The chamber was still, save for the distant trickle of water echoing through the stone walls. The air smelled of damp earth and old magic, the kind that lingered in places forgotten by time.


    Raine stood in the center, sweat dripping down his brow, his breath uneven. His body ached from the past hour of training—if what Ezren was putting him through could even be called training.


    The old man circled him like a wolf studying prey. His gaze wasn’t filled with impatience or disappointment, but something worse—expectation.


    "Again," Ezren commanded.


    Raine clenched his fists, focusing on the stone slab before him. It was old, cracked, but solid. Unyielding.


    He reached for the Abyss.


    It was always there, waiting beneath the surface. Not like Essence, which mages pulled from Realms beyond sight, but something deeper, something woven into the fabric of existence itself.


    He pulled.


    A ripple.


    The stone shuddered, fractures spreading through it like veins of ink spilled across paper.


    But then, something resisted.


    Raine gasped, his hold slipping. The cracks stopped midway, the stone trembling between existence and destruction.


    Ezren exhaled slowly. "You''re feeling it now, aren''t you?"


    Raine let out a shaky breath. He didn’t answer right away.


    Because he had felt it.


    It wasn’t like before, when his power simply consumed. This time, something in the world had pushed back.


    Ezren stepped closer, his voice calm but deliberate. "Do you know how normal magic works?"


    Raine frowned, wiping sweat from his forehead. "They draw Essence from Realms, shaping it into spells. Weavers take it further, refining that Essence into something stronger, lasting."Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.


    Ezren nodded. "Correct. The foundation of all magic is Essence. But there are rules to how it’s drawn, how it’s shaped. That’s why mages are classified based on their ability to refine it."


    Raine had heard about this before, but not in this much depth. He stayed quiet, listening.


    Ezren lifted a hand, weaving a simple flame into existence. It hovered above his palm, flickering with steady control.


    "This is how it works for them," he continued. "Mages pull from one of the Realms—Fire, Wind, Earth, Water, Shadow, Light, even the more obscure ones like Time or Blood. Gatherers, the weakest, can only pull small amounts, often unstable."


    He closed his hand, snuffing out the fire.


    "Weavers, like Kael, don’t just pull Essence. They shape it, manipulate it at its core. That’s why their spells don’t just exist in the moment—they can leave lasting effects, enchantments, curses, weapons. The strongest Weavers are called Anchors, because their magic becomes so deeply tied to reality that it no longer fades over time."


    Raine absorbed the information carefully. It made sense. Kael’s magic always seemed more precise, more structured.


    But…


    "That’s not how mine works," he murmured.


    Ezren smirked. "No. It’s not."


    Raine clenched his jaw. "Then what is it?"


    Ezren’s gaze darkened slightly. He didn’t speak right away.


    Instead, he gestured toward the stone slab. "Try again. But this time, instead of pulling—hold."


    Raine hesitated but obeyed.


    He reached, but this time, he focused on the feeling beneath the power.


    A ripple spread through the air.


    The stone trembled, the cracks forming again. But this time, they did not spread.


    Raine’s eyes widened. He could feel it—not just the stone, but the space around it.


    Ezren exhaled. "There it is."


    Raine’s hands trembled slightly. "What… what is this?"


    Ezren took a step closer, his expression unreadable.


    "Essence is drawn from the Realms. That’s what mages use," he said. "But you aren’t drawing from a Realm. You’re pulling from something beneath them."


    Raine felt his pulse quicken.


    Ezren continued, his voice quieter now. "You don’t consume Essence. You unravel the structure that holds it together. And that… shouldn’t be possible."


    Raine’s breath hitched.


    Ezren let the silence stretch before finally speaking again.


    "That’s why the Arcanum fears your kind."


    Raine swallowed hard.


    Ezren turned back toward the walls of the chamber, running a hand along the carvings. "You ever wonder why the Arcanum doesn’t just kill people like you outright?"


    Raine stiffened.


    Ezren’s fingers traced one of the sigils, his voice calm. "There’s a reason they don’t just execute you. A reason they go to such lengths to erase your kind instead of simply destroying them."


    Raine hesitated. "Why?"


    Ezren turned, meeting his gaze.


    "It’s because they know that killing you wouldn’t be enough."


    Raine’s heart pounded.


    Ezren watched him carefully. "You’re not a Void user, Raine. Void users consume. You do more than that."


    The words made his stomach twist.


    Ezren folded his arms. "If mages draw from the Realms, then what happens when you touch something beneath them?"


    The chamber was silent.


    Raine looked down at his hands, still trembling from the training.


    For the first time, he wasn’t afraid of what he had destroyed.


    He was afraid of what he had almost created.


    And the worst part?


    Somewhere deep inside… it had felt right.