The city stretched endlessly before us. We moved in silence, the weight of the last battle clinging to us like a second skin. The air carried a metallic tang, sharp and bitter, mingling with the faint stench of decay that lingered everywhere. I kept my sword drawn, my eyes darting to every flicker of movement, every shifting shadow.

The streets were paved with strange, cracked blackstone, lined with rusted remains of large metal contraptions—vehicles, Roran had called them. Twisted and broken, their frames seemed almost alive, as if their decay had been accelerated by the dark mana permeating this place. Towering structures loomed above us, their windows shattered and walls scarred with gashes that told of struggles long past. It was a world frozen in its final, desperate moments, and I couldn’t help but wonder what kind of lives had been lived here before the darkness consumed it.

Roran led us through the ruins, his steps steady and deliberate. The others followed close behind, their faces set in grim determination. Tarn and Jorik, the mages, exchanged wary glances, their exhaustion evident in the way they carried themselves. Dren trudged silently at the rear, his broad shoulders hunched under the weight of his shield. I stayed near the middle of the group, my sword ready in my hand, my thoughts heavy.

The atmosphere was oppressive, the dark mana clinging to everything. My limbs felt heavy, not just from exhaustion but from the sheer weight of this place. It wasn’t just in the air—it was in the ground, the walls, even the light. It seemed to feed on the silence, filling the void with a gnawing sense of unease.

We walked for what felt like hours, though it was impossible to tell time here. The dim, grey light filtered through cracks in the clouds, casting long shadows that danced unnaturally across the ruins. The farther we went, the worse the city became. Buildings leaned precariously, their supports eroded by time and darkness. The ground beneath us was cracked and uneven, with black veins of dark mana spreading like a plague.

“What do you think this place was?” I asked, breaking the silence.

Tarn glanced at me, his wiry frame tense as he scanned the surroundings. “A world, like ours,” he said simply, his voice devoid of curiosity. “Doesn’t matter now. The rift swallowed it whole.”

Jorik snorted, his scarred face twisting into a grimace. “This is what happens when you let the dark mana take root. No survivors. No second chances.”

I nodded, though their words offered little comfort. My gaze lingered on a crumbled statue at the center of a square we passed. Its face was worn away, its hands stretched upward in what looked like a plea. Around its base were piles of stones and debris, marked by time. The sight sent a chill down my spine.

Roran slowed his pace as we approached an intact building—a squat structure with faded markings on its walls. He raised a hand, signaling us to stop.

“We’ll rest here,” he said, his voice steady but low. “Everyone needs to recover their strength.”

The building was strange, unlike any I’d seen. Its walls were lined with rows of identical rectangular objects, some broken, others intact, all coated in a thick layer of dust. The furniture was scattered and overturned, but the room felt relatively secure. Roran and Dren moved through the space methodically, checking for threats while Jorik and Tarn slumped against the walls, catching their breath.

I lowered myself onto a piece of broken furniture, my legs screaming in relief. My mana reserves were nearly depleted, and my muscles ached with every movement. I leaned back, closing my eyes for a moment and prepared to gather mana.

Roran’s voice broke through the silence. “Kael. Come here.”

I pushed myself to my feet and walked over, my body protesting with every step. Roran stood near a window, his gaze fixed on the horizon where the dark mana seemed to pulse like a heartbeat.

“You’re relying too much on brute force,” he said without looking at me. “Your forms are good, but you’re burning through your mana too quickly. You need to learn control. Every form no matter what it is, consumes mana. You need to slow down.”

“I’m trying,” I said, frustration creeping into my voice. “But it’s not easy.”

“Nothing worth learning ever is,” he replied. He turned to face me, his grey eyes sharp. “Sit down.”

I did as he said, lowering myself onto the floor. Roran knelt in front of me, his movements precise and deliberate. “Meditation isn’t just about pulling in as much mana as you can,” he said. “It’s about flow. Your body is a vessel. If you don’t let the mana move through you naturally, you’ll end up fighting against yourself.”

He placed a hand on my shoulder, his grip firm. “Close your eyes. Focus on your breathing.”

