“This is unacceptable!” Aldric’s voice carried through the early morning air, filled with irritation. “We were informed there was an artifact of significant interest here—a relic of untold power. And what do we find? Nothing. The orb is empty!”

Lorian’s heart raced. He instinctively glanced at Aric, who hadn’t yet seemed to notice the researcher’s ranting. Lorian bit his lip, guilt gnawing at him. Aric didn’t deserve to take the blame for something Lorian had done. The last thing Lorian wanted was for Aric to get in trouble because of him. The head researcher’s accusations were only getting louder.

“Intact?” Aldric scoffed. “It’s been drained of everything! Whatever power was held within it is gone—vanished! And I’m certain it’s because of the soldiers’ rough handling, most likely Aric’s carelessness.”

Lorian braced himself, ready to speak up, to explain that the orb had already been—

“Carelessness?” Aric’s voice cut through Aldric’s rant like a blade through the tension.

Lorian flinched, but Aldric didn’t seem to notice Aric’s approach until it was too late. The seasoned mentor strode over, hands on his hips, a calm, almost casual expression on his face. But Lorian could see the steel behind Aric’s eyes.

Aldric spun around to face Aric, and though his expression was indignant, there was a flicker of hesitation at the sight of Aric’s unbothered demeanor. “Yes, carelessness!” Aldric snapped, trying to regain his footing. “Your reckless methods must have damaged the artifact while tromping around these ruins. Now it’s worthless!”

“Hmm,” Aric said, tilting his head slightly. “Damaged the orb, huh? Interesting theory.” His tone was smooth, almost bored, which only seemed to rile Aldric further.

“You’re directly responsible!” Aldric jabbed a finger at Aric, his face reddening. “You were supposed to secure this area, not destroy its most valuable relic!”

Aric scratched his chin, clearly not taking the bait. “You know, Aldric, it’s funny. I don’t seem to recall seeing you out there with us when we were knee-deep in Wendigo guts just to clear a path to this so-called ‘valuable relic.’” He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice in a mock-confiding tone. “Pretty sure you weren’t even within a mile of this place while we were doing the hard work.”

Aldric bristled, caught off guard. “That’s not the point! My job is to ensure the protection and recovery of magical artifacts, not—”

“Not to fight monsters? Right. Which is why you should be thanking us instead of crying about a cracked orb.” Aric straightened up, shrugging his shoulders. “But hey, if you think it’s better off destroyed than causing any problems, I’d say we did you a favor. No more worrying about magical artifacts going rogue, right?”

Lorian watched the exchange, his stomach twisted with guilt, but a small part of him couldn’t help but admire the way Aric handled Aldric. The researcher’s usual bluster seemed to crumble in the face of Aric’s calm dismissal.

Aldric sputtered, looking more flustered by the second. “This is outrageous! I’ll be reporting this to the council! They’ll hear about your... your cavalier attitude toward—”

“Sure, sure. You go ahead and file your report,” Aric said, waving a hand dismissively. “Just make sure you include the part where you stayed nice and cozy while we risked our necks. I’m sure the council will love that.”

Aldric’s face turned crimson, but he seemed to realize he was fighting a losing battle. With a final huff, he spun around and stomped off, muttering angrily under his breath.

Lorian let out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. Aric had handled the situation so effortlessly, making Aldric’s complaints seem ridiculous in comparison. The knot of guilt in Lorian’s chest loosened slightly. Aric could hold his own—there was no need to worry.

“Better destroyed than something worse happening,” Aric muttered to himself, clearly still unbothered by Aldric’s outburst. His eyes flicked toward Lorian for a moment, as if sensing the young cadet’s concern. Aric gave a small, knowing smirk before turning away.

Lorian swallowed hard, feeling a rush of relief. He’s got this, he thought. Aric wasn’t just some overbearing mentor—he knew how to take care of himself, even when dealing with difficult people like Aldric.

See? Lysara’s voice slithered into his mind, her tone amused. You’re worried about nothing. Aric is more than capable of handling fools like that.

Lorian had to admit, Lysara was right. But just as he was about to relax, a familiar voice called out across the camp.

“Aeloria!” Sergeant Quinn’s bark cut through the morning air.

Lorian snapped to attention, turning to face Quinn, who was striding toward him with his usual no-nonsense expression. Quinn, his squad leader, had the kind of look that meant nothing good was about to come of this conversation.

“Sergeant?” Lorian asked, bracing himself.

Quinn stopped in front of him, arms crossed, his stern gaze fixed on Lorian. “Don’t think you’re off the hook just because you’ve been pulling night watch.”

Lorian blinked. “Sir?”

Quinn’s eyes narrowed slightly, as if annoyed he had to explain it. “Captain Rourke gave strict orders that your morning PT drills are still mandatory. Don’t think being out here changes that.”

Lorian’s stomach sank. He had almost forgotten about the punishment drills Captain Rourke had assigned after the fight with the second years. Even out here, in the middle of an assignment, there was no escape from the physical training.

“Understood, Sergeant,” Lorian replied, trying to keep his voice steady, though the exhaustion from the long night was starting to catch up with him.

