Whispers of the forgotten

Chapter Six - Birth of the Ethereal Shadow

Weeks passed in the academy, filled with an air of tension and anticipation. The halls buzzed with whispers about class selection. Students speculated which abilities would align with their aetheric energies. Standing in the training grounds, Morpheus listened quietly, his void-like black eyes fixed on nothing in particular.

"I want to become a warrior," one student declared confidently.

"I'm aiming to be a seer," another said with a mysterious smile.

Morpheus, however, remained silent. He had no interest in these discussions. His mind was focused on the imminent moment of truth: the selection of his class—a decision that would shape his entire future.

---

In a large hall at the academy's center, the instructor stood before the students, his voice sharp and authoritative:

"Classes reflect the depths of your souls. Some are common, like the Warrior and the Berserker, relying on brute strength. Others are rare, such as the Seer, who glimpses hidden truths and foretells what lies ahead."

He paused, his tone growing darker.

"But there are classes so rare they appear only once every few centuries. These are burdens, not blessings. Their power is extraordinary, but it comes at a cost."

The students exchanged anxious glances, but Morpheus kept his gaze steady on the instructor. It felt as though the words were meant for him alone.

---

The Selection - Ethereal Shadow

When Morpheus's turn came, he stepped into the Aether Circle. A chill swept through the room as soon as he entered. Closing his eyes, he let his energy intertwine with the circle's power.

The shadows around him began to writhe, pulsing as if alive. Whispered voices echoed faintly through the hall. Suddenly, an ethereal crown of darkness formed above his head, glowing faintly before vanishing.

Opening his eyes slowly, Morpheus heard the teacher announce, his voice filled with awe:

"Morpheus... your class is the Ethereal Shadow. One of the rarest ever known."

Gasps rippled through the hall. Even the teacher seemed taken aback. But Morpheus showed no reaction, as though he had already known this would be his fate.

---

Training in the Ethereal Shadow Class

After his selection, Morpheus began rigorous training under a seasoned mentor, an old man well-versed in rare classes. They trained in a dark chamber designed to amplify his powers.

"Your abilities are not tools, but reflections of your soul," the mentor explained. "Shadows are not static. They shift, evolve, and respond to your emotions. But beware—overusing them can consume you."

Morpheus started mastering:

Shadow Veil: The ability to blend into the shadows and become completely invisible.

Shadow Blades: Forging razor-sharp weapons from shadows, controlled by his mind.

Shadow Step: Short-distance teleportation using shadows as gateways.

Although the training was grueling, Morpheus excelled with an almost eerie proficiency. He moved through shadows like they were an extension of himself, controlling them with precision and instinct.

---

Entering the Third Dream

Once the training phase concluded, the time arrived for the Third Dream. The instructor gathered the students in the academy's main courtyard to prepare them.

"The Third Dream isn't merely a test of strength; it challenges your willpower, intellect, and mental resilience. You'll face a labyrinth divided into three levels, each teeming with increasingly dangerous creatures. Remember, as Aetherial initiates of the first rank, survival will require your utmost focus."

He gestured toward the dark, foreboding walls of the dream circle.

"In the first level, you'll encounter the Black Ichor. It isn't just a monster—it manifests as reflections of your fears and regrets. If you aren't careful, it will consume you entirely."

---

Level One - The Black Ichor

When Morpheus entered the labyrinth, an unnatural cold crept into his bones. The walls oozed a thick black liquid that pooled and writhed like living shadows. As he advanced, the ichor began to take shape, forming a face—a face he recognized all too well.

"Morpheus..." it whispered, mimicking the voice of his fallen friend. "Why did you leave me?"

But Morpheus, his void-like eyes devoid of emotion, stood firm.

"You're not real," he stated calmly, his voice cutting through the illusion.

With a swift motion, he summoned a Shadow Blade and struck the figure, shattering it into formless mist.

As he moved deeper into the labyrinth, he saw other students ensnared by the ichor, their minds fractured and their souls being drained. One of them, barely clinging to life, reached out to him, their voice trembling with desperation:

"Help me... please..."

Morpheus knelt briefly, his expression unreadable.

"I'm sorry... this is the world we live in."

Standing, he turned away, leaving behind the cries of despair as he pushed forward through the darkness.

---

Triumph Over Level One

Despite the mental toll, Morpheus pressed on, dispelling the ichor manifestations with precise strikes and unyielding resolve. When he finally reached the end of the first level, his body bore minor wounds, but his spirit remained unbroken.

He paused, glancing back at the dark corridors.

"This is just the beginning," he muttered to himself. "But no matter the cost, I'll see it through."

---

The Crown of Madness

That night, after the first level, Morpheus drifted into a strange dream. He found himself standing in a vast, shadowy hall. At its center sat a glowing black crown, pulsating with an ominous light and whispering incomprehensible words.

"Morpheus..." the voices cooed. "Shadow and madness are your destiny. Choose wisely."

He awoke abruptly, his breath ragged and his hands trembling.

"What is this madness?" he whispered. But deep within, he sensed it wasn't just a dream—it was a forewarning.

---

Fate of the Fallen

The following day, the remaining students regrouped, but their numbers had dwindled. Some had not survived the Black Ichor, their minds and souls consumed.

Standing amidst the survivors, Morpheus glanced at the empty spaces where his fallen peers should have been. His expression was impassive, but a storm of thoughts churned within him.

"Strength alone isn't enough," he thought. "This world spares no one—not the weak, not the strong. Survival demands more than power; it demands sacrifice."

---

Thus, Morpheus stood ready for the next challenge, his resolve hardened, his shadows growing darker, and his fate inching closer to the unknown.