't be dismissed."
Kaelen looked at Soulrender, resting against his chair. The blade pulsed as if sensing his attention, eager and hungry.
Another fight. Another risk of losing control. Another chance to accumulate Shadow Scars and bring himself one step closer to becoming a monster.
But if Lia was right, if the Cult really was planning something with the Star Core node, then sitting idle wasn't an option. The world needed heroes. Even damaged, tainted ones carrying cursed swords and doomed fates.
"Alright," he said. "Tonight, we raid a cursed ruin to stop an apocalyptic cult. This is fine. This is a completely normal thing to be doing."
Lia almost smiled. "Welcome to the life of forbidden artifact management. It's all downhill from here."
"At least it'll never be boring," Ronan offered.
Outside, in the sunlit streets of Eredor, the city went about its business, unaware that beneath a tavern, three people were planning to prevent the end of the world.
It was just another day in the neutral city-state.
Just another day in Kaelen Voss's new, very complicated life.