The sun was low on the horizon as Ashar, Elara, and Kaelen made their way through the dense forest. The day had been filled with silence, each of them lost in their own thoughts, but Ashar's mind was on edge, constantly replaying the events of the previous night.

The discovery of his abilities—the shadows, the names, and the strange power that now tugged at him from within, had shaken him to the core. He had never imagined that something so primal could reside inside him. Every time he thought about Veil Shift and Shadow Clone, a mixture of wonder and fear swirled in his chest. How was he supposed to control something so wild, so dangerous?

"Are you all right?"

Elara's voice broke through his thoughts, her eyes sharp with concern.

Ashar glanced at her and forced a smile.

"Yeah. Just... thinking."

She raised an eyebrow but said nothing more, though he could tell she wasn't convinced. Kaelen, who had been walking ahead, glanced back and motioned for them to follow.

"We're getting close," he said, his voice low.

"The place we're heading to is dangerous. You need to be prepared, Ashar. Your mark... it's just the beginning. You'll face something tonight that will test you."

The weight of Kaelen's words hung in the air like a storm cloud, and Ashar felt a shiver run down his spine. His powers were already overwhelming, and the thought of facing something worse sent a jolt of panic through him. But he wasn't about to back down. Whatever this test was, he would face it.

As they continued, the forest grew darker, the trees thicker. The path was narrow and winding, and the further they went, the more oppressive the silence became. Even the animals seemed to avoid the area, their usual calls absent from the air.

Eventually, they came upon a clearing, the ground covered with patches of twisted roots and strange, weathered stones. In the center of the clearing stood a large stone structure, a circle of jagged pillars that seemed to pulse with an ancient energy. The stones were covered in moss and vine, but the air around them thrummed with power. Ashar could feel it, a heavy pressure that seemed to press against his chest.

"This is it," Kaelen said, his voice quieter now, tinged with reverence.

"The Trial."

Ashar swallowed hard, his throat dry. He had no idea what this trial would entail, but he knew one thing for sure—it wasn't going to be easy.

As they stepped into the circle, the air grew colder. Ashar's breath misted in front of him, and a strange feeling washed over him, as if the very ground was alive beneath his feet. The stones seemed to whisper, their voices low and unintelligible, like the echoes of long-forgotten gods.

Kaelen turned to Ashar, his gaze intense.

"You're here to prove your worth, Ashar. The shadows, the mark, they have chosen you, but you must claim them. Control them. You'll face a trial of power, of will, and you must pass it if you are to progress."

Ashar nodded, though his mind was reeling. Control. Will. Could he really do it? Could he truly claim the shadows as his own?

Suddenly, the ground trembled beneath their feet. The stones around them began to glow, faint cracks of light pulsing from the cracks in their surfaces. Ashar stumbled back, his heart hammering in his chest.

The shadows around the circle thickened, swirling and coiling like living creatures. A low hum filled the air, and then—without warning—the shadows rushed toward Ashar, consuming him in an instant.

His vision went black.

For a brief moment, there was nothing—no sound, no light, no sense of self. Ashar couldn't even tell if he was still standing. Then, slowly, an overwhelming presence descended upon him, a darkness that seemed to press in from every direction. It was suffocating, like a heavy weight settling on his chest, making it harder to breathe with each passing second. The shadows surrounded him, crawling over his skin, sinking into his very bones. They were alive, relentless, and they felt like they were suffocating him from the inside out.

His breath came in sharp, desperate gasps, each inhale a struggle, each exhale a desperate attempt to fight the crushing darkness. His chest tightened, the pain unbearable, and for a moment, he thought he might choke on it. His limbs felt like lead, his muscles locking in place as the shadows crept deeper, coiling around his thoughts, smothering his every impulse.

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The shadows were inside him now—cold, biting, suffocating—and he could feel them writhing like a thousand serpents beneath his skin. They crawled through his veins, dragging him under, pulling him further into the abyss. He couldn't see, couldn't hear, couldn't feel anything except for the insistent pressure, the crushing weight of it all. It felt as though the darkness was trying to rip him apart, to tear his soul from his body, to leave nothing but an empty shell behind.

Panic surged through him. He gasped, but there was no air, no escape. The world around him twisted into a terrifying blur of blackness, each heartbeat a deafening thud in his chest.

"Please…" he begged, his voice barely more than a whisper, a mere croak in the silence. His hands clawed at the air, grasping desperately for anything to hold onto, but there was nothing. Nothing but the suffocating weight of the shadows closing in around him.

It felt like his heart was about to burst, like his very soul was being crushed by the shadows' unrelenting grip. The pressure in his chest intensified, and the pain was unbearable—sharp, burning, and freezing all at once. His mind screamed for release, for relief, but the darkness had him trapped. It was relentless, and it wasn't going to let go.

