Chapter 9: Bound by Shadows

Silent dawn mist veiled the Abyssal Guild, laying an unearthly grey hue over halls and training grounds alike. Zephyr Crowne's silent footsteps against the fog-shrouded path he made his way on, led him toward the secluded clearing he had ordained as a meeting place with Lyra. Mira had been encouraging, but Zephyr knew exactly what Kieran had meant. He had watched the way Lyra handled the shadows, with a delicacy far beyond what brute talent was capable of touching upon: she was manipulating them as if they were some extension of her body.

There, with the coming of Zephyr, Lyra was in shadow, as if the night itself had risen from the ground and woven a cloak of life around her. Her gaze flashed up to his with bright, calculating curiosity; her mere presence near overwhelming in silent power projected from her.

"You're early," she said. Her voice was tinged with challenge, though beneath lay something more-unsaid respect.

"I'd never want to miss anything important of our training," Zephyr tried to put some brightness in his voice. Lyra nodded and beckoned him to stand beside her.

Now, she said, the principles of control. True control of the shadows is not manipulation but synergy-being one with the dark. The shadows-they don't lie outside your being." And with that, she lifted her hand allowed shadows to flow from her fingertips, weave into intricate patterns in the air-pulsating, alive. "Like this.

Zephyr nodded and began to concentrate on the shadow energy inside him. He reached out with his mind, letting the shadows bleed from him. They danced around him because he willed them to take shapes, but they quivered, wild and skittish. Harder, he clamped his teeth down and tried.

"Stop," Lyra said sharply. "Forcing is futile. Shadows don't obey under pressure; they respond to intention. You have to be calm, yet commanding."

Zephyr loosed his breath, loosing his hold on the shadows. The shadows soothed as quickly, coiling into a hard, rhythmically pulsating shape in his hand—a short sword, dark, with keen edges. There now, like the pulse of a heart, it joined him to the Abyss.

"Better," Lyra said, low, her eyes aglow with approval. "You have it in you, Zephyr. All the same, if you would master the shadows, you must learn what that costs. Each time you call upon the Abyss, something goes with it: energy, emotion, or a piece of yourself. And there's a question if one will let it take it.

They hung there, in the air, unbalancing, echoing. He had never been immune to the pull of the Abyss, its hunger tugging at his soul. Yet to hear Lyra voice it brought home to him that he was not alone with the weight.

"I am ready," he said, and his tone veiled an undercurrent of doubt. Lyra grasped it; her piercing gaze refused to blink.

"Good. Then we shall proceed with something a little more advanced," she said, stepping back. "I will demonstrate to you how to call a shadow entity—a wraith."

Zephyr's heart quickened at the prospect. Wraiths were dangerous even to their summoners. One misstep, and the wraith might turn and consume its creator.

Whatever you see or feel, keep your focus, Lyra said, for the shadows will tempt you. It is not for them to define you.

She raised her hand, and the shadows curled-twisting, thickening as if to her will. In a matter of seconds they took form: a humanoid figure with limbs too long, eyes hollow, that stood mute at her side. And the wraith moved. As it did, the shadows everywhere seemed to deepen, drawn to it as to some dark vortex.

"Your turn," she ordered, stepping back to watch.

Zephyr swallowed hard and emulated her air, his eyes closing to focus. The Abyss stirred inside him, a spur urging him on, fuelling his ambition as surely as it fuelled his fear. He focused on the wraith-shape, presence then called his energy into it. The shadows writhed, billowed, and in a few heartbeats, a wraith was beginning to take form.

It hovered before him, an avatar of himself in shadow. Zephyr felt an unnerving familiarity with it, a semblance of his most concealed doubts and desires, amplified by the Abyss. The dead stare of the wraith seemed to flash him with glimpses of his past, his regrets, his darker impulses. He shivered, yet stood his ground.

"That's it," Lyra whispered low, barely audible. "You're close. Now, command it.

Zephyr reached with his mind, his will fastening in the wraith's being. Obey me, he willed silently as the link built and his will conquered the dark energy. And so the wraith nodded, its silent submission, its form now coalesced, loyalty attached to him.

