Kiaran walked through the guild's ironbound doors, feeling the unfamiliar weight of the air. Familiar faces that he once trusted averted their gaze as he went by, and their eyes rested on him with a touch of uncertainty, as though they'd never really seen him — or perhaps, as though they'd never see him again. He had returned from the last, perilous mission, having emerged victorious, his survival fueled by the influence of the relic. But it also sparked disquieting gossip among his friends. It was a power that they did not understand and, for that matter, neither did he.

The stone corridors of the guild seemed colder today, as if reacting to an undercurrent that went through the walls. Kiaran kept his back straight, though every muscle remained on guard. It wasn't long before he felt a presence trailing him through the dimly lit hallways.

He turned a corner and waited. At a whispered moment, a less rank member stepped out into view, staring at him with a mix of fear and respect. The young man darted his eyes about as if expecting eyes that couldn't be seen. His voice was barely above a whisper.

"Watch yourself, Kiaran," he said nervously, shifting his weight about. "They say. well, some think the relic has marked you. They think it's changing you."

Kiaran's hand fisted, but he maintained his composure. "Who says that?" he asked quietly, his voice holding the command that had served him through so many missions.

The young guild member scurried his face away, looking pale. "Some of the leaders. They're. worried. They think. if the relic's power is more than you can handle, then it will be a threat to the rest of us."

No more than a moment was needed for the member of the guild to slink away, leaving Kiaran once again alone in the silence of the hall. His eyes narrowed. He hadn't expected even the leaders, the ones he had bled beside in battle, to distrust him so much.

That night, Kiaran huddled in a shadowed alcove at the edge of the guild's library. Dim light flickered over his face as he waited, listening to the silence around him. Eira had asked for a meeting, her voice urging, filled with a warning she refused to speak on clearer grounds. He waited, fingers brushing against the pommel of his dagger, eyes watchful.

A rustling in the softness of the shadows, and there stood Eira, stepping forward into the dim light. Her face was pale, and her words were a mix of worry and of fear.

"Kiaran," she began, barely any louder than the beating of her heart. "Tell me honestly… can you control it? The relic's power?"

He looked into her eyes, seeking some kind of insight into what lay in the secret places of that mind. There was nothing but a glint of the reflection of fear. "I am in control," he said, his voice assertive, though the words rang hollow. Control-the dangerous assumption of power so mercurial.

Eira's head shook, her brows knotting. "I've heard things," she muttered, her gaze dipping to the floor. "Some of the guild leaders. they're talking about the 'precautions' they might need to take. If they think you are a danger, they'll move against you, Kiaran. They're afraid, and that makes them deadly.".

Her words fueled a dim ember of anger within him. So, it came to this? Did he pose the threat to them after everything and each scar wearing the imprint of loyalty on its sleeve?

"Do you doubt me too?" he asked, the pain sneaking out before he could catch his breath.

This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

Eira crept forward slowly, her hand caressing the length of his arm, a feathery touch. "No. I don't doubt you. But I know what fear does to people, Kiaran. It makes them desperate, capable of things they wouldn't have imagined otherwise."

He swallowed the lump in his throat, letting the weight of her warning fall into his chest. Eira was one of the few who had stayed close to him as the influence of the relic within him grew, but her eyes said that there had been an unspoken worry there, corroding him from inside.

Thank you for telling me, Eira, he said softly, his hand briefly covering hers then letting it go. But I can't live in fear of my own allies. If they want to doubt me, they'll see the strength I wield firsthand.

The next day, as he passed along the length and breadth of the guildhall, Kiaran caught on his nostrils something amiss-a storm gathering. He turned a corner and there stood Lysander, arms folded across his chest, face impassive.

"We need to talk," Lysander said, his voice measured but with a sternness Kiaran hadn't heard from him often before.

Kiaran nodded and followed Lysander into a small, dimly lit training room. Lysander made no attempt to open the door once he had gotten them both inside; his eyes searched Kiaran with an uncomfortable keenness.

"I've heard the whispers," Lysander began without wasting any time. "They say that relic's changing you. That it has made you something. unnatural."

The words were a knife, though Kiaran stood firm. "Are those your words, Lysander, or the guild's?

Lysander's jaw clenched, and for a moment, they said nothing to each other. "Does it matter?" he finally said. "What matters is whether you can prove that this power isn't consuming you."

Kiaran felt his temper flare, but he buried it under an icy calm. "What are you suggesting?"

"A duel," Lysander said without hesitation. "Show the guild that you are still in control-or submit to the guild's decisions.".

It was a challenge clear in intent, but the pressure of the situation weighed on Kiaran. Lysander was a challenger, and not just any challenger, but one of the guild's best, and it was neither proving himself nor testing his mettle; it was about survival, where every tide was turning against him.

"Very well," Kiaran growled, "let's settle this.

Opposites faced each other in the training arena under circle of guild members with breath held. Kiaran could feel that he had all eyes on him, that doubt, mistrust etched in the eyes, and he was driving it away, focusing on the moment as Lysander raised his sword, stance disciplined, unyielding.

Steel clashing, ringing out when their blades met; each blow was an experiment to test the strength of the other. Inside Kiaran, the relic's power surged and whispered promises of victory, but he wrestled it down with tight, controlled strikes.

But Lysander would not let go. He pushed Kiaran back, though he was fresher at the start; his attacks were somehow more intense than ever, full of a burning desire to expose some weakness, to show the guild where their loyalties must lie.

With a roar, Kiaran parried Lysander's blade, countering with a sweeping arc that sent his opponent back. He could feel the relic's dark energy seeping into his veins, begging for release, but he held it in check, refused to let it take control. He was more than a vessel for its power; he was Kiaran Voss, and his will was his own.

But Lysander's attacks grew more desperate. "Prove it, Kiaran!" he shouted, his voice echoing off the arena. "Prove to us all that you are the man we can continue to trust!"

Kiaran hesitated, the whispers from the relic building in intensity. They wanted him to let go, to reveal his power, to slay the doubts once and for all. That course would be treacherous, a tumble into a power he might never again climb out of.

He closed his eyes, concentrated, letting the influence of the relic recede as he steadied his breath. He opened them to Lysander's calm, resolute gaze.

"I am in control," he declared, his voice unwavering.

With a final blow, he disarmed Lysander. Kiaran's sword crashed to the ground, but a wave of shock and relief shot through the crowd. Kiaran rose above his fallen foe and reached out a hand.

Lysander grasped it, though the shadows didn't lift from his gaze. "Well done, Kiaran," he said quietly. "But know this: if you lose control, the guild will do what it must.".

I'll go," Kiaran said, his look grim. He knew what lay ahead of him was upon doubt and on betrayal and the perpetual looming presence of the relic's power. But he would be able to take all that coming towards him, unyielding and strong, for he wanted so much to be the master of his own fate-no matter the cost, no matter the labor.