Jack spent six weeks in the dungeon—the first two dedicated to healing and learning under Everon’s tutelage. His body slowly recovered from the brink of collapse, each day a battle to regain the strength he'd lost. The worn sofa became his constant companion, and Everon’s strange remedies discreetly slipped into his meals, accelerating his recovery. Though she never openly acknowledged her help, Jack was quietly thankful. The dungeon, cold and oppressive, offered little comfort, but during those weeks of recovery, it became a place of learning.
Once his strength began to return, Everon wasted no time in teaching him. Over those three weeks, she shared her vast knowledge. She lectured at length about ancient history, different races, monsters, and the geography of far-off continents that Jack had never known existed. Each day, she would hand him ancient, dusty tomes, expecting him to study when he was awake and well enough to concentrate. She would quiz him on what he had read, pushing him to absorb more. Jack learned about old civilizations, long-forgotten lands, and dangerous creatures, much of it strange and beyond anything he had ever imagined.
Her knowledge, though immense, was outdated—something she often reminded him of with a wry smile. "Don’t rely too much on these texts," she’d say. "The world outside has changed in ways I cannot predict." Still, Jack found the lessons invaluable. The information gave him a foundation, helping him understand the world he now found himself in. Even weakened, Everon’s intellect and power were undeniable, and Jack’s respect for her only grew as she continued to guide him.
In addition to these lessons, Everon introduced him to magic during these weeks. While many of her spells and rituals were far beyond his abilities or simply incompatible with him, she had a range of neutral or warlock rituals she was willing to teach. Everon even tested him for magical potential to see if he could develop as a mage.
One day, she sat across from him, her hands hovering just above his. Jack, unused to such closeness, felt a mix of tension and unease. Her hands, cold but soft, rested lightly over his, and the faint scent of ash and cinnamon hung in the air between them. It took effort for him to focus. His eyes strayed for a moment to the low neckline of her dress, but when he looked back up, Everon was staring at him with flat, emotionless eyes. The weight of her gaze made him sit up straighter, embarrassed, and he quickly refocused.
"Focus," she said firmly, her voice calm but leaving no room for distractions.
Jack nodded, forcing his mind back to the task. Whatever potential he had, he didn’t want to waste the opportunity Everon was giving him. In her left hand, a glowing orb of white light formed, shining with a firm, unwavering glow. Everon’s expression grew serious as the ball of light hovered above her palm, casting a soft illumination in the dim dungeon.
She spoke softly, her voice shifting into a neutral, almost teacher-like tone, ensuring there was no room for misunderstanding. “To test your magical potential, I’m using the method my master taught me. It’s a simple test, but it will reveal a lot about your potential and what type of magic you should practice—if you can,” she said, her gaze steady and calm. Jack could sense the gravity of the situation in her words, as if she had done this many times before but took each instance seriously.
She leaned in slightly, her eyes locking with Jack’s. “I will guide this light into your left hand. From there, you must guide the light through your body and out of your right hand. Focus and move it as best as you can. Do you understand?” she asked, her voice firm but patient.
Jack swallowed hard, feeling the weight of the task ahead, and nodded in acknowledgment. He braced himself as Everon gently pushed the glowing orb into his palm. The sensation was immediate and strange—unlike anything Jack had ever experienced. The light wasn’t cold or warm, and it didn’t have any physical weight, but its presence was undeniable. It pulsed with a soft energy that seemed to hum inside his hand, and no words could adequately describe the feeling. It wasn’t pain or discomfort, but a deep, unfamiliar vibration that ran through him.
At first, Jack tried to concentrate, imagining the light traveling up his arm. He visualized it moving, willing it to flow through his body, but nothing happened. His brow furrowed in frustration as he tried different methods, each one failing. He imagined it like water, like a stream moving through his veins, but the light remained stagnant. Then he thought of it as fire, a burning energy that should rise naturally, but still, it did not move.