"You've done it," said Lyra, a flicker of pride bursting through her largely impassive exterior. "This isn't easy to do. But remember-wraiths are merciless. They make everything inside you worse. Do not weaken, or it will turn on you."

Zephyr nodded-an instant willing the wraith to break apart, its body melting back into the shadows. A wave of weariness pulled him down, but a heartbeat later elation tumbled hard on the heels of that emotion, and for the first time he felt a semblance of true mastery over the shadows.

"You're not just talented, Zephyr," Lyra went on to say, "you are driven. I have watched you fight, watched you push yourself. But that very drive can be your greatest strength or your undoing.

The words cut a little too close to home than he liked. He knew Lyra was right; he'd given in more than once to the temptation of the Abyss' power. He could feel its whisperings now, seducing him with promises of unlimited power.

"I won't let that happen," he promised, his gaze as he looked at her so firm she nodded.

"Good," she said, tugging upwards one of those rare smiles. "Then you just might survive this after all.".

By the time they were done and split in their respective directions, some bizarre buoyancy had leeched the weight of exhaustion off Zephyr's shoulders. For tonight, he was more powerful, certain-but no longer alone. That would be enough. The way ahead was dangerous, but he'd walk it, armed with shadows, ambition-and the ties he was beginning to forge.

Chapter 10: First Test

Zephyr Crowne stood before the great stone chamber, his heart racing with excitement towards the thick oaken doors marking the Guild's main training hall. Called upon here for the first real test as a Conduit-after the intensive training with Mira and Lyra, after so many hours practicing his skills of manipulating shadows-finally that day had come. He would cross today beyond plain practice into that arena of mercy where Conduits proved themselves worthy-or not.

The heavy doors groaned open, and Zephyr stepped inside. It was a chamber of grey stone, tall pillars lined with flickering torches casting eerie light over the room. In the centre, beneath an unreadable display of a sigil swirled through Arcane and Abyssal energies which had been etched into the stone flooring, Kieran stood cross-armed, his chest heaving in his seriousness. Unreadable. OFF A few other Conduits, Initiates and members alike, stood around him observing quietly. He could see Mira standing near the edge, her face tight with anticipation.

"Welcome, Zephyr," Kieran's low even voice rumbled in the chamber. "Today, you shall undergo your first test as an Initiate of the Abyssal Arcana. It is not an exercise nor friendly sparring. You shall be tried by strength, control, and capability to resist the lures of the Abyss."

Zephyr nodded. Every word fell into him, a lead block. He had been forewarned of the unpleasantness, but to actually hear it in this chill, old hall was a whole new threat.

Kieran nodded toward the small side door. From it, an older Conduit emerged, draped in dark, ethereal robes, which reflected wisdom and power behind her eyes. Her voice came across calm but sent chills down his bones.

Thus, the trial goes something like this: in this very room resides an Abyssal relic-a shard pulsating with raw chaotic energy. You shall have to bear that onslaught of its power and channel that into amplifying your shadow abilities. That will also be a test of not only your mastery but also your willpower.

Her hand was outstretched, and in her palm Zephyr saw something that looked like some dark, twisted gem, all but alive, throbbing to a strange rhythm. From it emanated something cold as ice, crackling the air itself, as if sipping in the light.

"Remember, this artifact will try to unsettle you," she added. "The Abyss does not like being wielded by mortals, and it will test your resolve. Fail, and you might lose yourself in its grasp. Do you accept the risk?"

Zephyr swallowed hard but nodded. "I do."

"Then step forward," Kieran commanded, his tone a steady anchor.

Zephyr stepped to the middle of the room, under the sigil, and closed his eyes, composing himself. The elder Conduit placed the relic in his hands, and the moment his hand-skin came in contact with it, a bitter chill ran across him, deep inside his core. Like plunging deep into some black, dark sea where every fear, every doubt, all shadowed parts of himself swirled around him.

"Focus, Zephyr!" Kieran's voice ripped through the tempest in his mind. "Don't fight the power, guide it. Shape it as you would your own."

