Back at Emberwatch Fortress, the steady hum of activity was interrupted as Commander Ryzen stepped out into the main hall, holding a sealed letter with a faint smile on his weathered face. The insignia on the seal was unmistakable.
"Hey! It's from Shakes!" he called out.
The reaction was instant.
Lucen, the towering brute with a booming laugh, lunged forward, nearly knocking over a table. Zera, the sharp-tongued fire mage, froze mid-chant, her expression darkening with a mix of anger and longing. Vellion, quiet and thoughtful as always, was already beside the Commander, her eyes wide with hope.
Commander Ryzen broke the seal and cleared his throat.
"To Lucen, Zera, and Vellion... stay alive. I'll be back soon. That's a promise."
Zera's brows furrowed. "Idiot... you better keep that promise."
Vellion held her hands to her chest, face flushed as she murmured softly, "Please come back, Shakes..."
Lucen roared with laughter. "Hahaha! Shakes! You better return! We still have that battle to finish!"
Commander Ryzen turned to the crowd of Den Hunters gathered at the mission board. Though the dens had gone silent after the clash with the hooded enemy, they were still active, taking down rogue bandits who wielded strange powers of their own.
"Shakes sent a letter!"
The room exploded into cheers. Hunters rushed forward, pushing to see it, voices ringing with joy. Even in absence, his name carried weight.
Meanwhile, back in Whistlehollow, Shakes stood outside a modest home with a travel pack over his shoulder, Severflame once again strapped across his back. He had changed back into his black robe—simple, weathered, and comforting.
Master Tharion stood beside him, arms folded.
"We move on to the next phase of training," Tharion said. His voice was stern but calm. "Each step gets harder. If you're going to carry the weight we believe you can, you'll need to improve—and fast."
Shakes exhaled. "I swear, old man... why do I have to bear all this?"
"Because you're built for it, Burnedead."
"Where's the next place?"
"Still in Whistlehollow, but near its edge. An open path called Dustwind Lane. Quiet. Fewer people. You'll meet someone there. A retired mage—still powerful, and a master of techniques most have forgotten."
Without wasting more words, they began the short trek. It took about fifteen minutes on foot, the narrow roads giving way to wide, open stretches lined with dry brush and the occasional wind-worn post. At the far end sat a small hut, old but solid, nestled under a crooked tree.
Tharion knocked once.
A low voice called from inside, "Come in."
They stepped into the dim room. Books and scrolls littered the shelves. Candles burned low, their flames unnaturally steady.
The mage sat cross-legged on the floor, his long beard tucked into his belt. His eyes locked on Shakes immediately.
"Is this the boy?"
Tharion nodded. "He is."
The mage squinted. "You're overflowing... I can see it pouring off you. You're more than you think, Shakes."
Shakes didn't respond.
"Rest tonight," the mage continued, standing and walking to a side table covered in odd tools. "Tomorrow will push you beyond what you know. That sword of yours—Severflame—won't help you here. I'll give you a weapon fit for the task. Hand-made."
His face twisted into a grin, full of energy and a hint of madness.
Shakes didn't flinch. "Understood."
He followed the mage's direction to a side room, plain but quiet. He dropped his pack and lay on the mat provided. As his head hit the pillow, his eyes wandered to the cracked ceiling.
A flash.
The hooded figure—lightning fast, overwhelming. That fight, that failure. Shakes blinked, jaw tight.
"Create the world..." he muttered.
Sleep took him.
Shakes woke up slowly, eyes blinking against the early morning light leaking through the thin, patched roof of the small hut. The air was cold. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, then swung his legs off the creaky bed.
Outside, a soft breeze swept through the quiet space. As he stepped out, barefoot and still half-asleep, he spotted the mage already standing in the open field behind the hut. He was holding a thick, ancient book that pulsed with faint blue light.
"Ahh, you're finally awake," the old mage said without turning. His voice was gravelly but filled with a twisted excitement. "I thought you might sleep through your first real test."
Master Tharion was still asleep inside.
The mage turned to face him with a wide grin, eyes glinting with something close to madness. "That aura in you... it's terrifying. Stronger than mine ever was," he said, laughing sharply, just like a wizzard.
He raised the ancient book and flipped it open with his thumb. The cover read:
"Velmorr: Scriptures of Bound Essence."
He reached into the glowing pages. Space distorted for a moment, and then his hand pulled out two sleek short blades. They looked nothing like Severflame. These were forged from blackened steel with subtle runes running along the edges. Each blade had a faint red sheen near the hilt, and the grip was wrapped in dark crimson cloth.
"These," the mage said, handing them to Shakes, "are Nyrix Blades. Forged to respond to any wielder's essence. Light. Fast. Built for twin combat. Each carries a base enchantment from the forge: Edge Pulse—they vibrate at high frequency when swung at full speed, giving them a sharper, cleaner cut through material. Nothing flashy. But effective."