Time ticked on, and Jack’s frustration grew with each failed attempt. He clenched his jaw, his mind racing. Nothing seemed to work. Sweat formed on his brow, and he could feel Everon’s calm gaze still fixed on him, waiting, observing. It made him more determined, but the more he struggled, the more elusive the light seemed.
Finally, Jack, in a fit of frustration, mentally shouted at the light as if it were a stubborn soldier. “Move!” he commanded, his mind echoing the tone of a drill sergeant. Something clicked. The moment he gave the order, the ball of energy stirred, responding to the force of his will. Slowly, almost reluctantly, the glowing orb began to climb up his arm, moving along his skin like a creeping current.
Jack could feel it now, like a small pulse tracing its way over his body. The energy crawled over his shoulder, traveled down his back, and then returned along his right arm. It was slow and awkward, as if the magic was resisting him, but it was moving nonetheless. As it reached his right hand, Jack focused harder, willing it to leave his palm. With a final mental push, the ball of energy pulsed out of his right hand.
When it emerged, the light flickered and waned, its once brilliant glow now dim and tinged with a deep, smoky gray. The energy was unstable, shimmering faintly before dissipating into the air. Jack stared at his hand, panting from the effort, his body trembling with exhaustion. He hadn’t realized how much the exercise had drained him, but now, every muscle ached, and his mind felt heavy.
Everon watched him closely, her face neutral but her eyes gleaming with a mix of curiosity and contemplation. Jack had managed to complete the task, though not perfectly. The gray shade of the energy had clearly caught her attention, but she remained silent, waiting for Jack to catch his breath.
The room fell quiet, the soft hum of magic fading away as Jack slumped back, drained but determined to understand what had just happened. Everon watched him, her expression calculating and thoughtful, her crimson eyes studying him as if weighing some silent judgment. Jack, still catching his breath, couldn’t help but break the silence with a wry grin.
"So," he drawled. "what’d ya learn from that? Am I ready to start flingin' fireballs like some kinda prodigy mage now?" He gave her a lopsided grin, the exhaustion clear in his voice but laced with humor.
Everon sighed, brushing a strand of her dark hair back as she adjusted her witch’s hat. Her tone was calm like someone who had spent centuries commanding attention. “We’ve learned a few things from this test,” she began. “You have magic within you, like every living creature. But, Jack, you can’t cast it. You’ll never be able to perform traditional spells. That’s simply how it is for some.”
Jack frowned, processing the weight of her words. “So, I’ve got magic in me, but I can’t use it? Ain't that somethin'. Feels like havin’ a gun but no bullets.”
Everon’s lips twitched slightly, her refined accent carrying a hint of amusement. “It’s quite strange, really, trying to figure out those metaphors you use,” she said with a small smile. “I think it’s only thanks to the conversations we’ve had that I can understand you most of the time.”
Jack grunted in response but quickly checked himself. He was going to have to dial it back a bit, especially once he left the dungeon and entered the wider world. If he kept talking the way he did, it would draw unnecessary attention.
“It’s not all bad news.” everon continued, “ You have something else—something far rarer. You possess psychic abilities. It’s not magic in the conventional sense, but a power of the mind. You’ve already demonstrated some of that potential when you willed the energy to move earlier. That’s not something a typical mage could do.”
Jack raised an eyebrow. “Psychic abilities, huh? So, what, like movin' stuff with my mind? Or just knowin' what folks are thinkin’?”
Everon tilted her head, considering. “Possibly. Psychic abilities are varied, and not all users can use all the skils. Some develop heightened senses, some can influence objects with their mind, and others gain a deep, instinctive awareness of their surroundings. It’s subtle, not as flashy as traditional magic, but no less powerful if you know how to use it.”
Jack rubbed his chin, mulling it over. “So, no magic. But I can still do somethin’, right? Ain’t all bad.”
