The world felt different.

Zarin blinked his eyes open, the edges of his vision blurred as the cold air of the Wastes settled over him. His body felt heavy, every limb weighted down by exhaustion. For a moment, he couldn’t remember where he was or what had happened. The last thing he recalled was the battle in his mind—the confrontation with the Old Magic, the choice he had made.

He shifted, feeling the rough stone beneath him as he pushed himself upright. His muscles ached, his bones creaking with the effort, but the sharpness of his pain was quickly overshadowed by something else—something looming ahead of him.

The Spire.

He stared at it in awe, its jagged form rising high into the stormy sky, dark and ancient, like a monument to an age long forgotten. Its surface shimmered faintly in the dim light, as if it were alive, pulsating with the same magic that had filled Zarin’s dreams. The wind whipped around them, carrying with it the strange hum of the Old Magic, a deep resonance that vibrated through his very bones.

Reya stirred beside him, her face pale but determined. She sat up slowly, her eyes fixed on the Spire with a mixture of wonder and fear. They had made it through the mental battle, but as they looked at the towering structure, they both knew the real trial was only just beginning.

Maros stood a few feet away, his staff in hand, his gaze fixed on the Spire as well. His face was grim, lined with the weight of knowledge that Zarin knew he hadn’t yet shared.

“We’re here,” Maros said quietly, his voice carrying over the wind. “The heart of the Old Magic.”

Zarin felt a shiver run down his spine. The Spire was unlike anything he had ever seen. It radiated power, ancient and untamed, and he could feel it calling to him, like a deep, primal urge that he couldn’t ignore.

“Do you feel that?” Reya asked, her voice low as she stood, her eyes wide as she stared at the Spire.

Zarin nodded. He felt it, too. A pull. A hunger.

As they watched, something strange began to happen. A faint glow appeared at the base of the Spire, flickering in the cracks of the stone like liquid fire. It was a deep, rich gold, almost like molten metal, and it oozed slowly from the Spire, dripping down the sides and pooling at the ground in shimmering puddles.

Zarin felt his breath catch in his throat as he watched the strange liquid seep from the Spire. It pulsed with magic, glowing faintly, and as the wind carried its scent toward him, he felt a strange compulsion rise within him.

He needed to consume it.

His mouth went dry as the thought took root in his mind. The liquid wasn’t just a substance—it was power, raw and unfiltered, the very essence of the Old Magic. And it was calling to him, drawing him closer with an irresistible force.

Reya took a step forward, her eyes locked on the shimmering liquid. Zarin could see the same hunger in her gaze, the same pull that he felt in his own chest.

“What is that?” Zarin asked, his voice hoarse.

Maros didn’t answer right away. He watched them both with a guarded expression, his eyes dark and unreadable.

“It’s the Spire’s blood,” Maros said finally, his voice low and grim. “The purest form of the Old Magic. It seeps from the Spire when it’s ready to awaken those who are worthy.”

Zarin swallowed hard, his heart racing as he stared at the liquid. The thought of consuming it filled him with both excitement and fear. He could feel the magic inside him, dormant but waiting, and he knew that this was the key to unlocking it fully.

“But it comes with a price,” Maros added, his voice grave.

Reya glanced at Maros, her brow furrowed. “What kind of price?”

Maros sighed, his shoulders heavy with the weight of knowledge. “The Old Magic is not gentle. It does not awaken without cost. When you consume the Spire’s blood, it will reshape you—physically, mentally, spiritually. You will be changed, forever.”

Zarin’s stomach twisted at the thought, but the pull of the liquid was too strong to resist. He could feel it in his bones, in his very soul. The magic inside him was restless, hungry, and this was the only way to feed it.

“I have to do it,” Zarin whispered, more to himself than anyone else.

Reya nodded, her expression determined. “So do I.”

Maros watched them both carefully. “If you choose this path, you must be prepared for what comes next. The pain will be unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. The Old Magic will tear you apart, only to rebuild you.”

Zarin’s heart raced, fear and excitement battling for dominance in his mind. But he knew there was no turning back. This was what he had been fighting for—control, power, the ability to face the Ascendants and whatever challenges lay ahead.

