The Wastes had grown colder overnight. The icy wind whipped across the open expanse, stinging Zarin’s face as he stood with Reya on the edge of the crumbling ruin. Around them, the land seemed endless, the horizon blurred by the swirling snow. The Spire loomed in the distance, but it felt farther away now, like a distant dream.
Maros had been up before dawn, pacing the perimeter of their camp with a quiet intensity. When he finally returned, his expression was unreadable, but there was a tension in the air—a sense that the Wastes were watching them, waiting.
Zarin shifted on his feet, the weight of yesterday’s training still heavy on his mind. His power felt more settled now, more like a companion than a stranger, but the fear remained. The fear of losing control, of becoming something dangerous. Something he couldn’t come back from.
Reya stood beside him, her eyes scanning the horizon. She was quiet, but Zarin could sense the same tension in her—the same doubts. He had always thought of her as unshakable, but now, he could see the cracks. The weight she carried, the pain she hid behind her strength. They were both struggling, in their own ways, and the Wastes seemed determined to bring those struggles to the surface.
“We’ll focus on the Wastes today,” Maros said, his voice breaking the silence. He stood a few feet away, his staff planted firmly in the ground. “The land around us is alive with magic. The Old Magic, the same force that flows through you, Zarin, and through the very air we breathe. But the Wastes are harsh. They’ve been twisted by centuries of conflict, by the Ascendants’ influence. To survive here, you must learn to work with the land, not against it.”
Zarin frowned, glancing at the barren, frozen landscape. “How do we do that?”
Maros looked at him, his expression sharp. “By understanding the natural forces at play. The wind, the snow, the ice—they are all manifestations of the magic that lingers here. They respond to the Old Magic, just as you do. But they’re wild, untamed. You must learn to bend them to your will, or they will overwhelm you.”
Zarin swallowed, feeling the weight of Maros’ words. He had always thought of the Wastes as a place of death—a barren wasteland where nothing could survive. But now, as he stood there, he could sense something deeper. A pulse, a hum, just beneath the surface. The land was alive, in its own way, and it was watching them.
Reya stepped forward, her brow furrowed. “So you’re saying we have to use the Wastes?”
Maros nodded. “Exactly. The Wastes are harsh, yes, but they are also powerful. If you can learn to tap into that power, to work with the natural forces around you, you will find strength in places you didn’t know existed.”
Zarin exchanged a glance with Reya, his heart pounding in his chest. The idea of using the Wastes—of bending the very elements of this desolate land to their will—was both exhilarating and terrifying. But it was also their only chance.
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The training began with the wind.
Maros stood at the edge of the ruins, his cloak billowing in the fierce gusts that swept across the landscape. Zarin and Reya stood a few paces away, watching as Maros raised his staff, his voice barely audible over the howling wind.
“The wind is your first challenge,” Maros said, his gaze fixed on the horizon. “It is the most volatile of the natural forces here, always shifting, always changing. But if you can learn to feel its patterns, to understand its rhythm, you can harness its power.”
Zarin felt the wind whip against his face, cold and relentless. It was like a living thing, constantly moving, never still. He had always thought of it as something to fight against, something to endure. But now, as Maros spoke, he realized that there was more to it. The wind wasn’t just a force of nature—it was part of the magic of the Wastes, part of the world itself.
“Close your eyes,” Maros instructed. “Feel the wind. Don’t try to control it yet—just listen to it. Let it speak to you.”
Zarin hesitated, glancing at Reya. She was already following Maros’ instructions, her eyes closed, her face tilted slightly upward as she stood still in the wind. Zarin took a deep breath and closed his own eyes, trying to block out the cold, the noise, the discomfort.
At first, all he could feel was the biting chill, the harsh sting of the wind against his skin. But slowly, as he let his mind quiet, he began to notice something else. The wind wasn’t just random—it had a rhythm, a flow. It moved in waves, sometimes soft and gentle, other times fierce and wild. It was like a current, always shifting, always in motion.
“Good,” Maros said, his voice softer now. “You’re starting to feel it. Now, reach out with your mind. Don’t force the wind to bend to your will—invite it. Become part of its flow, and then guide it.”
Zarin swallowed hard, his heart pounding in his chest. He reached out with his senses, feeling the wind as it whipped around him. It was wild, untamed, but there was something familiar about it—something that reminded him of the power inside him. He took a deep breath, trying to connect with it, trying to become part of its rhythm.