Everon nodded. “Indeed. However,” she continued, her tone thoughtful, “if you ever wish to, I can still teach you runic magic—rituals that don’t rely on your ability to cast spells. They draw magic from the world around you. It’s not the same as spellcasting, but runic magic can still achieve powerful effects. Enchantments, protections, things that endure, all carved into materials using ancient symbols.”
Jack thought about it for a long moment, his gaze contemplative. “Runes, huh? That does sound useful,” he finally said. “But I reckon I wanna see where I can go with these psychic abilities first, see what I can really do with 'em. Once I’ve got a handle on that, then maybe I’ll look into those runes. No harm in branching out later, right?”
Everon watched him, a flicker of understanding crossing her face. “Very well. Psychic abilities require discipline and focus, but you have potential, Jack. More than you might realize.”
Jack grinned, leaning back a bit, his tone easy but determined. “Well, y’know, I’ve been through worse. I ain’t too worried. Let’s see where this road takes me, then.”
Everon nodded, her tone softening ever so slightly. “Good. Let’s see how far your mind can take you.”
Jack spent the next week practicing his psychic abilities, trying to unlock his potential. Despite his best efforts, though, the results were minimal—he could barely nudge a pencil or make a cup wobble. Everon tried to help, passing along what she had been told about psychic talents, but her experience was limited. Her advice, while well-meaning, didn’t push him much further.
Jack decided to shift his focus. He continued practicing his PSI skills on the side but began learning about runic magic, as Everon had suggested. It was different from what he had imagined but strangely fascinating.
Everon gave him a special quill—an ancient tool that allowed him to carve runic patterns into stone or other materials as needed. The runes drew in magic from the environment, channeling it into the symbols Jack painstakingly etched. Each rune had a specific purpose: protection, enhancement, or binding magic to an object. The process was slow, methodical, but it intrigued him in ways he hadn’t expected.
Everon guided Jack patiently, slowly teaching him individual runes and how they linked and formed together. It was a lot like school, but to Jack’s surprise, he found it intriguing and engaging. She gave him several books to study, filled with detailed explanations and diagrams of runes. Runes, as she explained, should never fade once carved—unless they were broken or damaged.
"After you master the basics, we’ll move on to verbal commands and runic words," Everon told him. "But first, let’s see if you’ve grasped the fundamentals." She handed him a small stone tablet and instructed him to carve a rune that would create a simple warming effect, one that would allow the stone to stay consistently warm. The test was to see if Jack could not only carve the runes correctly but also link them together to create an active, lasting effect.
Jack focused intently, carefully moving the tip of the quill down in slow, deliberate strokes. He carved each character methodically, ensuring every line, curve, and angle was precise. His breathing slowed, and his mind entered a state of deep concentration. Everon stood nearby, close enough to observe but far enough not to disrupt his focus.
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The task was deceptively simple—a basic warming rune—but Jack knew it required patience. He was using a circle rune, one of the more challenging types to create. Circle runes were particularly effective because they allowed the mana they absorbed to cycle continuously, reducing leakage and maintaining the effect indefinitely. Even though the warming effect was basic, the circular design required precision to link the runes in an unbroken flow.
Jack felt the weight of the task. There were four characters he needed to carve and link together. Slowly, carefully, he curved the quill into the next symbol, his hand steady despite the tension building in his shoulders. Each line had to be perfect, each connection flawless. He could feel Everon’s eyes on him, watching every movement, but he blocked everything out, focusing solely on the task at hand.
Time seemed to stretch as Jack worked, the quiet of the dungeon amplifying the sound of the quill scratching against the stone. He didn’t rush—he couldn’t afford to. One mistake would mean starting over.
As Jack finished carving the final character, he exhaled softly, the tension slowly leaving his body. He stared down at the stone, waiting—his heart sinking as doubt began to creep in. The thought of another failure weighed heavily on him. Seconds passed, and nothing happened. But just as despair was starting to set in, the rune glowed faintly with a dim red hue, and the stone began to warm beneath his fingers.
