Auren stepped forward, his boot sinking into the damp earth as he emerged from the Trial.

The air outside felt heavier. His breath came slow and steady, yet something inside him felt restless, coiled like a serpent waiting to strike.

He flexed his fingers, trying to understand the subtle shifts in his body. The Trial had changed him. He could feel it in the way his skin tingled, the way his heartbeat pulsed stronger . But more than that, there was something deeper. A power lingered within him.

Closing his eyes, he reached inward. A strange sensation flooded his senses—a whisper, a second self waiting beneath his skin. His fingers twitched involuntarily. A flicker, a shifting of his form—his own shape blurred for a fraction of a second before snapping back.

He gasped. The Shifting Mantle. It wasn’t just knowledge or instinct—it was an entirely new part of him. A fragment of another’s power waiting to be used.

But he wouldn’t. Not yet. Not unless he had no choice.

A rustle of movement drew his attention. His eyes snapped open as Rhett emerged from the Trial’s exit, breathless, shoulders heaving.

Lightning still crackled faintly along his arms before fading, his body thrumming with energy. Auren watched him, noting the difference, the way Rhett’s movements were sharper.

Auren exhaled and spoke at last.

"So. We made it."

Rhett looked at him, eyes flickering with something unreadable before breaking into a grin. "Yeah. Barely."

For a moment, neither spoke, only the whispering wind between them. Auren glanced back at the entrance they had stepped through, now fading like mist upon the air. Whatever had happened inside that place was done.

Auren frowned, flexing his hands. An idea struck him—a reckless, foolish one, but he had to know. He turned his gaze to Rhett, focusing on him, on his form, on his presence. The pull of the Shifting Mantle responded. His body shuddered.

For a brief second, his vision doubled, his muscles tensed, and his breath hitched—before the world snapped back into place.

Rhett’s eyes widened. "What the hell was that?"

Auren shook his head, gripping his knees as he steadied himself. "I… I think I just tried to shift into you."

Rhett took a wary step back. "Tried?"

Auren let out a short, breathless laugh. "Yeah. And failed."

Rhett studied him before smirking. "Next time, maybe give a guy some warning before you try wearing his skin."

Auren chuckled, shaking off the lingering unease. He didn’t know what had gone wrong, but one thing was clear, he still had a long way to go before he could master his power.

###

Auren and Rhett moved through the underbrush, their boots sinking into damp soil. The silence between them stretched, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the silence of thought, of settling into their new selves. Auren had tested his power, however briefly, but Rhett had yet to speak of his own trial.

Auren shot him a glance. “You’ve been quiet.”

Rhett exhaled sharply. “Just thinking.”

Auren waited, knowing Rhett well enough by now—he would talk when he was ready.

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Finally, Rhett ran a hand through his hair, his fingers crackling with residual static. “The Trial was… different than I expected. I thought it’d be about strength, you know? Fighting something, proving myself. But it wasn’t like that.”

Auren raised a brow. “Then what was it?”

Rhett’s gaze drifted toward the darkening sky. “A storm.”

Auren frowned. “A storm?”

Rhett nodded. “Not a battle. Not a test of endurance. Just… me, standing in the middle of this endless storm, lightning crashing all around. At first, I tried to fight it. Thought I had to push through, control it. But no matter what I did, the lightning didn’t listen.” He clenched his fists, small sparks dancing between his fingers. “It kept striking, tearing me apart. Again and again.”

Auren’s jaw tightened. “Sounds like a nightmare.”

Rhett smirked, but there was no humor in it. “Felt like one. But after a while, I realized—I wasn’t supposed to fight it. The storm wasn’t an enemy. It was… part of me. The more I struggled, the weaker I felt. But when I let go, when I let it run through me instead of resisting…” He flexed his fingers, and lightning flickered up his arm, coiling around his skin like a living thing. “I became the conduit. The storm didn’t control me, and I didn’t control it. We moved as one.”