Shakes examined them. They were lighter than Severflame. Easier to grip. Faster to move. One slid perfectly to each of his hips.
"You're not going to need your flaming toy for this training," the mage said flatly. "I need to see you. Not your sword."
Then he lifted his hand.
From the soft soil around them, the earth began to rise and shift. In seconds, humanoid forms started forming. Mud and clay twisted into shape until fully-formed soldiers stood around them. At least ten. Some tall and wide with brute strength in their build. Others lean, sharp-eyed, moving subtly even before the fight began. Sparks of weak magic flickered from a few.
"These," the mage grinned, "are Gravemen. Soil warriors. Every one of them molded with a different trait—strength, speed, precision, even basic magic. You think you're ready, Burnedead? Prove it."
The Gravemen didn't wait.
They lunged forward in a whirlwind of motion.
Shakes sprang backward, barely clearing the first strike. He unsheathed the Nyrix Blades mid-roll, twisting into a crouch as a thick-fisted Graveman brought down a blow that cracked the ground beside him.
Steel clashed. Dust exploded.
Shakes danced through their ranks at first. His reflexes from Emberwatch still held. A slash here. A spin there. The Edge Pulse sent tremors through the Gravemen's muddy forms. One staggered. Another lost part of its arm.
But they didn't stop.
A brute smashed into his side with a shoulder charge. Pain erupted along his ribs. He rolled with it, hissing, then slashed upward—but missed.
Another Graveman drove a spinning heel into his back. He stumbled forward, barely blocking a blade of hardened stone that came for his throat.
Shakes bled now. A thin cut along his jaw. Scratches down his arms. His knee burned from a slide gone wrong.
But he kept moving.
He stabbed both Nyrix Blades into the soil and vaulted over them to avoid a hammer strike. Landed hard. Gritted his teeth. He swept a blade low and caught a Graveman at the ankle—it burst apart, collapsing into raw earth.
But more surged in.
A spell fired—a bolt of sharp wind that grazed his shoulder, slicing open a line of skin. Blood dripped freely now.
He cried out, pain flashing red in his mind. Still, he struck again.
Another down.
But it cost him.
A Graveman slammed a fist into his stomach. His feet lifted off the ground. He crashed several feet away, blades tumbling from his grip.
Dirt filled his mouth. His ears rang.
Still, he rose.
Staggering. Wheezing.
He retrieved one blade. The other... too far.
Shakes focused. "Use your senses, not your strength," Master Shiin's voice echoed.
He inhaled.
Dodged low, barely avoiding another blow. Drove his blade deep into a Graveman's gut—twisted. The mud figure twitched, then collapsed.
Then another cut across his back.
Then his thigh.
Pain flared everywhere. He could feel his skin tearing in places. His shirt clung to him, soaked in blood and sweat.
Still—
He rose again.
He roared. Slashed wildly, pushing through the agony. Took another Graveman down. Then another. But the last one caught his arm—spun—and hurled him into a tree. Bark shattered. Shakes slumped to the ground.
Breathing ragged. Arms limp. His entire body burned.
And still—
He tried to stand again.
"Enough," the mage's voice snapped.
The Gravemen froze, bodies melting back into the soil like wax.
Shakes collapsed to his knees, panting. His face was bloodied, body battered. Gashes along his shoulders. A split lip. A deep scratch along his brow. One eye nearly swollen shut.
He coughed, spitting crimson into the dirt.
The mage walked toward him, calm as ever.
"That was today's test," he said. "Swordsmanship. Alone. No magic. No Severflame."
Shakes didn't answer.
"You've got the instincts," the mage added. "But strip away that sword of yours, and you're still learning. Not useless... but unfinished."
Shakes clenched his jaw. He wanted to scream. To demand another round. To prove he wasn't weak.
But the mage raised a hand.
"That's enough. We don't train you to break you. We train you to shape you."
Master Tharion's voice suddenly rang out from behind the hut.
"Huh? You're done already?!"
Shakes turned to see the old man yawning as he stepped out.
"I was hoping to see a duel, not hear the thuds from my dreams," Tharion said, rubbing his head.
Shakes didn't answer. He just stood, slowly sheathing the Nyrix Blades. His movements stiff. Every breath a struggle.
The mage stepped closer. Reached out his hand. A faint pull echoed in the air—Severflame, still in its sheath by the hut, rattled once, then flew into the mage's palm.
"You're not worthy of this yet," the mage said. "Not until you defeat me."
He stared directly at Shakes.
"Until then, I reclaim Severflame. Train harder… Burnedead."
The mage turned away, cloak flapping with the wind, his name finally falling from his lips like a seal to their pact.
"I am Soriel.
To be continued....