“You’ve got one hour,” Quinn added, glancing toward the rising sun. “So get whatever rest you can. Then report for PT. No excuses.”

Lorian resisted the urge to groan. “Yes, Sergeant.”

Quinn gave a curt nod before walking away, leaving Lorian standing there, shoulders slumping slightly under the weight of his exhaustion and the knowledge that his day was far from over.

Looks like your reprieve was short-lived, Lysara’s voice purred in his mind, clearly amused. No rest for the wicked, darling.

Lorian sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. It’s going to be a long day, he thought.

The sun had barely risen when Lorian stood at the edge of the camp, already drenched in sweat. Sergeant Quinn had wasted no time reminding him of his punishment drills, and now, despite the fatigue from his night watch, Lorian found himself back in the grind.

The PT drills were relentless. Captain Rourke had specifically designed them to be grueling, a form of discipline after Lorian’s altercation with the second years. Today’s regimen was no different.

“Twenty more burpees, Aeloria!” Quinn’s voice echoed sharply from across the field.

Lorian gritted his teeth, his muscles burning from the sheer volume of exercises they had already done. He could feel every fiber in his legs protesting, every beat of his heart hammering harder in his chest. But he pushed through it. Dropping into another burpee, his arms trembled as he pressed his body back up, only to repeat the motion.

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“One... two...” Lorian counted under his breath, trying to focus. Each movement was precise—drop, push, jump, repeat—but his body was fighting him. The weight of fatigue pulled at his limbs, but Lorian knew better than to stop. Quinn’s eyes were on him, watching every move.

When the last of the burpees was finally done, Lorian’s lungs burned, his chest heaving for air. He glanced up, expecting some kind of reprieve, but Quinn was unrelenting.

“Now sprints! You know the drill—down and back, five rounds. Go!” Quinn barked, crossing his arms, his face expressionless.

Lorian groaned inwardly but bolted forward, his legs aching as he sprinted across the camp field. The sun beat down on him, the heat growing more oppressive with each passing moment, but Lorian pushed through. He’d been through worse, he reminded himself. This was nothing compared to fighting Wendigos in the freezing wilderness or battling for his life in training bouts.

Still, by the time he finished the sprints, his entire body was trembling with exhaustion.

“Last set,” Quinn finally said, almost sounding merciful. “Fifty push-ups. Then you’re done.”

Lorian dropped to the ground immediately, not wanting to prolong the suffering. He focused on each push-up, his arms quaking with the strain. His breath came in ragged bursts, his muscles screaming for rest. But he pressed on, determined to finish.

By the time he reached the fiftieth push-up, Lorian collapsed onto the grass, staring up at the sky. His body ached in ways that made him wish he could sleep for a week, but the moment he finished, he felt an odd sense of satisfaction. He had survived another PT session, even if barely.

Quinn walked over, his heavy boots crunching against the dirt. He stared down at Lorian with a mixture of approval and indifference. “You’re done for now, Aeloria. Rest up. But remember, no slacking on PT while we’re out here.”

“Yes, Sergeant,” Lorian muttered, wiping sweat from his brow as he struggled to sit up.

Quinn nodded, turning on his heel and walking away, leaving Lorian to his sore muscles and exhaustion. He sat there for a few minutes, catching his breath, letting the tension in his body slowly drain. The camp was starting to wake up, with soldiers moving about, tending to their duties, and the researchers still poring over the ruins.

But something stirred within him, an urge he hadn’t felt in a long time—an itch to test his newfound power. His control over his magic had always been limited, restricted by the constant clashing of the light and shadow elements within him. But now... now it was different. Lysara had broken the seal.

You can feel it, can’t you? Lysara’s voice slid into his thoughts, a soft purr of satisfaction. The chains are gone. The suppression has lifted.

Lorian exhaled slowly, feeling the quiet hum of magic beneath his skin, coursing through his veins. It was like a dam had been broken, and now, the power flowed freely—light and shadow, side by side, no longer clashing, no longer at war with each other.

He needed to test it. To feel the difference.

With a grunt, Lorian pushed himself to his feet and made his way toward the edge of the camp, where a series of training dummies and logs were set up for practice. His sword, which had been strapped to his back during PT, felt heavier now, its weight a reminder of the control he never had over his own power. Until now.

Drawing the blade, Lorian stared at the edge of the steel, feeling the magic within him respond to his will. He raised the sword in front of him and, without hesitation, began channeling mana into the blade.

The difference was immediate. There was no resistance, no internal struggle between light and shadow. The mana flowed through him like a river, surging into the sword, filling the weapon with raw, untamed energy. The blade itself hummed, glowing faintly as the magic took hold, and Lorian could feel the power radiating from it.

He took a step toward a nearby log, one that had been set up for target practice. In the past, it had always taken everything he had just to infuse a fraction of his mana into a weapon. But now? The power surged through him effortlessly, as though it had been waiting for this moment.

With a swift motion, Lorian swung the sword down.

The blade cut through the log like it was made of paper.