With a deep breath, Zarin stepped forward, kneeling beside the pool of liquid that had collected at the base of the Spire. It shimmered in the dim light, thick and viscous, like molten gold. The magic in the air buzzed around him, crackling with energy as he dipped his hand into the liquid.

It was warm—almost too warm—against his skin, and as he lifted his hand to his lips, the liquid clung to his fingers like honey. His pulse pounded in his ears as he brought the liquid to his mouth, the scent of it filling his senses, and without hesitation, he drank.

The moment the liquid touched his tongue, Zarin felt a jolt of energy surge through his body, like a bolt of lightning striking him from the inside. His vision blurred, his muscles tensed, and a searing heat spread through his veins, burning its way through every fiber of his being.

Beside him, Reya had done the same. Her face contorted in pain as she clutched her chest, her breath coming in sharp, shallow gasps.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

And then the transformation began.

Zarin’s body convulsed violently, his muscles spasming as the Old Magic ripped through him. His bones cracked and shifted beneath his skin, twisting and reforming with sickening pops. He gasped for air, his lungs burning as if they were being crushed from the inside. Blood poured from his nose and mouth, dripping onto the ground as his body was forcibly reshaped.

It felt as though his skin was being torn apart, his flesh warping and twisting to accommodate the new magic coursing through him. Every nerve in his body screamed with pain, the sensation so intense that it overwhelmed his senses, leaving him teetering on the edge of consciousness.

Beside him, Reya screamed, her voice raw and guttural as she collapsed to the ground, her body shaking uncontrollably. Her bones snapped and reformed, her limbs elongating and contorting in unnatural ways. Blood pooled beneath her as the magic reshaped her from the inside out, breaking and rebuilding her with ruthless precision.

Zarin’s vision blurred as he felt his spine crack and shift, his muscles tearing and reforming with each agonizing breath. He could feel the magic coursing through his veins, burning like fire as it tore him apart, piece by piece.

Maros knelt beside them, his expression grim but focused. “You must endure it,” he said, his voice calm despite the chaos around him. “This is the price of awakening the Old Magic. Let it take you. Let it reshape you.”

Zarin gritted his teeth, his jaw clenched so tightly it felt like it might shatter. The pain was unbearable, all-consuming, but beneath the agony, he could feel something else—power. The Old Magic was awakening inside him, filling him with a strength he had never known before.

His bones continued to break and reform, his muscles twisting and bulging as the magic forced its way through him. Blood dripped from his mouth, his nose, his eyes, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. He had to endure.

The transformation seemed to last an eternity, each second stretching out into a lifetime of pain. But slowly, the agony began to fade, the searing heat cooling as the magic settled within him. His muscles ached, his bones throbbed, but the raw, visceral pain was finally beginning to ebb.

Zarin collapsed onto the ground, gasping for breath as the last remnants of the transformation faded. His body felt different—stronger, heavier, more powerful. He could feel the magic coursing through him, no longer a chaotic force to be controlled, but a part of him, integrated into his very being.

Reya lay beside him, her chest rising and falling with labored breaths. Blood stained her skin, but her body, too, had changed. She looked stronger, more formidable, as if the Old Magic had reshaped her into a warrior of ancient legend.

Maros watched as the last remnants of the transformation faded, his eyes never leaving the two figures lying on the cold ground. Zarin and Reya had survived. The process had been brutal, more painful than he could have prepared them for, but they had endured it. They had done what few others had ever accomplished: they had awakened the Old Magic within themselves, and now, they would never be the same.

Zarin lay on his back, gasping for air as the magic pulsed faintly beneath his skin. His body had changed—his muscles were leaner, harder, his limbs infused with a new strength. The pendant he wore still glowed faintly, its light steady, a symbol of the power he now controlled. But the look in Zarin’s eyes was one of awe and fear, as though he had just glimpsed the enormity of the path ahead.

Reya, too, was changed. Her breath came in shallow gasps, her chest rising and falling rapidly as her body adjusted to its new form. Blood still streaked her skin, but beneath the scars of the transformation, she was stronger, more formidable than ever. The Old Magic had reshaped her into a warrior born anew, her spirit forged in the fires of pain and endurance.

