Genoes sat cross-legged on the stone floor of the Keep, his mind a kaleidoscope of thoughts. The dim glow of his inner energy cast unsettling shadows that danced across the walls, but he paid them no heed. His attention was drawn inward, towards the nascent power flickering at his core. It was an ember full of colours he couldn’t yet name, a spectrum of light barely contained within him, and he wasn’t even close to mastering it. The energy felt rightfully his, yet it was an unruly thing, not yet fully awake. Genoes knew this force could not be dominated through brute strength or sheer will. It was as much a part of him as his breath, and it would not be bullied into submission. He could not quite quantify his time within this realm, but Genoes felt an urgent pull from elsewhere as if the world beyond the Keep was demanding his presence.

He inhaled deeply, feeling the energy respond—a delicate shimmer of light that increased as the breath filled his lungs. The energy mirrored his breath as he exhaled, retreating slightly as if testing the strength of his resolve. Each breath brought the power a touch closer to the surface, a growing warmth that spread through his chest like the first rays of dawn. But with each exhale, the energy recoiled away, cautious and uncertain. It was as if the light within him was alive, wary of his intentions, and Genoes instinctively knew that to command it, he must first earn its trust.

He let the energy flow in and out, nurturing it like one might care for an injured bird, coaxing it with patience rather than force. The more he engaged with this inner glow, the more he sensed that it was not a single, unified force. It was a complex, multifaceted gem, a stained glass window of possibilities, each shard reflecting a different hue, a different aspect of his potential.

Genoes had not spent long under Eliud’s tutelage, but his short time with the Pendragon had taught him that this way of perceiving power was unusual. Eliud’s mastery lay in bending energy into portals and unstoppable streams—forms as direct as they were devastating. Genoes, however, sensed no such constraints on his own strength.

He focused on one of the glowing panes within his core, sharpening its clarity. It was a deep red, a colour that carried with it the gentle heat of a hearth fire in the dead of winter. This, he realised, was the source of the warmth that had kept him alive in the depths of the Keep. But it was more than just warmth; it was one facet of a far greater power.

Eliud had never spoken of his Skills this way.

Another shard glimmered with a deep blue hue, crackling like the static before a storm. Genoes knew—though he could not explain how—that this was the energy that had obliterated the rat with such violence that it had startled even him. And there, in the periphery of his awareness, was a third ability. A subtle grey fragment humming softly, constantly attuning to the shifting environment of the Dark God’s realm. This was the ability that had guided him through the dark corridors, leading him to the storeroom where he now sat.

The urge to activate every shard was strong, but Genoes first delved into the red pane. He envisioned the energy flowing from the stained glass, spreading like sunlight through fog. In response, the warmth intensified, filling his chest, then his arms, and finally his entire body. As it did so, the icy chill of the Keep receded, repelled by the radiant heat coursing through him. He let the warmth settle into his muscles, easing the tension that had gripped his limbs during the long hours of stillness.

As the warmth embraced him, the energy within him shifted, becoming more refined and more responsive to his needs. It was as if it were no longer just heat; it was a malleable power, ready to be shaped. Genoes focused on his hands, willing the energy to gather there, and slowly, ever so slowly, his palms filled with a soft, red glow. The light was steady and controlled—a stark contrast to the wild surge of power that had erupted earlier. As he nurtured the glow, another shard in his core—the blue one that had killed the rat—began to resonate as if in sympathy. A notification blinked into his awareness: .

Genoes hesitated, the temptation to accept the Skill gnawing at him. He could sense it would make controlling this aspect of the energy easier, safer even. But something within him rejected that thought. He dismissed the notification with no real regret, knowing that to accept it would be to limit himself, to lock this facet of his power into a single, defined path. There was too much he did not understand yet, too many shards still unexplored, too many colours in his stained glass window.

With that thought at the forefront of his mind, he turned his focus to the blue shard that had begun to hum alongside the heat. This energy was volatile, dangerous, but with the warmth still pulsing through his body, Genoes felt confident he would be able to control it. He visualised the energy as a beam of refracted light, thin and concentrated, a needle rather than a sledgehammer.

Raising one hand, he let the destructive energy flow. The sensation was intense, almost painful, as it gathered in his fingertips, the red glow shifting in tone to something more dangerous. He clenched his fist, feeling the energy coil within, waiting for release. Then, slowly, he extended a finger, aiming at a crack in the storeroom’s stone wall. A thin, blue bolt shot from his hand, striking the crack dead centre. The stone shuddered, then crumbled, a neat hole punched clean through.

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Genoes exhaled, the tension in his muscles releasing with the breath. That was . . . interesting.

