A visceral snap echoed through the crag. Ren stood, breath shallow, a distorted haze of raw power shimmering for an instant around his outstretched hand. The chasm beast, a blur of shadow and sinew moments before, lay still, its head an impossible ruin, pulp and bone twisted into a grotesque, imploded mass.
Sir Kael, the knight who had stumbled into Ren’s solitude, watched, one hand pressed to the gash above his brow. Blood seeped between his fingers, dark against his weathered skin. His gaze, sharp and assessing, flickered from the mangled beast to Ren, a silent question in his eyes.
Truthfully, aiding this knight was a risk. If Kael returned to Veridia, even a casual mention of a powerful youth hidden in the Forgotten Crag could shatter Ren’s isolated peace. The spires, high above, cast long shadows of suspicion and fear. Ren knew the stories his mother had told.
Yet, instinct had compelled him forward. A guest, even an uninvited one, deserved protection within the meager bounds of his home. And the old knight, despite his wounds and the grim hunt he'd pursued, had maintained a quiet respect, a courtesy Ren found surprisingly grounding.
“Are you… well?” Ren's voice, usually a murmur, felt rough in the sudden quiet.
Kael didn't answer. His gaze had shifted, fixed on the felled beast. A strange tension coiled in his posture, a primal wariness. He edged back, hand moving slowly to the hilt of his blade.
“Watch out!” Kael’s shout ripped through the air.
There was no need for explanation. The headless body of the chasm beast shuddered. A sickly, pale green radiance, like liquid decay, began to pulse where its skull had been. Muscles rippled beneath its fur, then the entire mass surged upward, launching itself at Ren with renewed, unnatural speed.
Ren recoiled, a surge of adrenaline tightening his muscles. A sharp kick sent the charging mass tumbling. It rolled, furred and grotesque, dozens of meters across the broken ground of the crag. Yet, it seemed unharmed, the unholy glow growing brighter.
“Undead spirits,” Kael yelled, his voice strained, “they cannot be killed with physical strikes!”
“How, then?” Ren’s mind raced, trying to grasp this new horror.
“Fire or lightning!”
Following the urgent advice, Ren extended a hand. He focused, drawing on the raw, primordial energy of the Chasm's Echo within him, trying to ignite the beast. He felt the familiar thrum, a promise of power, but it fizzled, a wisp of smoke, nothing more. His raw ability, usually so potent, felt muted, disconnected.
Kael watched the failed attempt, a flicker of understanding dawning in his eyes. He’d seen Ren's raw display earlier. Now, he knew. It was Ren who had killed the beast initially. A wizard's instinct, untrained and terrifying.
Applied magic, directly to a magical creature, required causality, understanding, a practiced hand. This shepherd, clearly powerful beyond measure, possessed none of it.
“Don’t just light the fire,” Kael urged, pushing himself to a knee, “form it. Focus it. Then unleash it!”
Doubts must have gnawed at Kael, even as he spoke. Igniting a flame was one thing. Shaping it, projecting it with purpose, that was a skill requiring years of disciplined study in the spires. Yet, Ren had already proven himself an exception.
Ren closed his eyes, for just a breath. He thought of the slingshot his mother had carved for him, the familiar arc of a stone hurled with precision. His Chasm’s Echo wasn't fire, not truly. It was raw force, the twisting of reality itself. He could *make* it like fire. He could *throw* it.
He opened his eyes. A twisting, hungry corona of raw energy sparked above his hand. He focused, not on fire, but on *propulsion*, on *distortion*. The air around his hand warped. With a guttural cry, he thrust his arm forward, a gesture mirroring a rock flung into the wind. The churning energy detached, coalesced, and shot toward the undead beast.
It struck, not with an explosion, but with a searing, consuming embrace. The Chasm’s Echo, manifest as crackling, pale green flames, clung to the spirit body. The beast shrieked, a sound of agony that tore at the air, unnatural and piercing. It thrashed, rolling violently, desperate to extinguish the burning magic.
But the Chasm’s fire was relentless. It fed on the beast's spiritual essence, consuming its unholy magic as fuel. Kael’s attacks, physical and useless, had been brushed aside. Ren’s, however, tore at its very being. This energy, raw and uncontrolled, was clearly superior.
Ren poured more power into the flames, a chilling sensation of his own life force intertwining with the destructive force he wielded. His focus was absolute. The screams tapered, growing weaker, until with a final, choked wail, the spiritual energy enveloping the beast dissolved. The physical body, deprived of its animating force, disintegrated into ash and dust.