Maros knelt between them, his gaze shifting between Zarin and Reya as they lay, recovering from the ordeal. His heart ached for them. He had seen the suffering they had just endured, felt it echo through the magic that now bound them all together. But this was the path they had chosen. The path they had to take.

“You’ve both done well,” Maros said softly, his voice steady but filled with a quiet pride. “You survived what many could not. You’ve awakened the Old Magic within you, and with it, you will grow stronger. But this power comes at a cost.”

Zarin turned his head slightly, his eyes meeting Maros’. His face was pale, his expression weary, but there was a fire in his gaze—a determination that hadn’t been there before.

“I felt it,” Zarin rasped, his voice hoarse from the pain. “The magic… it’s alive.”

Maros nodded, his expression grave. “It is. The Old Magic is a living force, ancient and wild. It doesn’t obey the laws of men or the rules of nature. It flows through you now, a part of you, but you must always be careful with it. It will test you, push you, and if you lose control…” His voice trailed off, the unspoken warning hanging in the air.

Reya sat up slowly, wincing as the movement sent a sharp jolt of pain through her still-healing body. She wiped the blood from her face, her eyes sharp and focused. “We won’t lose control,” she said, her voice firm despite the lingering exhaustion. “We can handle it.”

Maros offered her a faint smile, though there was a sadness in his eyes. “I believe you can. But this is just the beginning. The Old Magic is not easily tamed. It will take time to master it. You will face more trials, more pain, before you truly understand the power you now possess.”

Zarin sat up as well, his hands trembling slightly as he ran them over his arms, feeling the unfamiliar strength in his limbs. “What now?” he asked, his voice filled with uncertainty.

Maros stood slowly, looking down at the two of them with a sense of quiet resolve. He had known this moment would come. He had watched them both grow, watched as the magic had begun to awaken within them. And now, they were ready. Ready to face the challenges ahead. Ready to take their place in the battle against the Ascendants.

But they weren’t ready to do it alone.

“Now,” Maros said softly, “I will guide you.”

He reached out, placing a hand on each of their shoulders, his touch firm but gentle. “I’ve walked this path before, and I know the dangers that come with it. The power you hold is immense, but it is also dangerous. You will be tempted to use it recklessly, to bend it to your will. But remember this: the Old Magic is not a weapon. It is a force, and it requires balance. If you try to control it without understanding it, it will consume you.”

Zarin and Reya both looked up at him, their faces pale but determined. Maros could see the fire in their eyes, the same fire that had once burned in him when he had first walked this path. But he also saw the fear, the uncertainty. They had survived the awakening, but they didn’t yet understand the burden they now carried.

“I will help you,” Maros continued, his voice steady. “I will teach you how to control the magic, how to live with it. I won’t let it consume you. I promise.”

Zarin’s gaze softened, a flicker of relief crossing his face. Reya nodded, her jaw clenched with determination. They were both exhausted, their bodies still aching from the transformation, but there was no turning back now. They had awakened the Old Magic, and with it, they had accepted the path that lay ahead.

Maros looked out at the Spire, its dark, jagged form looming over them like a silent sentinel. The journey was far from over. The Spire still held its secrets, and the Ascendants were still out there, seeking the same power that now flowed through Zarin and Reya.

But for the first time in years, Maros felt a sense of hope. He had chosen to walk this path with them, to guide them through the trials that lay ahead. And in Zarin, he saw something he hadn’t seen in a long time—a chance. A chance that this time, things could be different. A chance that Zarin might not be consumed by the Old Magic, as so many others had before him.

It was a gamble, and Maros knew the risks. But as he looked down at Zarin and Reya, he felt a quiet resolve settle over him.

“I will be with you,” Maros said softly, his voice filled with quiet determination. “No matter what comes next, we will face it together.”

The wind howled around them, the Spire looming ahead, but for the first time since they had begun this journey, Maros felt a sense of peace. He had made his choice, and now, he would keep his promise.

Together, they would face the future.

And no matter what happened, Maros would not let them face it alone.