The shard pulsed faintly in my chest as I walked toward the training yard. Its hum, subtle but steady, had become my constant companion. It wasn’t sight—it would never be sight—but it was something. A rhythm that aligned with the beat of my heart and sharpened the sensations around me.

Each day, I grew stronger, but with every step forward came the weight of expectation. The shard gave me strength, but it also demanded something in return. I could feel its influence growing, though I didn’t yet understand what it wanted from me.

The training yard was alive with the sounds of drills. Swords clashed, boots thudded against the dirt, and the faint bark of commands echoed in the air. Without sight, I couldn’t see the patterns of movement, but the vibrations painted a picture in my mind—the soldiers sparring, shifting, and pausing as they noticed me approaching.

“Here to gloat?” Aric’s voice cut through the noise, sharp and familiar. He was close—just ahead, his boots grinding against the dirt as he turned toward me. “Or are you planning to train this time?”

“I came to train,” I said evenly, keeping my grip firm on the wooden practice sword at my side.

Aric laughed, a low, mocking sound. “Train? Haven’t you already proven your point? Or are you hoping for another miracle?”

I ignored the taunt, stepping into the sparring circle. The shard’s hum sharpened slightly, aligning with my breathing as I adjusted my stance. “You’re wasting time, Aric. Let’s get started.”

He hesitated for just a moment before stepping into the circle opposite me. His movements were deliberate, almost cautious, though his voice remained derisive. “Fine. Let’s see if your luck holds.”

The first strike came fast—a downward swing aimed at my shoulder. The shard’s pulse quickened, guiding my response. I shifted to the side, deflecting his blade with a solid parry. The force vibrated through my arms, but I held steady, letting the shard’s rhythm keep me balanced.

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Aric pressed harder, his strikes were relentless. Each swing carried more weight and more frustration, but the shard heightened my senses. I couldn’t see his movements, but I could feel them—the tension in the air, the subtle shift in his footing before he attacked. It was enough.

“You’re not the same,” he muttered, his voice tight with frustration. His strikes grew heavier, but his precision faltered. The more he tried to overpower me, the easier it became to anticipate his movements.

Finally, I found an opening. I sidestepped his lunge, twisting my blade to strike his wrist. His sword clattered to the ground, the sound ringing through the yard. For a moment, everything was silent.

Aric stepped back, his breathing heavy. He stared at me, and though I couldn’t see his expression, I could feel his disbelief. “You...”

But he didn’t finish. Without a word, he turned and walked away.

The murmurs of the soldiers filled the air as I lowered my sword. Their whispers carried a mix of curiosity and unease, but I didn’t linger to listen. The shard’s hum softened, its rhythm steady as I left the circle.

Later, I retreated to the library, seeking the quiet refuge of its shelves. Master Briar greeted me with his usual calm presence, his voice warm as he spoke.

“You’ve been busy,” he said. “Word of your sparring matches has spread.”

I settled into my usual seat, brushing my fingers along the edge of the table. “They’re starting to notice,” I said quietly. “But it’s not me, Briar. It’s the shard.”

Briar’s tone shifted, growing more serious. “And how do you feel about that?”

“It’s... guiding me,” I admitted, my hand brushing the medallion around my neck. “I can sense things I couldn’t before—shifts in the air, movements. It’s not sight, but it’s close.”

Briar was silent for a moment, then spoke carefully. “Magic like this doesn’t come without cost, Caelan. The shard’s power may strengthen you, but it will demand something in return.”

“I know,” I said. “But I don’t have a choice.”

Briar sighed, the sound heavy with unspoken concern. “Then tread carefully. You’re walking a path that few understand.”

That night, the shard’s hum grew louder as I sat cross-legged on the cold stone floor of my chambers. Its energy pulsed sharply, urging me forward. I took a deep breath, letting the rhythm of my breathing match its steady beat.

The warmth spread through my legs first, gentle and soothing. But as I guided the shard’s energy deeper, the pain began—sharp and searing, like fire lacing through my muscles. I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms as the shard’s power surged. My body screamed at me to stop, but I pushed through, trusting the shard’s guidance.

Finally, the pain ebbed, replaced by a faint warmth that lingered in my muscles. I collapsed onto the floor, my chest heaving as exhaustion settled over me. But beneath the ache, I felt stronger.

I flexed my legs experimentally, feeling the subtle difference in their power. The shard’s hum softened, its rhythm satisfied for now.

The next morning, my movements felt lighter and more fluid. Even walking through the halls of Veylora Keep felt easier, as though my body was finally beginning to align with the shard’s power. But I couldn’t ignore the weight of the soldiers’ stares or the murmurs that followed me.

The shard pulsed faintly in my chest, a quiet reminder of the path I’d chosen. This wasn’t just about proving myself anymore—it was about control. Mastery. And understanding the force that had become a part of me.

Deep down, I knew the shard wasn’t done testing me yet.