Jack’s eyes widened, and before he could stop himself, he shot up and yelled, “Fucking yes!”
He grinned down at the stone, feeling the warmth radiate from it, a sense of pride swelling in his chest. Behind him, he heard a slow, soft clapping. Turning around, he saw Everon watching him with a straight face, but there was a hint of approval in her eyes.
“Well done, Jack,” she said calmly. “You’ve accomplished what many struggle with—you’ve passed the basic test. Now, we can slowly move forward.”
Jack felt a sweet sense of relief wash over him, the victory all the more satisfying after so many small failures. After that success, he decided to slow down his progress, not wanting to burn himself out. He spent two to three hours a day practicing his psychic abilities and studying the runes. Everon had cautioned him against rushing, her voice firm but patient. "Practice and time make a master, not speed," she had told him.
With his body mostly healed and back to normal, Jack realized there was another area he had been neglecting—his physical and combat skills. His spear techniques were rusty, and while his bayonet training from the army had helped, it wasn’t enough for the types of battles he now faced. Jack needed to refine his movements, sharpen his reflexes, and regain control over his combat abilities.
For the next two weeks, Jack threw himself into physical training. Everon, while not skilled in combat herself, did her best to assist. One day, she summoned a shade—a shadowy figure for Jack to spar against.
Jack stood in the dim dungeon, staring at the figure before him. The shade was intimidating, towering at 6'5" with a bulky, muscular frame that looked like it weighed close to 250 pounds. It was dressed in thick leather and beast-hide armor, with a bear's head perched on its shoulders like a helmet. Despite its imposing appearance, the figure’s face and more distinct features were shrouded in a swirling black mist. Occasionally, the mist shifted, offering brief glimpses of cold, empty eyes or the shape of a mouth, but never enough to make out a full face.
Jack couldn’t deny the unease creeping into him. The shade stood still, yet there was something unnerving about its presence, as though it was silently waiting for the right moment to strike. Jack glanced over at Everon, who observed calmly from the edge of the room, her expression neutral.
“What in the hell is this?” he asked staring at the thing, jack felt a bit of revulslion when he looked at it
Everon looked up from her books and turned her head, her eyes narrowing slightly. "You mean Hellskr? I’ve never heard it being called 'hell'," she said, her voice carrying the lilting cadence of aristocratic bemusement. There was a faint trace of confusion as her brows furrowed delicately. "And if you’re referring to the shade, it is just that—a shade," she added, staring at him with an almost condescending look, as though this was the most obvious thing in the world.
Jack stared at her for a moment. “Hellskr, not hell—home of demons, damned souls, and fallen angels?” Jack wondered if this was one of those times where knowledge from his world was colliding with Everon’s. Like that time when he mentioned cars to her, and she thought he meant self-propelled magical carriages—which, sure, was technically accurate, but not quite the same thing. “But no, off topic—what is this shade exactly? Is it just some magical creation, or an entity from another world?” Jack asked.
Rveon thought about this and ignored the Hellskr comment, “No, not exactly. The shades are the souls of those I’ve captured and defeated in battle,” Everon began. Her gaze shifted to the shade, a glint of amusement flickering in her eyes. “That one there? He was once Borak the Bloodied, leader of the Crimson Hand—a minor warband that fancied itself a rising force in Valoris. He served under the banner of the Warlord Dragos, a larger, brutish army that sought to pillage and conquer some of Valoris.”
She allowed herself a small, almost indulgent smile. “Borak, in his arrogance, decided to raid a peaceful village where I happened to be staying. I was but a young witch then—barely 250 years old,” she said with a quiet laugh, as if the event were an entertaining memory.
“So, I took his warband apart, limb from limb, and claimed his soul. A fitting punishment for his transgressions, wouldn’t you agree? I must say, I rather enjoyed that village. Shame he thought it was his for the taking.”
Jack stared at the shade—no, the man before him—and then shot a glare back at Everon.
