The air around Zarin had grown heavy, thick with a presence he couldn’t quite describe. The closer he got to the Spire, the more oppressive the weight became, as if the very atmosphere was pressing down on him, making it difficult to breathe. His footsteps felt slower, his body heavier, though there was no visible change in the world around him.

And then the landscape around him shifted.

One moment, he was walking through the twisted terrain of the Wastes, with Reya and Maros beside him. The next, he was alone, standing in a place that seemed to exist outside of time and space. The sky above him was a swirling mass of dark clouds, lit by flashes of purple lightning. The ground beneath his feet was smooth, almost glasslike, but it pulsed with a strange energy that Zarin could feel through the soles of his boots.

This place felt… alive.

Zarin swallowed hard, his hand instinctively going to the pendant around his neck. The warmth of it was comforting, but it did little to ease the growing sense of dread that gnawed at his insides. He could feel the Old Magic here, more strongly than ever before. It hummed in the air, pulsed through the ground, and thrummed inside his very being.

But there was something else. A presence. Watching him.

“Zarin…”

The voice echoed in the air, soft and distant, but unmistakable. It wasn’t like the illusions he had faced before—it was deeper, more real. It spoke not to his mind, but to his soul.

“Who are you?” Zarin called out, his voice trembling despite himself.

There was no response, only a low, rumbling hum that seemed to resonate from the ground beneath him. The air around him grew colder, and for a brief moment, Zarin wondered if this was another trick, another trial like Reya’s.

But deep down, he knew this was different.

Before he could move, the ground beneath him shifted again, and suddenly, he was no longer standing on smooth, glasslike terrain. He was standing in a vast, open chamber, the walls lined with strange, glowing symbols that pulsed with a faint, bluish light. The ceiling was so high it disappeared into darkness, and at the far end of the chamber stood an altar—massive and ancient, its surface etched with runes that seemed to move and shift as Zarin looked at them.

The air here was thick with magic—raw, untamed, and powerful.

Zarin’s heart pounded in his chest as he took a step forward, his eyes drawn to the altar. The pendant around his neck grew warmer, its glow faint but steady, as if it, too, was reacting to the energy in the chamber.

“This is where it all began,” the voice said again, closer this time.

Zarin turned sharply, his breath catching in his throat as he saw a figure standing near the altar. It was tall and cloaked in shadows, its features hidden, but its presence was undeniable. The air around the figure shimmered with magic, and Zarin could feel the raw power radiating from it.

“Who are you?” Zarin asked again, his voice barely above a whisper.

The figure stepped forward, its movements slow and deliberate. “I am what you seek, Zarin. I am the Old Magic. The source of your power. The force that binds this world together.”

Zarin’s heart raced, his mind struggling to comprehend what he was hearing. “The Old Magic…? How is that possible?”

The figure smiled faintly, though its face remained obscured. “The Old Magic is not a thing, Zarin. It is not a tool to be wielded or a weapon to be controlled. It is life itself. It flows through the land, through the air, through every living thing. It is the heartbeat of the world.”

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Zarin’s throat tightened, his hand clutching the pendant as if it could protect him from the enormity of what he was hearing. “But why… why me? Why do I have this power?”

The figure’s smile faded, its voice growing softer. “Because you are connected to it, Zarin. You are not just a wielder of the Old Magic—you are a part of it. It flows through your blood, through your spirit. It has always been with you.”

Zarin’s mind raced, memories flashing before his eyes. The moment he had first felt the magic surge through him, the terror of losing control, the fear of what he might become. He had always believed that the magic was something separate from him, something he had to control. But now, standing here, he realized that it wasn’t separate at all.

It was him.

The figure stepped closer, its form towering over him now, though it still remained cloaked in shadows. “You are its vessel, Zarin. But the question is… will you accept it?”

Zarin swallowed hard, his heart pounding in his chest. “What do you mean?”

The figure raised a hand, and the air around them crackled with energy. “The Old Magic is vast, limitless. But it is also dangerous. It does not obey the laws of men or the will of those who seek to control it. It is a force of nature, wild and untamed. To truly wield it, you must become one with it.”

Zarin’s breath caught in his throat as the figure’s words sank in. “Become… one with it? You mean lose myself?”

The figure’s eyes gleamed faintly from within the shadows. “Not lose yourself. Become more than yourself. The Old Magic is not a tool to be controlled—it is a symbiotic force. It gives, and it takes. To fully embrace it is to become its equal, to let go of the boundaries that define you as an individual.”

Zarin’s mind reeled. He had spent so long trying to control the magic, trying to bend it to his will, always afraid that if he didn’t, it would consume him. But now, he was being asked to do the opposite—to embrace the magic fully, to become a part of it, to let it shape him as much as he shaped it.

“And if I don’t?” Zarin asked, his voice trembling.

The figure’s smile returned, though it was colder now, more calculating. “Then the magic will always resist you. It will fight you at every turn. It will never be fully under your control, and in the end, it will consume you—just as it has consumed so many before you.”

Zarin’s blood ran cold. He had seen what the magic could do when left unchecked—Rovan was proof of that. The idea of becoming like him, of losing himself to the power, was terrifying. But the alternative—the idea of never fully controlling it, of always fighting a losing battle—was just as terrifying.

“I don’t want to lose myself,” Zarin said quietly, his voice barely audible.

The figure tilted its head, its eyes gleaming with an unnatural light. “To lose yourself is to gain something greater. You will no longer be bound by the limitations of mortals. You will become something more.”

Zarin’s grip on the pendant tightened. The warmth it provided was steady, comforting, but it wasn’t enough to drown out the fear that gnawed at his insides. Could he really do it? Could he let go of everything that defined him, everything that made him who he was, and become something else? Something greater?

Or would he simply become a vessel for the magic, losing himself in the process?

The figure stepped closer, its voice a whisper now, but filled with power. “The choice is yours, Zarin. Embrace the Old Magic, and you will have the power to reshape the world. Resist it, and you will be consumed by it.”

Zarin’s heart pounded in his chest as he looked up at the figure, the weight of the decision pressing down on him. He could feel the magic inside him, pulsing, waiting. It was alive, a part of him, but it was also something beyond him, something ancient and powerful.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” Zarin whispered, his voice shaking.

The figure smiled, its eyes gleaming. “You are already doing it, Zarin. The magic is within you. It has always been within you. The only question is whether you will let it shape you, or whether you will continue to fight it.”

Zarin closed his eyes, his mind racing. The pendant was warm against his skin, the only solid thing in a world that felt like it was slipping away. The magic was there, waiting, but it was no longer something he could control. It was something he had to accept.

And in that moment, Zarin understood.

The magic wasn’t something separate from him. It was him. It had always been a part of him, and it always would be. To deny it was to deny himself.

Slowly, Zarin opened his eyes and looked up at the figure. “I choose… to embrace it.”

The figure smiled, and in an instant, it vanished, leaving Zarin standing alone in the vast chamber. The air around him crackled with energy, the symbols on the walls glowing brighter as the magic surged through him. But this time, it wasn’t chaotic. It wasn’t wild.

It was calm. It was his.

Zarin took a deep breath, the power of the Old Magic flowing through him like a steady river. He had made his choice. He would not lose himself. He would become one with the magic, not as its servant, but as its equal.

And with that, the chamber dissolved, and Zarin found himself back in the Wastes, standing beside Reya and Maros once more.

But he was different now. Stronger. More sure of himself.

The Old Magic was no longer a force he had to fear. It was a part of him. And together, they would face whatever came next.