For a moment, nothing happened. The wind continued to swirl around him, indifferent to his efforts. But then, slowly, he felt a shift. The wind seemed to respond to him, its movements growing more subtle, more controlled. Zarin focused, guiding the flow of the wind with his mind, shaping it, bending it ever so slightly.
His eyes snapped open as he felt the wind change. It wasn’t a drastic shift—just a slight redirection of the gusts around him—but it was enough. He had done it. He had bent the wind.
Reya opened her eyes as well, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “I felt it,” she said quietly. “It’s… strange. Like it’s alive.”
Zarin nodded, his heart still racing. “Yeah. It’s not just a force—it’s something more.”
Maros lowered his staff, his gaze sharp. “You’re beginning to understand. The Wastes are filled with power, but it’s not something you can simply take. You must work with it, respect it, and only then will it lend its strength to you.”
Zarin’s hands trembled slightly as he lowered them, the adrenaline still pumping through his veins. The power of the Wastes, the connection to the land—it was more than he had ever imagined. But it was also dangerous, unpredictable.
“Now, let’s see if you can control something a bit more... tangible,” Maros said, stepping back. He raised his staff, and with a flick of his wrist, the ground beneath them began to tremble.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
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The earth itself responded to Maros’ command. Small tremors rippled through the ground, cracks forming in the frozen soil as the very foundation of the Wastes shifted beneath their feet. Zarin’s breath caught in his throat as he felt the power of the land surge upward, a deep, primal force that seemed to pulse in time with his own heartbeat.
“The earth is patient, enduring,” Maros said, his voice low. “But it is also powerful. The ground beneath you holds more strength than you realize. It can crush you if you resist it—or it can lift you if you learn to work with it.”
Zarin felt the tremors under his feet, his heart pounding in his chest. He had never thought of the land itself as something alive, something with power. But now, as the earth shifted beneath him, he could feel its presence. It wasn’t just a mass of rock and soil—it was something more, something connected to the magic of the world.
“Focus,” Maros said, his voice steady. “Feel the power of the earth. Don’t try to force it—listen to it, and then guide it.”
Zarin closed his eyes again, reaching out with his senses. The tremors were small, subtle, but he could feel the power behind them. It was like the wind, in a way—alive, constantly moving, but slower, more deliberate. He took a deep breath, trying to connect with it, to feel the rhythm of the land beneath him.
At first, the tremors felt overwhelming, like a force he couldn’t control. But as he focused, as he let his mind quiet, he began to sense the flow of power beneath the surface. It was steady, constant, like the heartbeat of the earth itself. Zarin reached out with his mind, guiding the tremors, shaping them.
The ground beneath him shifted, just slightly, but enough to feel the change. The tremors softened, becoming more controlled, more focused. Zarin opened his eyes, his breath coming in short bursts. He had done it. The ground, once chaotic and unpredictable, had bent to his will, however subtly. Zarin could feel the pulse of the earth beneath his feet, as though he was connected to something ancient and powerful. But the exertion had taken a toll—his body felt heavy, his muscles tense, as if the land itself had drawn something from him in return for its obedience.
Reya stood beside him, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword, her brow furrowed in concentration. She had been watching closely, and Zarin could tell that the sight of him controlling the ground had stirred something inside her. But there was a flicker of doubt in her eyes, as if she wasn’t sure if she could do the same.
“The earth is strong, but so are you,” Maros said, stepping between them. His gaze shifted to Reya. “You’ve always relied on your physical strength, on the blade in your hand. But what if that blade isn’t enough? What if you’re forced to rely on something deeper?”
Reya straightened, her jaw tightening. “I’ve fought my entire life. I’ve faced enemies stronger and faster than me. I know how to survive.”
Maros nodded, his expression thoughtful. “You know how to survive a fight. But the Spire will not simply challenge your ability to swing a sword. It will challenge everything you are—your beliefs, your fears, your very soul. Physical strength will only take you so far.”
Reya’s grip on her sword tightened, but she didn’t respond. Zarin could see the tension in her shoulders, the way she held herself so rigidly, as if she was afraid to show any weakness. He had seen that look before, back when they had first started traveling together. She had always been a fighter, someone who pushed through pain and fear, but now, as Maros spoke, Zarin realized that Reya was battling something deeper.
“Let go of the blade,” Maros said softly, his voice almost gentle. “You rely on it too much. To grow, you must learn to fight without it.”
Reya’s eyes narrowed. “And what happens if I let go and fail?”
Maros’ gaze didn’t waver. “Then you will learn what it means to truly fight.”