“What the hell d’you mean, a man’s soul? What kinda horseshit is that?!” he shouted, fury flaring in his voice. His chest heaved as he stepped closer to the shade, eyes narrowing as realization hit him like a punch to the gut.
As he looked into those hollow eyes, the thing that shook him to his core. That man was still alive, not fully, but there was somethin’ there, a flicker of awareness buried deep down. Jack’s breath hitched. His heart thundered in his chest, every beat louder in his ears. He stumbled back, his face contorted with rage and disgust, feeling a hot rush of anger roll through him.
“Who the hell does that? Who in their right mind enslaves a person like that?” His voice grew rougher. “In what goddamn world is that right?”
Eveorn shocked by jacks out burst stared him in shock, jack never snapped at ehr before not really he was normal calm adn collected but ther are few things that got under his skin adn cracked the shell he gave to others nad this was one of them.
Everon glanced at the shade, then turned her gaze to Jack, her expression unchanging as she spoke slowly, her voice icy and measured. “And why, pray tell, would I do such a thing?” she asked, her tone formal, each word clipped with precision.
“What, exactly, would I gain by releasing a soul that old? He is not truly alive anymore, you see. What you’re looking at is nothing more than the residue of his physical memories, a mere echo. He can’t even wield the skills he once possessed.
“Her eyes narrowed slightly, her voice growing colder. “To release him would be as pointless as it would be foolish.” evoern put her book away and stood up staring at jack.
Anger surged through Jack like wildfire, and he stepped toward Everon, his eyes blazing. “What in the hell could this man have done to deserve this?” he spat. “Ain’t no one deserves to be in chains, not like this. No person, no matter what, should be damned to this kinda existence.” His lip curled with disgust as he glared at her. “You think it’s right to keep someone locked up like a dog just ‘cause you can? Makes my stomach turn, thinkin’ ‘bout how you’re standin’ there actin’ like this is normal.”
Everon glared at Jack, her voice sharp as she counted on her fingers. “Murder. Rape. Attacking children. Cannibalism. Slavery. Shall I continue?” She stepped closer, eyes blazing. “I enslaved him because he and his warband wanted to rape, pillage, and eat the people of that village,” she spat. “So yes, Jack, I bound his soul—and the souls of all the commanders of Warlord Dragos’ warband, including that bastard himself. They didn’t just kill—they tortured, butchered, and enslaved for sport. This is the filth you’re defending?” Everon’s voice cut like a knife. “I bound their souls because they deserved worse than death.”
With a wave of her hand, the air crackled. Before Jack, over twenty-five shades appeared—ragged echoes of the men and women who had once led the warband, their twisted faces full of malice. At the end stood Dragos, towering over the others, nearly nine feet tall, clad in rusted armor and wielding a colossal battle hammer like an anvil with a steel rod driven through it. His presence sent a cold shiver through Jack.
Jack stared at each man, his lip curling in disgust, rage burning hot in his chest. “Then kill ’em. Torture the bastards ’til they can’t scream no more. I ain’t defendin’ these men—they’re pigs, they’re scum, and they deserve to die.” His voice trembled with anger, the Texan drawl deepening. “But that don’t make enslaving ’em right. There are lines we don’t cross, no matter how low they are.”
Everon and Jack locked eyes, a tense silence hanging between them. Then Everon let out a sharp hiccup, followed by a crazed, mocking laugh. “Oh, Jack Rogers, I can’t wait to see what you make of certain parts of this world,” she chuckled, her tone laced with dark amusement. “But know this—what’s done is done. We could bicker until the end of time, but I won’t try to change your mind, and you sure won’t change mine. That is final.”
“Use them to train if you must. They may have lost their [skills] with age, but they still retain their combat abilities and lethal instincts. And if you want to play the part of some ancient [Paladin], then you’d better have the strength to back it. So, I suggest you start training, Jack, because if you ran your mouth like that to anyone else, they’d have taken your head without a second thought.”