I obeyed, shutting out the world around me. The air felt heavier here, saturated with dark mana, but I tried to ignore it, concentrating instead on the rhythm of my breaths. In and out. Slow and steady.

“Good,” Roran said. “Now, feel for the mana around you. Don’t force it. Let it come to you.”

At first, there was nothing. Just the faint sound of the others shifting in the room and the distant hum of dark mana. Then, slowly, I felt it—a faint, flickering current, like a stream of water flowing through cracks in the stone. It brushed against my senses, hesitant and elusive.

“That’s it,” Roran murmured. “Now guide it. Let it fill you, but don’t hold onto it. Let it flow.”

I focused, letting the mana trickle into my core. It was faint, barely noticeable, but it was there. The more I concentrated, the stronger it became, a steady stream weaving through me. The ache in my muscles began to ease, the exhaustion lifting slightly.

“You’re learning, try to remember, meditation is a lot like fighting. Everything needs to flow, theirs always a balance.” Roran said, his voice tinged with approval. “Keep practicing. You’ll need every drop of strength for what’s ahead.”

The world around me faded as I closed my eyes, leaving only the faint hum of the room and Roran’s steady presence nearby. I focused on my breathing, slow and deliberate, the rhythm a tether to keep my thoughts from scattering. In and out. My chest rose and fell, each breath carrying the heavy weight of the dark mana-laden air. It felt sharp, like needles prickling the inside of my lungs, but I pushed through the discomfort, keeping my focus steady.

Roran’s earlier instructions echoed in my mind. Let it flow. Don’t force it.

I reached out with my senses, searching for the mana in the space around me. It was faint at first, like trying to catch a whisper in a storm. But as I stilled myself, the flickers of energy began to coalesce. It felt cold and heavy, a sluggish current that resisted as much as it offered. The dark mana mingled with the ambient energy, making the flow jagged and uneven, but I focused on the natural rhythm Roran had described.

The mana began to flow toward me, tentative at first, like a stream trickling through the cracks of a dam. It brushed against my skin, faint and fleeting, before sinking inward. I felt it enter my core, swirling sluggishly around the edges like a hesitant guest. Each pulse of energy sent warmth radiating through my limbs, easing the lingering aches in my muscles and the sharp stings from my wounds. It wasn’t enough to heal me entirely, but it felt like I was stitching myself back together, piece by piece.

My core stirred, a faint vibration deep within me, like a heartbeat. The mana within it moved faintly, the impurities like sediment swirling in murky water. I could feel the core’s structure, fragile yet enduring, spinning like a tiny star held together by will and instinct alone. The mana I was drawing in wrapped around it, feeding it, strengthening its spin. But there was resistance—a faint barrier, like an invisible weight pressing down on it, keeping it from expanding further.

I tried to focus, guiding the mana more deliberately. The flow became steadier, the sensation growing more vivid. It was like a river carving through a rocky bed, pushing through obstructions, smoothing out its path. My body felt lighter, as if the energy was buoying me up from within, but the strain was undeniable. Every ounce of mana I drew in fought against the lingering heaviness of the dark mana saturating the air.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

My thoughts flickered to Roran’s earlier words. “You’re close to tier two.”

He’d seen it. He’d felt it. The potential was there, simmering beneath the surface, but something was holding me back. I pushed harder, willing the mana to flow faster, to break through the barrier that felt like a hand pressing against my chest.

But it didn’t budge.

Instead, the resistance grew stronger, and the flow of mana wavered, faltering as I strained against it. My breathing hitched, and I felt the delicate balance I’d built start to unravel. The swirling mana around my core slowed, the warmth dissipating into a cold, hollow ache.

No. Not now.

I clenched my fists, frustration burning in my veins. I wanted to push harder, to force the breakthrough, but I knew that would be futile. There was something fundamentally blocking my way, and until I discovered it, I wouldn’t advance.

I exhaled slowly, forcing my shoulders to relax. The tension in my chest eased slightly, and the flow of mana began to return, steady but hesitant. The resistance remained, like a door just barely cracked open, but I could feel the potential on the other side. It was maddening, tantalizingly close but just out of reach.