Auren watched, noting the difference in Rhett’s power. It was smoother, more refined—not just raw energy, but something attuned. “So you learned to channel it,” he murmured.

Rhett nodded. “I learned to be part of it. Before, my lightning was wild, unpredictable. Now, it listens.” His gaze darkened. “But there was something else.”

Auren’s brow furrowed. “What?”

Rhett hesitated before speaking. “At the heart of the storm, I saw… something. A figure. It was blurred, like it was made of lightning itself, but it was watching me. I don’t know if it was part of the Trial, or if it was something else entirely.” His voice dropped. “And when I woke up, for just a second, I thought I still felt it. Watching.”

Auren didn’t reply right away. A presence lingering after the Trial? He thought back to his own experience—the strange pull, the whisper of something borrowed within him. He shook off the thought and met Rhett’s gaze. “Do you feel different?”

Rhett smirked. “Other than the fact that I might be haunted by a storm spirit? Yeah. Stronger. More… whole.”

Auren nodded. “Then it was worth it.”

Rhett rolled his shoulders, letting a last flicker of lightning dance across his knuckles before snuffing it out. "Yeah. But something feels off."

Auren followed his gaze toward the path ahead. The air was stilll. A heaviness settled in his gut—a quiet warning, unspoken but undeniable.

The silence was wrong.

Auren and Rhett had walked for nearly an hour, following the familiar trail back to their camp, yet the world felt… still. The trees no longer whispered with the wind. The usual hum of the forest—the distant chirr of insects, the rustle of unseen creatures—had vanished. The only sound was their footsteps pressing into the damp earth.

Rhett frowned, his fingers twitching with nervous energy. “Something’s off.”

Auren felt it too. A weight in the air, a suffocating stillness that sent unease crawling up his spine. “It’s too quiet.”

They picked up their pace, moving in near silence now, their instincts screaming caution. When they finally reached the clearing, their camp lay ahead—

—or what was left of it.

Auren’s breath caught in his throat. The fire pit was cold, smothered in dirt and ash. The tent, once neatly pitched, had collapsed, its fabric torn as if something—or someone—had ripped through it in a struggle.

A tree near the edge of the clearing was scarred with deep gashes, the bark torn open like a wound. And then, there was the blood.

Not a lot—just dark, scattered stains on the trampled grass. But it was enough.

“Corren.” Auren’s voice was barely a whisper.

Rhett moved first, his body tense. He kicked over a stray quiver—Corren’s. The leather was split, the arrows missing. Auren knelt, picking it up, his fingers tightening around the torn strap. Corren never left his weapons behind.

Never.

Rhett crouched by the nearest bloodstain, rubbing the dirt between his fingers. “It’s dry.”

Auren clenched his jaw. “Then this didn’t just happen.”

His heart pounded, his mind racing through possibilities. Corren wouldn’t just vanish. Not without a fight. The broken quiver, the gashes in the tree, the blood—something had happened here.

Rhett stood, scanning the area. “No bodies. No signs of where they went.” His voice was tight. “It’s like he was taken.”

Auren took a slow breath, forcing his thoughts into order. Corren was a warrior. If he had been captured, he wouldn’t have gone easily. And if he had fallen… there would be more blood. More destruction.

This wasn’t the aftermath of a single ambush—this was something planned.

Auren’s fingers dug into the leather of the broken quiver. “We need to find him.”

Rhett nodded. “Nearest town?”

“Willowshade,” Auren said. “About a day’s walk.”

Rhett adjusted the strap of his pack. “Then we head there.”

Auren cast one last glance at the ruins of their camp. The broken quiver, the torn tent, the bloodstains on the grass. Corren had been here. And now, he was gone.

He wasn’t dead. He couldn’t be.

Auren turned away, his grip tightening on his sword. “Let’s move.”

And without another word, they left the ruins behind, stepping into the unknown