The Forsaken Heir

For now.

The thought lingered in Lorian's mind over the next few days as the camp around him buzzed with activity. His life fell into a relentless routine, each hour filled with a different task, bringing him closer to fully understanding the power now at his fingertips.

For the past three days, Lorian's mornings began with Sergeant Quinn's brutal PT drills. Burpees, sprints, push-ups—Quinn ensured no moment of reprieve. The unforgiving routine left his muscles sore and his body drenched in sweat by mid-morning, but Lorian welcomed the exhaustion. It was a distraction, a way to keep his mind from wandering to the darker corners of his thoughts.

By midday, when the sun was high, he turned his focus toward his light magic. Alone, he practiced away from prying eyes, honing his control and pushing his limits. Where once his light spells had flickered and faltered, now they surged with purpose. Summoning orbs of light, shaping them into shields, bolts, and beams of energy became second nature. Each session left him stronger, more precise.

The logs set up for training cracked and splintered under the force of his magic. What used to require immense focus now felt natural, as though his body had been waiting for this power to be unlocked. By the second day, his control over the light had grown to the point where he could send out beams of light with surgical precision, striking targets dead center with each shot.

But it was the nights that truly tested him.

When the first night fell, Lorian slipped away from the camp under the guise of patrol. His true goal was more clandestine—an opportunity to explore his newfound shadow magic. The cool night air brushed against his skin as he entered the quiet forest, away from the watchful eyes of his comrades. This was where he could experiment without interruption.

He stood beneath a canopy of trees, trying to tap into the shadows that seemed to dance just out of reach. His hands trembled with the unfamiliar weight of darkness, the cold energy prickling at his skin but refusing to be tamed. It felt nothing like the light, which came to him naturally now, bending to his will with ease. The shadows, in contrast, were slippery, elusive.

Shadows are elusive, Lysara’s voice echoed in his mind. You must coax them, not command them. They are drawn to the quiet places—the forgotten corners where light dares not tread.

Lorian gritted his teeth, trying again. He raised his hand, willing the shadows to take shape, to form into something tangible. But each time he reached for them, they dissipated into nothingness, slipping through his fingers like smoke. His frustration mounted with every failed attempt, beads of sweat forming on his brow despite the cool air around him.

"You can’t just grab them, Lorian," Lysara purred, her tone filled with amusement. "You’re too rigid, too focused. Shadows don’t respond to brute force; they move with grace and subtlety."

After hours of failure, his arms ached, and his head pounded. The shadows still danced beyond his reach, mocking him with their elusiveness. Lorian slumped against a tree, feeling drained both mentally and physically.

"Maybe I’m just not cut out for this," he muttered under his breath, fatigue creeping into his voice.

Lysara’s laughter echoed softly, teasing yet encouraging. You’re not failing. You’re learning. Rest for now—you’ve made some progress, whether you realize it or not.

Reluctantly, Lorian relented, leaving the shadows behind as he trudged back to camp. His body ached, and his mind buzzed with frustration, but deep down, a flicker of determination remained. Tomorrow, he would be ready to try again.

The second day passed in a blur of drills, practice, and relentless focus. By nightfall, Lorian returned to the same forest clearing, his muscles sore from another day of grueling training, but his resolve unshaken. He wasn’t going to give up.

This time, instead of forcing his will upon the shadows, Lorian took a different approach. He closed his eyes and let himself relax, breathing deeply as the night air filled his lungs. He didn’t try to control the shadows—he opened himself to them, letting them come to him.

It worked.

Tendrils of darkness coiled up from the ground, wrapping themselves around his arms and legs like serpents. Lorian opened his eyes and watched in awe as the shadows followed his movements, no longer resisting him. The feeling was unlike anything he had experienced before—a quiet power that whispered rather than roared.

"Much better," Lysara said approvingly. See? You’re already learning how to guide them. You’re finally moving with the shadows instead of against them.

He spent hours shaping the darkness into different forms. He crafted crude blades from the shadows, watched them flicker in and out of shape, and even managed to form a small shield. Though the forms were unstable, the progress was undeniable. Each success filled him with a growing sense of exhilaration.

Meanwhile, Lysara observed him closely, her tone still teasing but with a hint of pride. He’s progressing faster than I thought. Give him a direction, and he clears mountains.

By the end of the night, Lorian was drenched in sweat, but his heart raced with excitement. He wasn’t just grasping at smoke anymore—he was shaping the very fabric of darkness. His connection to the shadows had strengthened, and the once-elusive power now felt like something he could master.

When the third night arrived, something felt different. Lorian’s earlier frustrations had faded, replaced by a growing confidence. He had spent the day honing his light magic to perfection, but as the night unfolded, his thoughts turned entirely to the shadows.

Returning to the forest clearing, he felt a familiar tug as the shadows seemed to gather around him in anticipation. They no longer resisted him as they had on the first night; instead, they swirled around him like an obedient pack, waiting for direction.

But tonight, Lysara’s tone shifted. Gone was the playful teasing—her voice now carried a note of seriousness, a command masked as guidance. Light and shadow together, she said, her voice firm. You’ve proven you can handle both on their own. Now, it’s time for something more. Channel them both through your mark.

Lorian hesitated, his heart pounding. "Light and shadow are opposites," he said, uncertainty lacing his words. "Can they even coexist?"