A faint chill settled over me, and I opened my eyes, blinking against the dim light of the room. Roran was still nearby, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, watching me with a calm intensity. He nodded slightly, a faint glimmer of approval in his expression.

“You’re holding yourself back,” he said, his voice low but firm. “You’re so focused on breaking through that you’re missing the point.”

I frowned, my hands tightening into fists. “What am I supposed to do, then? Just wait for it to happen on its own?”

Roran’s lips twitched into a faint smirk. “Sometimes, the more you try, the harder it is to move forward. Let go of the idea that you have to control everything. Your core will grow when it’s ready—but you have to give it the space to do that.”

I muttered, the words tasting foreign on my tongue. “Easier said than done.”

“Everything worth doing is,” he replied. He straightened, his expression softening slightly. “You’ve got the strength, Kael. But strength isn’t just about power. It’s about knowing when to yield, when to step back, and when to strike. You’ll get there.”

I nodded, though his words left me with more questions than answers. I looked down at my hands, flexing my fingers as if I could feel the mana flowing through them even now. The faint warmth lingered, a reminder of what I’d been able to achieve, but the barrier still loomed in the back of my mind.

As the group began to stir, preparing to move again, I forced myself to my feet. My legs felt steadier, the exhaustion less crippling, but the weight of the rift’s presence was still heavy in the air. The dark mana pulsed faintly in the distance, a constant reminder of what awaited us.

I tightened my grip on my sword and turned to follow the others. The answers would come, I told myself. For now, all I could do was keep moving forward.

The air grew heavier as we continued through the broken streets of the ruined city. Each step felt more deliberate, the dark mana pressing down on me like an invisible weight. Every breath I took carried the taste of ash and something bitter that stuck in my throat.

I found myself staring at the remnants of this world, wondering what kind of lives had been lived here. What had these people fought for? What had they feared? A chill crawled down my spine as I imagined this same fate befalling Aurathor. Was this what the specter had meant by showing me the truth?

I moved cautiously, my sword drawn and eyes darting to every shadow. The oppressive silence was broken only by the faint crunch of our boots against the cracked pavement. Roran led the way, his broad shoulders steady despite the tension in his jaw. Tarn and Jorik followed, I could feel their mana flaring faintly as they maintained a constant state of readiness. Dren lingered near the back, his shield strapped to his arm, his sword resting comfortably in his hand.

The dark mana pulsed faintly in the distance, like the beat of a war drum, growing stronger the farther we went. Black veins spidered across the ground and walls, pulsing faintly as though alive. The closer we got to the heart of the rift, the more corrupted everything became. I could feel the energy clawing at me, seeping into my skin, trying to disrupt the mana flowing through my core.

“Stay sharp,” Roran muttered, his voice low but commanding. “We’re getting close.”

I tightened my grip on my sword, letting my mana flow into my limbs. The warmth spread through my muscles, dulling the ache of exhaustion and sharpening my senses. My footsteps grew lighter, my movements smoother, as the energy coursed through me. It was an odd sensation—like I was both weightless and grounded, my body felt stronger than it had any right to be. It gave me confidence to keep moving.

Something shifted in the air. A faint growl, almost imperceptible, echoed from the shadows ahead. I froze, my eyes darting to the source of the sound. The others stopped as well, their weapons at the ready.

“Did you hear that?” Tarn asked, his voice tight.

Before anyone could answer, the shadows ahead exploded into movement. Darkspawn surged forward, their grotesque forms twisting and writhing as they closed the distance. Their glowing red eyes burned with the promise of death, their claws scraping against the ground with a sound that made my teeth ache.

“Hold the line!” Roran barked, stepping forward to intercept the first wave. His sword flashed as he brought it down on a snarling beast, cleaving it in two.

The fight erupted in chaos. Tarn and Jorik unleashed their magic, bolts of lightning and shards of ice tearing through the enemy ranks. Dren charged forward with a roar, his shield smashing into a creature’s skull before his sword followed through, cutting it down.

