Calen woke to a cold shaft of light cutting through the broken windows of the warehouse. The air smelled of dust and damp concrete, heavy with the faint tang of iron from rain dripping through rusted metal beams. His body ached, but not from the fight—no, this was something new. A low, constant pulse against his chest reminded him of the Echo.
It stirred faintly, responding to his movement, coiling around his ribs like liquid shadow. He flexed a hand, and a black tendril slid across the floor, quivering as if tasting the air. Panic bubbled up immediately, fast and sharp. He had never tried to command it directly. Until now, it had acted on instinct alone, saving him, moving before he even thought.
Riven sat in the corner, silent, hands resting lightly on his knees. His gray eyes followed every subtle twitch of the shadows. "Wake up," he said finally, voice calm but firm. "We start today."
Calen blinked, struggling to focus. "Start… what?"
Riven stood, stretching slowly, deliberately, like a predator preparing for a hunt. "Control. First time. You need to learn how to move without letting the Echo move for you." He gestured to the open floor. The warehouse was empty enough—broken crates and old machinery littered the space—but it was enough. "Do not let it act on instinct. Make it obey your mind. Or it will betray you the first time you face someone who wants to kill you."
Calen swallowed. He felt the pulse of the Echo, tense and expectant, and the smallest flicker of fear ran down his spine. It was alive. More than alive. Intelligent. And he had never tried to speak to it, never tried to tell it what to do.
Riven stepped closer, voice low. "Start small. Move the shadows toward that pillar," he said, pointing. "Nothing aggressive. Just… reach. Feel the connection. Make it respond."
Calen nodded, heart pounding. He closed his eyes, focused on the faint tug inside him, the coiled mass of darkness resting against his chest. He breathed slowly, thinking of nothing but the pillar, willing the Echo to move.
At first, nothing happened. He tensed, impatience and fear making the shadows shiver, spiking like electricity. Then, slowly, a thin black tendril slid across the concrete, stretching toward the pillar, hesitant, wavering. Calen held his breath. It wavered again, then touched the base with a soft tap, recoiling immediately.
"Yes," Riven said. "Now control it back. Pull it in."
Calen tried. The tendril hesitated, coiling against his mental tug. He felt the strain in his skull, the pull of the Echo resisting him. The sensation was almost physical, a weight pressing on his chest and shoulders, threatening to knock him off balance. He gritted his teeth, focused harder, and slowly, agonizingly, the shadow returned, curling around his arm like a ribbon obeying its master for the first time.
He exhaled sharply, collapsing onto one knee. "I… I did it," he whispered.
Riven crouched beside him. "You let it hesitate. That's fine. It's testing you. It will always test you. But that hesitation could get you killed outside this warehouse."
Calen forced his shaking legs to stand. He clenched his fists. "So… I just need to… be stronger?"
"No," Riven said. "You need to be smarter. Faster. Clearer. You don't overpower it. You think it into submission. You guide it. You speak to it without words." He nodded toward the floor. "Try again. Move it from here to that stack of crates."
Calen focused. He pictured the stack, the space between, the path the shadows needed to take. The tendril obeyed, moving fluidly this time, brushing against crates and coiling around them, gripping lightly. He could feel the Echo responding to subtle shifts in his will, adjusting as he imagined it.
"Better," Riven said. "Now, push it further. Make it reach higher. Let it extend."
The tendril stretched, thin and delicate, then snapped back like a live wire. Calen staggered backward, heart hammering. "It… it doesn't listen sometimes," he said, panic rising. "I can't control it all the time!"
"You will," Riven said. "Not now. Not tomorrow. But you will. The Echo wants you to survive, but it will test you. Every moment. Every choice. You panic, it rebels. You hesitate, it hesitates. Control comes from mind and instinct working together. Understand?"
Calen nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. He let the tendril coil around his arm again, then reached out with another, smaller shadow. It followed immediately. He exhaled, amazed at how much faster it responded when he stopped thinking with fear.
Riven watched silently for a long moment, then finally spoke. "Now comes the hard part."
Calen looked at him. "Hard part?"
Riven gestured to the opposite side of the warehouse. Two figures stepped out from the shadows—training dummies, humanoid but with the flexibility and movement of real people. They moved in erratic patterns, striking with fists and kicks, circling Calen. "Targets that move. Targets that react. You must strike first and defend without hesitation. The Echo cannot save you if you falter."
Calen's chest tightened. He could feel the Echo coil in anticipation, almost like it was warning him. His hands trembled. This was no longer just a practice tendril. This was a test.
He lunged forward, sending a shadow whip toward the nearest figure. The figure dodged, moving unpredictably, forcing him to retract the tendril and adjust. The second figure circled, striking from angles he hadn't predicted. Calen blocked with a curling tendril, countered with another strike, and felt the Echo respond instinctively.
It wasn't perfect. The shadows slipped past, grazing him, leaving faint scratches on his arms. His breath came in ragged bursts. Every hit, every parry, every whip was exhausting. He stumbled, nearly falling, and the dummies reacted as if mocking him, relentless, unyielding.
Sweat stung his eyes, and he grit his teeth. "Focus," he muttered. "Move. Just… move."
The Echo pulsed, extending in long arcs, curling around the figures with a precision Calen hadn't thought possible. He adjusted his stance, twisting mid-air, sending a tendril crashing into one dummy while another recoiled from the counterstrike. For the first time, he felt the harmony of his own body and the Echo's movement. It was terrifying—and exhilarating.
Riven's voice echoed across the warehouse. "Good! Keep it flowing! First strike matters! Every reaction counts!"
Minutes stretched like hours. Calen's muscles burned, lungs screamed, and his mind teetered on the edge of collapse. The Echo moved faster than he could consciously command at times, anticipating danger, protecting him—but only responding when he let go of fear and hesitation.
By the end, both figures lay scattered on the floor, harmless but defeated. Calen sank against the wall, chest heaving, fingers brushing the concrete. The Echo pulsed softly around him, coiled and calm, like a creature finally satisfied with its host.
Riven stepped closer, expression unreadable. "You survived. You learned. You struck first and struck hard. That is all I asked for today."
Calen's lips parted, trying to form words, but only a weak, rasping "Okay…" came out. His body felt like lead, his mind like fog, but something deeper inside him stirred. Pride, maybe. Or recognition. A faint spark of confidence.
"Tomorrow," Riven said, turning toward the door, "we push further. You will face moving targets with intent. Not dummies. Real people. And they will want to hurt you. That is the city outside. That is the Guild. That is survival."
Calen nodded weakly. The Echo curled around his body, as if resting but still alert. He closed his eyes, letting exhaustion take him, and for the first time since the awakening, he slept without fear.
And in the darkness of the warehouse, the Echo waited, patient and aware.