You’ll find they can, Lysara replied softly, her voice soothing yet insistent. You’re ready. Trust the mark—let it guide you.

Taking a deep breath, Lorian closed his eyes and reached for both forces within him. He felt the warmth of the light, steady and strong, contrasting sharply with the cold, slippery tendrils of shadow. For a moment, the two energies clashed within him, battling for dominance. His body tensed, his mind reeling from the intensity.

Then, something shifted.

The mark on his wrist flared, a sharp burn radiating from it. The light and shadow didn’t repel each other as he’d feared. Instead, they intertwined, weaving together like threads in a tapestry. Lorian gasped as the air around him pulsed with energy, the ground trembling beneath his feet.

Before him, a dark shape began to form, rising from the merging energies. At first, it was formless, a swirling mass of light and shadow. But as Lorian’s control stabilized, the figure took shape—a sleek black cat with glowing red eyes.

The cat stretched, arching its back before sitting neatly at Lorian’s feet, its crimson eyes gleaming with amusement.

"Surprised?" Lysara’s voice purred in his mind. This is my familiar form. You’ve summoned me through the mark—light and shadow together.

Lorian blinked in disbelief. "You... can take this form?"

The cat padded around him, its tail flicking lazily. It’s the only way I can manifest physically, she explained. The bond we share allows it. No one else could summon me without channeling both light and shadow together through the mark.

The cat—Lysara—leaped onto a nearby rock, sitting with regal poise as she surveyed the clearing. It feels good to be out for once. Watching your little dramas unfold from inside your mind is entertaining, but sometimes I enjoy my own space. She stretched luxuriously, her red eyes gleaming with satisfaction. You’ve done well, Lorian. But there’s more to learn.

For the rest of the night, Lysara guided him in his training, ensuring that his mastery over the shadows deepened. No longer did he feel as though he was grasping at something intangible. Now, the shadows bent to his will as easily as the light. With every strike, every shield he crafted from darkness, Lorian felt his control grow stronger.

But Lysara’s warning echoed in his mind: Control the shadows, or they will control you.

By the fourth morning, the camp was in a flurry of motion. Aldric had finally made the call to pack up. With the ruins now fully accessible, the research team would leave behind a skeleton crew of scholars and guards while the rest of the squad prepared for their return to the capital.

Lorian stood by his tent, packing up his gear. His muscles still ached from the relentless PT drills, but his mind was focused on the progress he had made with his magic. Both light and shadow felt more natural to him now, and with Lysara’s guidance, he was ready to push even further.

"You’ve been quiet the past few days," Nia’s voice broke through his thoughts. She approached, her own pack slung over her shoulder. "Everything okay?"

Lorian shrugged, hoping to brush off her question. "Just keeping busy. There’s a lot to train for."

Nia raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "Busy with what exactly? You’ve been disappearing a lot during patrols. More than usual."

Before Lorian could think of a way to deflect her probing questions, Ren appeared, his usual carefree grin plastered across his face as he slung an arm over Lorian’s shoulders.

"Hey, you know what’s really suspicious?" Ren jumped in, barely giving Nia time to react. "The fact that no one around here seems to know how to cook a decent meal! I swear, if I have to eat one more of those dried-out rations, I’m going to start hallucinating real food."

Nia sighed, clearly not buying the distraction. "Ren, that’s not exactly the mystery I was—"

"Oh, actually!" Lorian jumped in, sensing his chance to change the subject. "I, uh, found something while out on patrol the other night." He gestured subtly, and from behind the tent, Lysara padded into view in her cat form. Her sleek black fur gleamed in the sunlight, her red eyes glowing faintly.

Nia blinked in surprise. "You found... a cat?"

Lorian nodded, trying to sound casual. "Yeah. She’s been following me around since then. Guess she’s, uh... my new companion."

Ren’s eyes lit up, grinning widely as he looked at the cat. "Oh man, that’s awesome! What’s her name? Oh, oh, I know—Shadow! Perfect name for a sneaky cat, right?"

Lysara’s voice hissed in Lorian’s mind, sharp as a dagger: I dare you to call me something so ridiculous. I’ll make sure you regret it.

Lorian resisted a wince. "Actually... I already named her."

"Oh?" Ren tilted his head. "Well, don’t keep us in suspense!"

Lorian cleared his throat, trying to act nonchalant. "Her name’s Lysara."

Nia looked between Lorian and the cat, an eyebrow raised. "Lysara? That’s... a little elaborate for a cat, don’t you think?"

Ren burst out laughing. "Elaborate? It’s downright royal! But hey, I like it. Lysara the cat. It fits, right?"

Lorian gave a tight smile, grateful for Ren’s easy acceptance. Nia still seemed curious, but for now, the conversation had been successfully diverted. Lysara, meanwhile, sat by Lorian’s feet, her red eyes gleaming with a mixture of amusement and mild irritation.

Nice save, Lysara’s voice echoed in his mind. But don’t get too comfortable. There’s still plenty of work to be done.

And as the camp bustled with activity around him, Lorian knew that whatever challenges awaited him back at the capital, he was ready. With his light and shadow magic under control, and with Lysara by his side, he was more prepared than ever to face the upcoming Grand Melee—where he would finally have the chance to unleash his full abilities.