The Cursed Gift

The Ashen Fox did not believe in rest. Kian's body ached from the relentless training—his arms sore from the precise strikes he had practiced, his legs burning from dodging the Fox's swift attacks, and his mind exhausted from the endless exercises in controlling his power.

But this morning was different. Because today, he would be tested.

The Ashen Fox sat across from Kian in the dim glow of their underground hideout, sharpening a dagger that gleamed like obsidian. "You've learned control. Now, it's time to see if you can apply it in the real world."

Kian straightened, a flicker of excitement cutting through his exhaustion. "What do I have to do?"

The Ashen Fox flicked the blade in his hand, testing its balance before sliding it into a sheath. "There is a caravan arriving in Eldrinth tonight. It carries something… unusual. "Unusual?" Kian's brow furrowed. "A relic," the Ashen Fox murmured. "One infused with old magic. The Magi want it, which means we want it first."

Kian felt his pulse quicken. "What kind of relic?" The Ashen Fox gave a small, amused smile. "The kind that shouldn't exist anymore." He stood, adjusting his tattered robes. "Your task is to get to the caravan before the Magi do. Watch, learn, and—if the opportunity presents itself—take the relic."

Kian hesitated. "And if I'm caught?" The Ashen Fox met his gaze. "Then you'll learn another valuable lesson—how much pain you can endure before breaking." Kian swallowed hard.

Night fell over Eldrinth, and the city's usual noise dulled to a quiet hum as the lower streets emptied. Kian moved through the rooftops like a shadow, his body finally accustomed to the precise, silent steps that the Ashen Fox had drilled into him.

Below, the caravan made its slow approach. Six wagons. Heavily guarded. Kian narrowed his eyes. This wasn't just a merchant's haul.

Torches flickered along the path, illuminating the armored figures walking beside the lead wagon. These were not ordinary guards. Their armor was too fine, their formation too precise. Magi enforcers.

Kian's stomach twisted. He had fought the Shadowguards before, but these were different. They didn't hide in the dark; they walked with open authority, knowing that no one would dare challenge them.

And in the center of the caravan, a single iron chest sat locked and chained, radiating something Kian could feel even from here. Magic. He took a deep breath. This was it. His first real test.

Kian crouched on the rooftop, mapping out the guards' movements in his mind. They were disciplined, but predictable—each one moving in a practiced rhythm. A gap opened in the formation every six steps. That was all he needed. One breath. One leap. One strike.

The moment came. Kian moved. He dropped silently onto the rear wagon, rolling as his feet touched the wood. His pulse pounded in his ears. No alarm. No shouts. Good.

He pressed himself flat, scanning the path ahead. The iron chest sat in the second wagon from the front. He needed to get closer. But then—A voice cut through the night. "Something's wrong."

Kian stiffened. One of the Magi enforcers had stopped. His head turned slightly, scanning the shadows. "Check the wagons," the enforcer ordered.

Kian exhaled sharply. No time for caution now. He slipped off the wagon and darted beneath it just as two guards turned. They didn't see him. But now, he had only seconds before they did.

Kian clenched his fists, feeling the hum of magic beneath his skin. Control it. Use it. He reached into the storm within him—not to destroy, but to move. The wind shifted. The torchlight flickered.

Shadows lengthened unnaturally as a small gust of air rustled the trees beyond the caravan. One of the guards turned. "Did you hear that?" The other shook his head. "Winds from the river. Stay focused."

Kian let out a breath. It worked. For the first time, he had deliberately used his power to manipulate his surroundings, rather than letting it explode in uncontrollable bursts. And he wasn't done yet.

Kian crept forward. The iron chest was closer now, just within reach. He pressed a hand against its cool metal—and immediately, his vision blurred. A whisper filled his mind. "You are not ready." Kian jerked back, his pulse hammering. The chest was alive with power.

Whatever was inside—it wasn't just enchanted. It was sentient. And it had sensed him. But before he could react, a voice rang out. "You there!" Kian's blood went cold. One of the Magi enforcers was staring directly at him.

No time to think. No time to run. The enforcer raised his hand—and magic crackled in the air. Kian moved.

The storm inside him erupted. The torchlight exploded outward, throwing fire and shadow across the road. The iron chest lurched as an invisible force struck it, and the entire caravan rocked violently as if struck by a sudden quake.

Kian launched himself backward just as a bolt of magical energy ripped through the space he had been standing in. The Magi weren't playing games. They wanted him dead.

Chaos erupted. The Magi enforcers shouted, their voices drowned by the roaring flames. The horses screamed, panicked by the sudden explosion of energy. Kian ran.

His legs burned as he vaulted over the side of the wagon, hitting the ground hard and rolling into a sprint. Behind him, the Magi pursued.

A streak of blue light sizzled through the air, barely missing him. The sheer heat of it singed his cloak. Kian, MOVE! He pushed forward, leaping onto a crate, then to a balcony, scrambling up the wall like a wild animal.

The moment his feet touched the rooftop, he kept running. Below, the Magi shouted orders, their voices sharp with anger. But they were too slow. Kian disappeared into the night, his breath ragged, his pulse wild.

He had failed to take the relic. But he had survived. And next time—He would be ready.

Kian returned to the hidden chamber just before dawn, his body aching, his clothes singed. The Ashen Fox sat waiting, watching him with unreadable eyes. "You were seen," he said simply. Kian nodded, still catching his breath. "You didn't get the relic."

Another nod. The Ashen Fox was silent for a long moment. Then—"Good." Kian blinked. "Good?" The Ashen Fox smirked. "You survived. You adapted. And most importantly, you learned." He leaned forward, amber eyes glinting. "Now, we make sure that next time… you do not fail."

Kian clenched his fists. He wasn't the same boy who had run for his life in the alleys of Eldrinth. He was learning. He was growing. And soon—He would be the one they feared.