His vision blurred, the world spinning around him as his limbs trembled violently. His breath was shallow, ragged, and with each passing second, the shadows dug deeper into him, tearing away the last remnants of his control.

He couldn't keep fighting. He couldn't hold on any longer. The shadows were too strong, too powerful, and he was fading—fading into nothingness.

In the blackness, he felt something—a glimmer, a spark, something deep within himself that still fought, even if only a flicker of resistance. And with the last of his strength, he clung to it, refusing to let the darkness take him completely.

Just when it seemed like he was about to be consumed by the shadows, the world around him shifted. He felt his body jerking, pulling away from the suffocating grasp of the dark presence, but the shadows didn't let go. They were still there, clawing, scratching at his soul, trying to pull him back into the abyss. He couldn't breathe, couldn't move, couldn't think.

It was all too much. It felt like he was drowning.

But then, in the chaos, there was a flicker—a voice, distant and familiar.

"Ashar."

Kaelen's voice cut through the darkness like a blade, sharp and commanding. The shadows hesitated for just a moment, as if startled by the intrusion, but that brief pause was enough. Ashar's vision cleared just enough to see the faint outline of Kaelen's figure, his form standing at the edge of the abyss.

"Focus, Ashar!"

Kaelen's voice rang out again, louder this time.

"Don't let it take you."

Ashar's heart pounded in his chest, the pressure lifting just enough for him to draw a ragged breath. But the shadows weren't gone. They were still there, circling him, clawing at his mind.

"Focus!"

Kaelen shouted again, and Ashar felt a jolt of power surge through him. It was like an electric current running through his veins, something that pushed back against the suffocating darkness. He didn't have to understand it. He didn't have to control it. He just had to fight.

With a defiant shout, Ashar reached inside himself, into the shadows that lurked within, and pulled them out, forcing them back. The pressure in his chest eased, his breath becoming less ragged as he began to push against the darkness, his will stronger than it had ever been before.

The shadows recoiled, writhing and twisting, but Ashar held his ground. His mind was no longer clouded by fear. The shadows may have been consuming, but they were also his to command.

And with that thought, he finally felt the weight of the darkness lift, and the suffocating grip it had on him loosen. He gasped for breath, the world around him returning to its proper shape.

But even as the last remnants of the suffocating pressure faded away, Ashar knew—this was only the beginning. The shadows had been testing him, and he was barely scratching the surface of the power they offered.

With a gasp, Ashar focused, trying to push the panic aside. He reached deep inside himself, searching for the mark, for the power that had chosen him. He thought of the names that had appeared before him—Veil Shift, Shadow Clone. He had to make them real. He had to control them.

The shadows pressed in closer, and Ashar's pulse quickened. But then—something clicked. His mind cleared, and he felt a surge of energy flood through him. The shadows recoiled, as though surprised by the sudden resistance.

Ashar's eyes snapped open, and for the first time, he felt the true weight of his power. The shadows were his—he could feel them in his very bones. He could command them, bend them to his will. He just needed to trust himself.

With a breath, he focused on the first ability, Veil Shift. The world around him shimmered as the shadows responded, swirling around his body. For a moment, everything went dark.

And then—he was gone.

In the blink of an eye, Ashar appeared at the edge of the stone circle, standing a few paces away from where he had been just moments ago. He looked down at his hands, disbelief flooding through him. He had done it. He had teleported, stepped from one shadow to another, like it was nothing.

But there was no time to celebrate. The shadows were still alive, still pressing in. Ashar turned, his mind racing, and he called upon his second ability—Shadow Clone.

In an instant, the shadows around him thickened, and before his eyes, a dark duplicate of himself took form. It was an ethereal thing, a mimic of Ashar's own body, its movements mirroring his perfectly.

The clone raised its hands, and Ashar followed suit, instinctively summoning the shadows to strike at the real threat—the swirling mass of darkness that had surrounded him. His clone moved as he did, their strikes synchronized, and for a brief moment, Ashar felt the power of his mark—the power of the shadows—flow through him.

The shadows recoiled in response, and for the first time, Ashar felt in control.

But it wasn't over. The shadows were relentless, and Ashar could feel their hunger, their thirst for power, their desire to consume him. They would never stop, not unless he could prove he was their master.

His clone vanished as quickly as it had appeared, leaving Ashar standing alone against the dark force. But now, something had shifted within him. He wasn't the one who was being consumed. He was the one in control.

With a deep breath, Ashar reached out once more, his hands glowing with dark energy. The shadows obeyed.

And Ashar knew, without a doubt, that he had passed the Trial.