The bruises from the fight with Alden had barely faded, but Raine didn’t have the luxury of rest. Even now, as he stood at the edge of the training hall, he could feel the shift in the air. It wasn’t exhaustion. It wasn’t even the lingering weight of the Abyss pressing at the back of his mind. It was something worse.


    Ezren stood in the center of the chamber, arms folded, watching him with a gaze that cut deeper than words. Raine had learned by now that Ezren never wasted time on empty conversation—if he was looking at him like this, it meant something.


    Finally, Ezren spoke. “You’re progressing too fast.”


    Raine frowned. “Isn’t that a good thing?”


    Ezren exhaled sharply, pacing a few steps before turning back. “No. Growth like this isn’t natural. Even Weavers who refine their magic through years of training don’t adapt as quickly as you have. The way you fought Alden—” He shook his head. “You shouldn’t have been able to suspend and redirect magic that precisely, not at this stage.”


    Raine crossed his arms, resisting the urge to shift under the scrutiny. “I thought that was the point. Isn’t that what we’ve been training?”


    Ezren’s gaze darkened. “I’ve been teaching you control. What you did against Alden wasn’t control.”


    Raine stiffened. “Then what was it?”


    Ezren stepped closer, his expression unyielding. “Instinct.” His voice lowered. “And that’s not a good thing.”


    A chill ran down Raine’s spine.


    Ezren folded his arms. “The Abyss doesn’t just pull things apart. It remembers. Every time you reach into it without restraint, it isn’t just you shaping your power.” His voice sharpened. “It’s the weight of everything that’s ever fallen into it, pressing back.”


    Raine clenched his jaw. “I wasn’t out of control.”


    Ezren’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Not this time. But how long before it isn’t you making the choices?”


    Silence stretched between them.


    Ezren turned toward a far wall where a set of scrolls lay scattered atop an old desk. He ran a hand over one of them, his fingers trailing the delicate, half-faded script. “The last person to wield the Abyss like you… burned a kingdom to the ground.”


    Raine’s breath hitched.


    Ezren didn’t look at him as he continued. “Not on purpose. Not because they wanted to.” His fingers clenched against the parchment. “They lost control. They thought they were in control—right up until the moment they weren’t.”


    He turned back to Raine. “They unraveled everything. Themselves included.”


    Raine swallowed hard. He had always known his power was dangerous, but this was different. This wasn’t just about fighting. It wasn’t about being hunted. It was about the power itself. What it wanted.This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    Ezren stepped forward again, his expression set in stone. “That’s why you can’t rely on instinct. You don’t get the luxury of losing yourself to it, not even for a second.”


    Raine inhaled sharply, his fingers twitching at his sides. “Then what am I supposed to do? Hold back forever?”


    Ezren shook his head. “No.” He tapped the scroll. “You refine it. You shape it like a blade, instead of letting it shape you.”


    Raine exhaled slowly.


    Ezren studied him for a long moment, then finally nodded, as if reaching a decision. “Kael will handle the physical training—he’s the only one who can.”


    Raine frowned. “Why?”


    Ezren smirked. “Because I need you alive.”


    The door to the chamber burst open before Raine could ask anything else. One of the Weaving Society’s scouts stumbled inside, his breath ragged, his clothes torn and soaked in blood. He wasn’t just wounded—he was dying.


    Ezren caught him before he collapsed. The scout’s hands trembled, fingers clutching weakly at Ezren’s sleeve. His lips parted, and he forced out two hoarse words.


    “They know.”


    The air in the room froze.


    Ezren stiffened. Raine felt his stomach twist into knots.


    The scout’s body shuddered once, then went still. Dead.


    A heavy silence filled the room. No one moved. Then Ezren exhaled sharply, laying the man down with careful hands before standing. His face was unreadable, but Raine could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers curled into a fist at his side.


    He turned to Raine. “You don’t get to ease into this anymore.”


    Kael arrived that evening. Raine hadn’t seen him in weeks—had started to wonder if he had abandoned the Weaving Society altogether. But when the doors opened and Kael strode inside, his expression grim, Raine knew immediately that wasn’t the case.


    Ezren gestured toward Raine without preamble. “He’s still raw. His magic is evolving faster than we expected, but his control is nowhere near where it needs to be.”


    Kael glanced at Raine, studying him like a puzzle he was still trying to solve. “Not surprising.”


    Raine frowned. “I’ve been training.”


    Kael snorted. “You’ve been learning to use a tool. That’s not the same as knowing how to wield it under pressure.”


    Raine bristled, but Ezren cut in before he could snap back. “That’s why you’re here.”


    Kael gave him a sharp look. “You want me to be the one to train him?”


    “You trained him before,” Ezren said simply. “And when the Arcanum comes, it won’t just be mages he’s facing.”


    Kael sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “You always pull me into the worst jobs.”


    Ezren smirked. “That’s why I trust you with them.”


    Kael shook his head before turning back to Raine. “Fine. We start now.”


    The shift was immediate. Kael wasn’t Ezren. He didn’t lecture. He didn’t give Raine time to think about mistakes. The first moment Raine raised his sword, Kael struck with a force that nearly knocked him off his feet.


    Raine barely managed to recover in time to block. His stance was sloppy, his reaction too slow. Kael twisted, striking again. This time, Raine ducked. Good. Then Kael’s foot slammed into his ribs, sending him sprawling.


    Raine groaned, rolling to his feet. “You’re enjoying this.”


    Kael shrugged. “I won’t always be around to save you, kid.”


    Raine gritted his teeth, forcing himself to focus. He had to move faster. React quicker. Kael wasn’t just trying to beat him—he was forcing him to adapt. He lunged forward, swinging his blade in a feint. Kael sidestepped—just as Raine had expected.


    For the first time, Raine was the one controlling the pace.


    Kael’s eyes flickered with something like approval.


    But Raine wasn’t just focused on the fight anymore. He could feel it again. The Abyss. Not as a force trying to consume him, but as something waiting at the edges, watching.


    The same sensation he had felt when he had fought Alden. The same pull. Not destruction. Control.


    And then Kael was moving again, pressing forward. Raine blocked, adjusting his stance, reading the rhythm of the fight. Kael was still better. He was faster, more experienced. But for the first time, Raine wasn’t just reacting.


    He was choosing.


    The fight lasted longer than Raine expected. He lost—but not as quickly as before. And Kael?


    He looked almost impressed.