Lorian stood still for a moment, staring at the log that had been cleaved in two, the halves falling to the ground with a soft thud. His heart raced, not with exhaustion this time, but with exhilaration. The mana had flowed into his sword so easily, and the result was... astonishing. He hadn’t needed to force the magic, to fight against the internal resistance. It had obeyed him perfectly.

Impressive, isn’t it? Lysara’s voice was filled with satisfaction. This is only the beginning, Lorian. You’ve barely scratched the surface of what you’re capable of.

Lorian didn’t respond, too focused on the sword in his hand. He lifted it again, channeling more mana into the blade, watching as it glowed brighter, the light and shadow swirling together in perfect harmony. It felt... right. For the first time, his magic wasn’t a burden, wasn’t something he had to control with painstaking effort. It was his. Completely and utterly his.

He stepped toward another log, his grip tightening around the hilt of his sword. This time, he didn’t hesitate. The blade moved through the air with lightning speed, cutting through the log with ease, the clean slice so precise that the log barely shifted before it fell apart.

Lorian grinned, a rush of adrenaline and satisfaction flooding through him. This... this is what I’ve been missing, he thought.

Now you see, Lysara purred in his mind, her voice laced with approval. Without the chains, you are free. Free to control your magic, to wield it as it was always meant to be. No more suppression. No more limits.

Lorian’s breath came in short bursts, but not from exhaustion. It was from the thrill of control, of power. He took a step back, looking at the destroyed logs, then at the glowing sword in his hand. His heart pounded with anticipation.

Lorian stood among the scattered remnants of the logs, his heart still racing from the thrill of cutting through them with such ease. His sword hummed faintly in his grip, still glowing from the surge of mana he had poured into it. The newfound sense of control over his magic filled him with a rush of confidence, but something else tugged at his thoughts—his shadow magic.

He glanced down at his hands, the mark from his pact with Lysara faintly pulsing. Shadow magic. It was lurking just beneath the surface, waiting to be unleashed. But showing it off now would only invite questions he couldn’t answer. It was unheard of for someone to wield both shadow and light magic—it defied everything he had been taught.

If they see me use shadow magic, Lorian thought, they’ll know something’s wrong.

For as long as he could remember, he had been known for his light magic—though weak and unreliable, it was still a part of his Aeloria heritage. The power of light was expected from him, just as it had been from his father, Thaddeus Aeloria. But shadow magic? That was a different story. The Varaketh side of his family, his mother’s lineage, had long been demon hunters, masters of shadow magic. But for him to wield both light and shadow... it was beyond rare. It was dangerous.

No one can know about this, he reminded himself. If they see me using shadow magic, they'll start asking questions I can't answer. I'll be known as a dual elemental mage—a freak, a threat.

That was a label he couldn’t afford. His light magic had always been seen as inadequate, a dim flicker compared to the brilliant mastery of others in his family. But now, with the seal broken, his light magic felt different. Stronger. Stable. And as far as anyone knew, this was still the only magic he possessed. It was safer this way—safer to let them think he had simply become better at what he was already known for.

Lorian straightened, adjusting his grip on the hilt of his sword. His decision was made. He would focus on perfecting his light magic. The shadow magic, though potent and tempting, would have to stay hidden—for now. At least until he understood it better. Until he knew how to control it without drawing attention.

He took a deep breath, pushing thoughts of shadow magic aside. His focus needed to be on the light—the one element everyone expected from him. The one that wouldn’t raise any red flags.

Light magic it is, he thought, turning his attention back to his practice. For now, that's all anyone needs to see.

With a flick of his wrist, Lorian summoned a glowing orb of light, watching as it formed perfectly in his palm. The control was effortless, nothing like the weak, sputtering magic he had been used to before. This was the power he had longed for, the strength that had been kept from him for so long. And now, it was his.

He sent the orb forward, watching it streak through the air like a comet before it crashed into a nearby log, splitting it in half. The force of the magic left him breathless. He could feel the difference—the night-and-day contrast between the boy he had been and the power he now wielded.

“Not bad,” Lysara's voice echoed in his mind, the teasing edge unmistakable. But it’s still just light magic. Don’t you want to see what your shadow magic can do?

Lorian ignored her. He had made up his mind. Light magic was enough for now.

Another spell formed in his hands—this time, a shield of light. The golden barrier shimmered in the air, casting a warm glow around him. It was solid, strong—everything his shields had never been before. Lorian pressed his hand against the surface, feeling the steady pulse of mana beneath his palm. He smiled, pride swelling in his chest. This was more than he had ever dreamed of.

And no one had to know there was more lurking beneath the surface.

He let the shield dissolve into the air, standing in the training ground for a moment longer. His heart raced with excitement, but he reminded himself to stay cautious. He would keep practicing, keep pushing his light magic to new limits. But the shadow magic would stay hidden. It was too risky to reveal just yet.

When the time is right, he thought, I’ll use the shadow magic. But until then...

He glanced around the camp, making sure no one had been watching. The soldiers were busy with their morning routines, unaware of the internal conflict that had been brewing within him. His secret was safe.

For now.