Both Ren and Kael exhaled, a ragged, shared sigh of relief.
“Is it… truly over now?” Ren asked, his voice hoarse.
“For now,” Kael confirmed, pushing himself to his feet. He pointed to the dissipating ash. “Absorb the lingering power. Unless you wish to encounter another spirit such as that.”
Absorbing magic. The words felt alien. Ren had never considered it. He stretched out a hand over the faint dust cloud, remembering Kael’s earlier advice, imagining inhaling something unseen. An aura, the same sickly green as the spirit body, pulsed, then streamed from the ash, drawn inexorably toward his palm.
A chilling sensation washed over him. It wasn't cold, not precisely. More like a profound, invading emptiness that simultaneously filled him. He felt something settle deep within his bones, a hum that resonated with his Chasm’s Echo. It was invigorating, intoxicating, yet profoundly unsettling. His body felt stronger, more alive, yet also subtly alien, transformed into something else.
The thrill was visceral, primitive. An eerie pleasure made his skin crawl, his entire body shiver.
“Is this… truly your first time absorbing magical power?” Kael asked, his voice laced with disbelief.
“Yes,” Ren managed, his voice a tremor.
“Unbelievable.” Kael shook his head. Magical power, he knew, typically grew slowly after its initial awakening. Significant growth usually came from absorbing the essence of defeated magical beasts or other mages. To display such raw, untamed power without even this fundamental knowledge…
Kael’s gaze sharpened, assessing Ren anew. Growth limits, he knew, were often proportional to innate magical power. Ren's potential, even untrained, was clearly extraordinary. His demeanor shifted, the casual familiarity of their earlier encounters replaced by a respectful, almost reverent tone. Kael cleared his throat.
“I have been quite disrespectful, young master. May I ask which house you belong to?”
Ren felt a flicker of discomfort. He couldn't articulate why, but he disliked this sudden shift, this unexpected deference. He didn’t want to see the old knight lower himself.
“Let’s tend to your wounds first,” Ren said, the words cutting through the sudden formality. “Then we can talk.”
Kael’s gash still bled. A dark, steady flow. Ren’s hut, spare but functional, held basic provisions for such things. Dried herbs, cloths cleaned until they were almost bandages. He pressed a poultice of crushed hemostatic herbs to the wound, wrapping it with strips of linen.
If only he could heal it instantly. His Chasm’s Echo could twist flesh, distort matter, but direct healing, restoring another’s body, demanded an immense, draining surge of power. To repair the knight’s torn scalp would likely consume every ounce of his energy, leaving him hollow.
“My apologies, young master,” Kael mumbled, wincing as Ren tightened the bandage. “To think I made someone as distinguished as you take on such a task.”
“I’ve told you,” Ren said, a hint of frustration in his tone, “I’m not ‘distinguished.’ Just a shepherd. A hermit from the Crag.” His gaze met Kael’s, a silent plea: *Don’t treat me like that.*
Kael held his stare for a moment, then sighed, a slight shake of his head. “Alright, alright,” he conceded, a faint smile touching his lips. “I’ll stop looking at you like that.”
A small, reluctant laugh escaped Ren, easing the tension. “Good.”
Kael shifted on the small stool, settling. “But tell me, why does one with such power, a true mage, live as a shepherd in this desolate place? I mean no disrespect to your life, but it hardly seems… fitting.”
The question was an echo of Ren’s own earlier inquiry to Kael. Ren couldn’t answer with the same quiet pride Kael had shown for his knightly duties. He felt no pride in shepherding. Only solitude, and the faint, ever-present burden of his power.
“It’s… a long story.” Ren began to speak, his voice low, recounting his childhood, the quiet life in the Crag. He spoke of his mother, her warnings, the terrifying tales she’d spun of Veridia, the spires, and the ruthless Houses that ruled them. His awakening, a chilling tremor of power he barely understood, had only intensified her fears.
Kael listened, his expression somber, nodding slowly. “She was wise,” he finally said.
“You think so?” Ren asked, a flicker of surprise in his voice. He’d expected Kael, a knight, a man of the spires, to dismiss his mother’s fears as paranoia, to paint Veridia as a bastion of order.