For a moment, there was silence. Zarin held his breath, watching as Reya stood there, her hand still gripping the hilt of her sword. He could see the conflict in her eyes, the hesitation. Reya had always been strong, but now, faced with the prospect of letting go of the very thing that defined her, Zarin realized how much fear she carried beneath the surface.
Slowly, Reya’s hand dropped from the sword. She stood tall, her shoulders squared, but Zarin could see the tension in her every movement. Maros stepped back, nodding slightly as he gestured toward the expanse of frozen earth.
“Now, feel the ground beneath your feet,” Maros said, his voice steady. “Just as Zarin did. It’s there, waiting for you. The strength you seek isn’t in the blade—it’s in the earth itself. The Wastes have power, and if you listen, they will share it with you.”
Reya hesitated for only a moment before closing her eyes. Zarin watched her, his heart pounding in his chest. He had seen Reya fight countless times, had watched her take down enemies twice her size with nothing but her sword and her will. But now, in this moment, she was facing a different kind of battle—a battle against herself.
The wind picked up, swirling snow around them as the Wastes seemed to respond to their training. Zarin could feel the energy in the air, the same pulse of magic he had sensed earlier. But this time, it wasn’t just the wind—it was the land itself. The frozen ground beneath them seemed to shift ever so slightly, as if waiting for Reya to tap into its power.
Reya’s face was tense, her eyes closed in concentration. For a long moment, nothing happened. Zarin could see the strain in her expression, the way her muscles tensed as she stood there, trying to connect with the earth beneath her feet. But then, slowly, the ground began to tremble.
It wasn’t as controlled as Zarin’s attempt—the tremors were uneven, chaotic, as if the earth itself was resisting Reya’s touch. But it was a start. Zarin watched in awe as the ground beneath Reya shifted, small cracks forming in the frozen soil. She was doing it. She was bending the earth.
But then, suddenly, the tremors grew stronger, more violent. Reya’s face twisted in concentration, her fists clenched at her sides as she struggled to maintain control. The ground beneath her feet buckled, the cracks spreading, and Zarin felt a surge of panic rise in his chest.
“Reya, stop!” Zarin shouted, but it was too late.
The earth beneath Reya gave way, a deep fissure opening up beneath her feet. With a gasp, she stumbled backward, her eyes flying open as she lost her balance. Zarin lunged forward, grabbing her arm just before she fell into the widening crack.
For a moment, they stood there, breathing heavily, the wind howling around them. Reya’s face was pale, her eyes wide with shock. Zarin could feel the tremors beneath his feet, the raw power of the earth still surging through the land, but it was no longer controlled. It was wild, dangerous.
Maros stepped forward, his face calm but his eyes sharp. “You pushed too hard,” he said quietly. “You tried to force the earth to bend to your will, just as you do with your sword. But the earth doesn’t respond to force. It responds to balance.”
Reya’s chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, her hand trembling slightly as she regained her footing. She stared at the ground, the fissure still yawning beneath her, and Zarin could see the frustration in her eyes—the same frustration he had felt when he had struggled to control his own power.
“I couldn’t…” Reya’s voice trailed off, her expression hardening. “I couldn’t control it.”
Maros shook his head. “Because you weren’t trying to control it. You were trying to dominate it. You were treating it like an enemy, like something that needed to be conquered. But the land isn’t your enemy, Reya. It’s part of you, just as your sword is part of you. You must learn to work with it, not against it.”
Reya swallowed hard, her eyes still fixed on the ground. Zarin stepped closer, placing a hand on her shoulder. “You did it, though. You felt the power. That’s a start.”
Reya glanced at him, her eyes softening for a moment before she nodded. “Yeah. I felt it. But it’s… harder than I thought.”
Zarin smiled slightly. “Tell me about it.”
Maros stepped back, his gaze shifting between them. “This is only the beginning. You’re both learning, both growing. But the challenges ahead will demand more from you—more than just strength, more than just power. You must learn to trust yourselves, and each other.”
Zarin felt the weight of Maros’ words settle over him like a heavy cloak. The Spire was close now, but the journey ahead was still filled with uncertainty. They had come so far, but there was still so much to learn, so much to overcome.
As the wind howled through the Wastes, Zarin glanced at Reya. She was strong—stronger than anyone he had ever known—but even she had her limits. And so did he.
But together, they would face whatever lay ahead.
And they would find the strength they needed, in the land, in the magic, and in each other.