*

Days blurred together as Genoes continued his exploration of the luminous shards within him. Each fragment was a piece of stained glass, and the energy within him began to take on new shapes, more intricate and demanding with every attempt. For as long as he ignored the notifications to solidify a Skill, the shards of light continued to intertwine, merging in ways that were both exhilarating. Each of his experiments deepened his understanding of the potential he wielded. And with every discovery came the system’s inevitable offer: . On each occasion, he turned it down, choosing to keep his power as a spectrum rather than narrowing it to a single beam.

He wandered the Keep with renewed purpose, using the red shard to fend off the increasingly bitter chill. Though he could not quantify it, he sensed that the Dark God’s realm had grown more hostile to him as his power expanded. Yet, paradoxically, the shadows that had once seemed so menacing now felt less daunting, their darkness less absolute. In fact, the more the realm resisted him, the more he felt its grasp over him slipping, as if his growing light was a solvent to the oppressive gloom.

By the eighth day—or so Genoes measured it—the path before him twisted and sloped downward, leading him to another giant rat, its eyes gleaming and teeth flashing brightly in the dark. This time, Genoes did not hesitate to act. His hand rose, light flowing to his fingertips with practised ease. But instead of a destructive burst, he envisioned the energy as a razor-thin line of light cutting through the air.

The rat jerked as the energy struck, its body crumpling without a whimper. There was no explosion, no wild outburst of power this time—just a clean, efficient end. Genoes watched as it fell, a cold satisfaction settling in his chest. This was control: the ability to harness power with precision, to wield it as a scalpel. Another notification appeared: .

He dismissed it with barely a thought. The system’s offers had lost their allure as he began to understand the vastness of his potential. Locking his abilities into predefined Skills would be like chaining the light within him to the ground, limiting a sky full of stars to a single constellation. By keeping the stained glass window of his core intact and unrestrained, he preserved the freedom to chart a fresh course.

As he thought that, Genoes turned his thoughts to the other shards of light he had yet to explore. The red warmth that had kept him alive, the blue crackling energy of destruction—these he had come to know well. But there were others, subtler and more elusive, shimmering at the edges of his awareness. One, in particular, caught his attention, a light that flickered like a drop of water catching the sun’s reflection just beyond the reach of his notice.

Genoes closed his eyes, focusing on that elusive shard. It was faint within that stained window, barely a whisper of light amidst the riot of colours, but it was there, waiting to be illuminated. Genoes reached for that splinter, coaxing it into the forefront of his awareness, allowing it to unfurl as a delicate bloom. The energy responded with a quiet buzz, a deep, resonant hum that vibrated through his feet and into the stones of the Keep.

This light was different. It was not about destruction or warmth but something more fundamental, more connected to the fabric of the world itself—beyond the boundaries of the Keep. Was this shard seeking to connect with something outside the Dark God’s realm? That deserved explotation. Genoes concentrated, letting the energy flow through him and into this shard, feeling it pull not just from his core but from the stones beneath him, the air around him, and the distant echoes of time itself.

Without warning, the air around him began to pop and shimmer.

Surprised, Genoes opened his eyes, his energy flooding out of him in response to a sudden disturbance. The glow intensified, coalescing into a vortex of light and shadow, spinning faster and faster until it seemed to tear a hole in the fabric of reality. Had he created a portal? If so, this was no ordinary rift. It was a dark and pulsing wound in the world, raw and bleeding with light.

Before he could react, figures began to spill from the portal, as if hurled out by some unseen force.

And, what was more than that, he knew them.

Eliud was the first to come through, his dark robes billowing as he hit the floor with a heavy thud, followed by Kirstin, her bow raised, eyes wide with shock. Josul and Savage came next, the hound’s snarls filling the air, his hackles bristling with fury.

Genoes’s heart pounded in his chest, disbelief warring with relief. They were here—his friends, his protectors! Alive, but battered and disoriented.

Eliud was the first to rise, his gaze sweeping the corridor before locking onto Genoes. For a moment, they simply stared at each other. Then, the older man grinned, a flash of teeth in the dim light.

"Well, that was unexpected!"

But before Genoes could respond, the portal flared once more, and two more figures were flung through—Daine, her sword flashing as she landed in a defensive stance, and Donal . . . or at least someone who looked like Donal, but bigger, stronger, and more grim.

With a deafening crack, the portal snapped shut, leaving them all in silence. The Keep, once a tomb of stillness, now thrummed with energy as if it were a living thing responding to the sudden influx of life.

Genoes stood frozen, his mind reeling as he tried to process what had just happened. Had he caused this? The light within him surged, a chaotic whirl of emotions—relief, fear, confusion. He had been alone in this cursed place for so long that the sight of familiar faces felt like a mirage!

However, even as he struggled to grasp the reality of the situation, the shadows around them deepened, the air growing colder and sharper. Something ancient stirred in the darkness, a presence Genoes had not felt within this realm before.

The Keep was no longer just a prison. It was alive, and it was waking up.