“About twenty years ago,” Kael began, his gaze distant, “my House, Ironwood, went to war with House Obsidian. Three thousand Ironwood knights marched. Over nine hundred were slaughtered.”
“Nearly a third,” Ren murmured, a cold dread creeping into him.
“The truly unfortunate part,” Kael continued, his voice rough with remembered pain, “everyone I knew. My two closest friends. My wife. My son. All among that third. Only I survived.”
Kael’s face was etched with an emotion so profound, so devastating, Ren struggled to comprehend it. It was a sorrow deeper than anything he had ever known, perhaps even surpassing the hollowness left by his own mother’s passing. He remained silent, allowing the weight of Kael’s words to settle.
After a long, heavy pause, Kael visibly brightened his expression, pulling himself from the depths of his memory. “Your mother was wise, yes. The life of a knight, a warrior, is often more fleeting, more fragile, than a commoner’s. But there was one thing she was wrong about.” His gaze locked on Ren. “The talent you possess, young master, it far exceeds that of a mere knight.”
“Does it?” Ren felt a strange mix of disbelief and a nascent thrill.
“It’s a little embarrassing to say this, in my current state.” Kael gestured to his bandaged head. “But I am a knight of considerable skill. And yet, you easily defeated a beast that even I would have struggled against. You did it without even properly understanding, or absorbing, its power.” Kael paused, took a sip of the goat’s milk Ren offered, then made his declaration.
“That level of ability, untrained as it is, qualifies you as a noble. Not merely one of the lower Houses, but a mage whose power would be coveted even by the high Houses of Veridia.”
The words hung in the air, surreal, almost meaningless to Ren. His mother’s warnings, his entire life’s understanding, told him otherwise. Perhaps Kael was simply overestimating him.
“My mother said my father was a knight,” Ren stated, the old, familiar story. “Could she have lied?”
“Exceptions exist. Not all children born to tall parents are tall, or to strong parents, strong. Sometimes, a noble-level mage is born from common stock. Or a knight from a noble line. These cases are rare, but they happen.” Kael explained. “The world is not always so simple.”
Ren thought of the villagers below the crag. The carpenter and his wife, both short, had a towering second son. A son who, coincidentally, bore a striking resemblance to the burly woodcutter across the valley.
“For that reason, I believe it would be better for you to go down from this Crag.” Kael’s voice was firm.
“Why?” Ren asked, his heart thrumming.
“Humanity needs more nobles, more knights. We are not yet the true rulers of this world. Chasm beasts, and the various non-human races pushed aside by the gods in ancient times, they bide their time, waiting for another chance to rise. And meanwhile, the Houses squabble, waging pointless wars against each other. A strong, virtuous noble like you, even if it’s just one more, is desperately needed.”
Non-human races. Beings Ren had only heard of in his mother’s oldest, most fanciful tales. To him, they were as unreal as gods or demons. But in the world of the spires, they were a tangible, terrifying threat.
“Besides,” Kael added, his voice softer, “it is a shame to see a talent such as yours wasted here. You are not truly content, living as a shepherd, are you?”
Kael remembered. Ren’s evasiveness when asked that very question. Ren remained silent for a long moment, then gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod. He wasn’t content. Not truly.
“Your mother’s fears are understandable,” Kael pressed on, “but for someone like you, they are largely unfounded. Ordinary knights might be at risk, yes, but even the great Houses show a certain respect toward fellow nobles. And someone as powerful as you? There is no question.”
“So I don’t have to worry about being dragged off by some House against my will?” Ren’s voice was barely a whisper, the lifelong fear still clawing at him.
“As with all things in this world, there are no absolute guarantees.” Kael’s honesty was stark.
A torrent of thoughts, fears, and a nascent, thrilling desire flooded Ren’s mind. A part of him desperately wanted to believe Kael. Yet, the deep-seated fear of the spires, instilled by his mother, refused to vanish. These conflicting emotions waged a silent, heavy war within him.
Kael, ever patient, sat quietly on the bed, his bandaged head leaning against the rough-hewn wall, waiting. Minutes stretched into an eternity. Finally, Ren spoke, his voice low, filled with a reluctant determination.
“What could I gain, if I go down there?”
Kael smiled, reading the decision in Ren's words, a quiet triumph in his eyes. “That, young master, depends entirely on what you desire. Wealth. Fame. Power. Or perhaps… family, friendship, a truer purpose in the spires. The world, Ren Vayne, is vast and hungry. It awaits your answer.”