He reached deep inside himself with a shaking breath and called the shadows to him. He allowed the Abyssal energy to flow through him, felt it thread in with his own power. The shadows responded, thickening, taking on solid form around his hands, but with them came the weight, the despair, and he felt the beginning of the same seductive whispers he'd heard so many times before.

Submit, and I shall make you unstoppable, "it hissed, the words falling with promise. Then, his doubts furiously mounted, magnified by the power of the relic, and he saw flashes: his family torn from him, an invasion that had ravaged his village. He saw himself, powerless, weak against tides which had crashed upon the shores of those he cared for. The image taunted him-twisted by the Abyss into a distorted reminder of his pain.

No, Zephyr whispered, his fist clenched as he willed the shadows-obeying not his fears-to obey him. I am not going to be haunted any longer by the past. I'm far stronger than to let that happen to me now.

The shades quivered, indecisive, weighing his words, and he did not budge. Mira's assurance, Lyra's sternness, Kieran's prudence-they held him firm as he resisted the darkness, his decision set in concrete: He was not alone, and that was a fact. He had allies-friends who believed in him and who had witnessed his struggle yet had come out to support him.

He breathed out slowly, the confused flailing of the relic coalescing into a spear of darkness amidst his ragged exhalation. Inside that spear, he felt the wraith-like presence of such might contained to grant his will strength.

"That's it, Zephyr," Kieran whispered. "Channel it. Allow the shadows to become but an extension of your soul."

One glittering instant, Zephyr was drunk with the rush of triumph; the next, the Abyss fought back. The spear in his hand began to shudder with the growing need to lash out, at anything around him. Stronger and stronger, the whispers went: give in, they whispered; let chaos loose, let the world know how it feels.

His hand convulsed around the spear, and his breathing shallowed as he felt tendrils of corruption crawling in, trying to overwhelm him.

"Focus, Zephyr!" Mira's voice sliced through the storm and was like a line to reach out and anchor to. "Do not let it take over. It is nothing compared to your strength.

Her words had been the spark in his chest as his will re-illumed, and he gritted his teeth, forcing the Abyss back down, containing the dark once more inside the spear. Slowly, painfully, he mastered it, breathing deeply as he centered himself.

At last, he stood, the spear of shadows steady in his hands, his heart pounding with both exhaustion and triumph.

"Well done," the elder Conduit said-a respectful tinge to her tone. "You have passed the first test."

Zephyr lowered the spear, letting the shadows dissipate as he released the energy of the Abyssal. The relic grew cold-lifeless-in his hands as its dark influence receded.

Panteing, Kieran stepped forward, breaking his normally granite expression into a slight smile. "I did expect your success, but not with such resolve. Few can conjure the Abyss with that much restraint."

Zephyr looked up; pride and relief cascaded over him. "Thank you, Kieran. And…thank you all," he added, nodding at Mira, who nodded back with a beaming smile.

The older Conduit retrieved the relic, her eyes now pensive. "You hold promise, Zephyr, but also never forget the nature of the Abyss. It will tempt you again, and with each time, it will be harder to resist. Remember for what you fight and whom for.

He nodded, the words seared into his brain like hot irons. The Abyss was a double-edged sword: a power that could protect or consume him.

"You are dismissed, Zephyr," Kieran said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Take some time to recover. You'll need it for what comes next."

For this, Mira scrambled up to him, her eyes aglow with pride and relief. "Zephyr, that was so cool! I knew you'd be able to do it."

"Thanks, Mira," he said-the glow in his chest made the residual chill of the relic dull.

With that, out into the sun he stepped; in an instant, Zephyr could not but feel this cloak of newfound confidence mantle itself upon his shoulders. It is the first time he really feels he has earned a place within these Guild walls. For every triumph is the sure knowledge this is only a beginning-the Abyss will return again, forging resolutions and tempting at every turn.

They walked toward Guild quarters, down a twisting path. Mira leaned an elbow against him, the sparkle in her eye playful. "Think you're ready for another test tomorrow?"

Zephyr laughed, shaking his head. "After today, I could use a little rest first.