Everon stepped closer, her eyes glinting with a darkness that ran deeper than her words. “In this world, the strong make the rules, and the weak cower in fear,” she hissed, her accent slipping, revealing her true voice one of silent rage and darkness. “I’ve seen countless souls like yours—brave, foolish men who wanted to be good, to be strong enough to change the world. And do you know what happened to them?” She leaned in, her words like ice in his veins. “They died, Jack. They died, some by my hand, others by the hands of those far worse. So if you truly want your words to carry weight, you better be ready to kill for it. Now, get to work.”
With that, she stepped into Jack, her form vanishing back into the necklace. Jack stared at the shades before him, his chest heaving. He knew there was no point in arguing further. She was right. If he wanted to make his words mean something, then he needed the strength to back them up.
During those two grueling weeks of training, Everon ensured Jack’s body wouldn’t break down from the relentless physical demands. She continued to slip special food supplements into his meals, accelerating his body’s natural healing process. It was as if his recovery was kicked into overdrive each night—minor injuries and muscle fatigue that would typically take days to heal were gone by the next morning. Jack would wake up feeling refreshed but ravenous, his body craving the energy it needed to sustain the intense workload. Every morning, he scarfed down a large breakfast, filling himself with enough fuel to power through hours of combat and conditioning.
These supplements allowed Jack to push harder during his training, making it possible for him to practice six hours a day without his body breaking down. He pushed through exhaustion, knowing that the next morning he’d wake up ready to go again, his muscles mended and his energy replenished.
The routine became second nature—wake up starving, devour breakfast, and head to the training room for another day of relentless practice. He spent hours honing his spear techniques, his footwork becoming more fluid and natural, his strikes faster and more precise. The relentless drills, combined with the healing Everon’s food provided, allowed Jack to make faster progress than he thought possible.
Even when sparring with the shade left him bruised and battered, Jack’s body recovered overnight, allowing him to focus entirely on improvement rather than recovery. With each passing day, Jack grew stronger, and by the end of the two weeks he faced his last challenge.
While sparring with the shade over the past two weeks, Jack had become keenly aware of the gap in their power and skill. No matter how hard he trained or how many different strategies he employed, he always lost. The shade's precision and strength were overwhelming, and Jack was constantly left picking himself up off the ground. But on this final day, something felt different.
Jack woke up earlier than usual, scarfed down his breakfast with determination, and moved to the arena where he had fought countless times before. Today was his last chance to beat the shade, and he was ready.
He donned the armor Everon had recreated for him. Sleek, black, and form-fitting, it had accents of white that made it stand out. The set included gauntlets, vambraces, and an upper pauldron, all smooth and tightly secured to his body. The joints were reinforced by a supple underlayer of leather, giving him maximum mobility. His chest was protected by a light cuirass, while cuisses and greaves covered his legs, with sturdy boots protecting his feet. Despite its coverage, the armor was surprisingly lightweight—almost as if it were an extension of his own skin.
Jack also wore the mask Everon had made for him, paired with a flowing cape. At first, he had been unsure about the hood that came with the cape, but to his surprise, it held subtle magical properties. When he first put it on, the hood hardened into a steel-like quality, giving him the protection of a helmet without the bulk. It allowed him to remain agile while still offering ample defense.
Armed with his black and white tri-tipped double-edged spear, Jack strode into the arena, his gaze locking onto the shade. He could feel the weight of the moment—the culmination of two weeks of relentless training, endless sparring, and physical conditioning. The shade stood still, its sword gleaming in the dim light, waiting for Jack to make the first move.
This time, Jack wasn’t just going through the motions. He was prepared, not only physically but mentally. His body was lighter, stronger, and faster, and his mind was focused with the kind of clarity that only comes from pushing oneself to the absolute limit.
He took a deep breath, gripping his spear tightly as he faced the shade down, ready for the final battle.