I focused on my breathing, letting my mana flow freely as I darted into the fray. A darkspawn lunged at me, its claws aiming for my throat, but I sidestepped at the last second. My sword came up in a clean arc, slicing through the creature’s side. It howled in pain before collapsing into a heap of black ichor.

Another creature came at me from the left, its maw snapping dangerously close to my arm. I twisted my body, the mana in my legs propelling me forward with a burst of speed. My sword pierced its chest, the force of the strike sending it stumbling backward. The warmth of the mana burned in my veins, giving me strength beyond what I should have had, but each movement was a reminder of how close I was to burning out.

The darkspawn didn’t stop. For every one we cut down, two more seemed to take its place. Their sheer numbers were overwhelming, and the ground beneath us was slick with their foul ichor. I could feel the desperation setting in, the weight of our situation pressing down on me like a vice.

Tarn let out a strangled cry as a darkspawn leapt onto his back, its claws tearing into his shoulder. He staggered, his lightning spells faltering as he struggled to shake it off. Before I could reach him, Dren charged in, his shield smashing into the creature with enough force to send it flying. Tarn dropped to one knee, blood seeping through his robes.

“I’m fine,” Tarn hissed through gritted teeth, though his pale face said otherwise. “Keep fighting!”

The darkspawn grew bolder, their movements more coordinated. A massive one barreled toward me, its grotesque form larger and more armored than the rest. Its claws glinted like jagged blades, and its eyes burned with an unnatural intensity. I tightened my grip on my sword, letting the mana in my core flare as I prepared to meet its charge.

It came at me with terrifying speed, its claws swiping at my chest. I barely managed to dodge, the force of the attack sending a shockwave through the air. My legs burned as I pushed off the ground, the mana-enhanced strength propelling me into a counterattack. My sword bit into its side, the blade sinking deep, but it wasn’t enough to bring it down.

The creature roared, its claws lashing out in a frenzy. I ducked and weaved, every movement precise, my mana guiding me as I searched for an opening. My breaths came in sharp gasps, the strain of maintaining the flow of energy taking its toll. Finally, I saw my chance—a gap in its defenses as it reared back for another attack. I surged forward, my blade slicing through its throat in a single, decisive strike. The creature collapsed, its body dissolving into black mist.

The fight was far from over. More darkspawn swarmed us, their numbers seemingly endless. The others fought with everything they had, but exhaustion was evident in every movement. Tarn’s spells were weaker, his lightning flickering like a dying flame. Jorik’s ice barriers cracked under the relentless assault, and even Dren’s powerful strikes were losing their edge.

A scream tore through the air as a group of darkspawn overwhelmed Jorik, dragging him to the ground. Dren roared, charging into the fray with reckless abandon. His sword and shield were a blur as he cut through the creatures, his sheer strength driving them back. He reached Jorik, pulling him to his feet, but not before the mage collapsed again, blood pouring from deep gashes in his side.

The battle reached a fever pitch, the dark mana in the air suffocating as the darkspawn pressed us further. My limbs felt like lead, every movement a monumental effort as I fought to keep them at bay. My mana reserves were dangerously low, the energy flickering like a candle in a storm.

Just when it seemed like we couldn’t hold out any longer, a blinding light pierced through the darkness. Arcs of fire and bursts of wind tore through the enemy ranks, sending darkspawn screeching and scattering. A group of mages and warriors charged into the fray, their combined power overwhelming the creatures. Their leader, a tall woman with fiery red hair and an aura that pulsed with mana, raised her hand high, a torrent of flame erupted from it, engulfing the remaining darkspawn.

The battlefield fell silent, the oppressive weight of the dark mana lifting slightly. I dropped to my knees, my chest heaving as I struggled to catch my breath. Around me, the others were in similar states, their exhaustion etched into their faces.

The red-haired woman approached, her piercing gaze sweeping over us. “You fought well,” she said, her voice steady but commanding. “But this isn’t over. There are more gathering near the heart of the rift. Tomorrow, we make our final stand.”

Her words hung in the air, heavy with the promise of what was to come. I gripped my sword tightly, the weight of the battle settling into my bones.