Pag stood at the edge of the training grounds, the cold wind of the Pale Dominion nipping at his skin as he focused on the flickering flames in his palm. Fire and shadow—two forces that warred against one another within his grasp. The heat from the fire threatened to consume the darkness, while the shadow sought to smother the light. His goal was balance, but balance was proving to be elusive.

  He exhaled slowly, eyes narrowing as he concentrated on weaving both elements together. A thin stream of black smoke curled around the fire, merging and twisting into something unstable. He felt the energy surge, but before he could solidify its form, the fire flared too hot, and the shadow dissipated into the cold air.

  “Damn it,” he muttered.

  “You’re pushing the fire too much,” Darleyn observed from a nearby stone bench, where she sat cross-legged with a smooth rock hovering in front of her. Her fingers twitched minutely, guiding the stone’s slow rotation. “Shadow doesn’t react well to being forced. It’s about subtlety, patience.”

  Pag scoffed. “Patience doesn’t exactly mix with fire.”

  She smirked. “Then maybe you should start thinking like shadow instead.”

  Eryk, seated at a wooden table with several sheets of parchment spread before him, barely spared them a glance. His hand moved steadily, drawing intricate ink designs, each stroke precise and deliberate. The faint glow of magic infused the ink as he worked, ensuring an even flow of energy as he traced out runes and sigils.

  “Your problem isn’t just balance,” Eryk said without looking up. “You’re trying to use them separately. You need to make them part of the same action. Fire and shadow shouldn’t be two different things in your hands. They should be one.”

  Pag rolled his shoulders and flexed his fingers, letting the warmth of the fire return to his palm. Instead of forcing the shadow to wrap around it, he let the darkness seep into the flame, guiding its form rather than overwhelming it. The fire dimmed slightly, turning a deep, eerie violet as tendrils of shadow licked along its edges. He felt a shift—an understanding settling into his bones. Not control. Unity.

  For a brief moment, the Doomflame flickered to life.

  Then the balance broke. The flames erupted outward in a chaotic burst, forcing Pag to stumble back as the unstable energy dispersed into the air.

  Darleyn let out a low whistle. “Well, that was something.”

  Pag sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. Something disastrous.”

  “You’re getting there,” Eryk reassured him, finishing the last stroke of his latest rune before setting his quill aside. He examined the parchment with a critical eye before nodding in satisfaction. “At least you’re making progress.”

  Pag grunted, but he couldn’t deny it. The Doomflame Sentinel was still a distant goal, but each attempt brought him a step closer. He clenched his fist, summoning the fire once more, and prepared to try again.

  The tournament was coming, and he would be ready.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Pag steadied himself, rolling his shoulders before conjuring the fire and shadow once more. This time, he let go of his expectations, simply observing the flow of energy between the two forces. He traced a slow arc with his hand, allowing the fire to expand and the shadow to follow, creating swirling patterns in the air.

  He focused on shaping the flames, coaxing them into form rather than forcing them into submission. The shadow moved like an extension of his will, wrapping itself around the embers, darkening the glow to a deep, molten crimson.

  “Better,” Darleyn noted, watching the interplay of elements. She tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Try moving while maintaining it.”

  Pag took a cautious step forward, then another, keeping his concentration locked on the flame’s shifting nature. The moment he faltered, the balance wavered, and the elements repelled one another, scattering harmless embers into the wind.

  He clenched his jaw. “I need more control.”

  Eryk hummed, setting aside his parchment. “You need more fluidity. Let’s try something different. I’ll draw a guiding rune on your palm—something to help with stability.”

  Pag extended his hand, and Eryk carefully dipped his brush into the infused ink, tracing a series of precise, looping marks along his skin. As the ink settled, Pag felt a faint warmth, a gentle pulse of energy that resonated with his own magic.

  “Try again,” Eryk instructed.

  Pag summoned the fire and shadow once more. This time, the rune on his palm acted as a stabilizer, anchoring the energies in harmony. He moved forward in a slow, deliberate sequence, stepping in rhythm with the swirling power in his grasp. The Doomflame pulsed, shifting but not breaking apart.

  A grin tugged at his lips. He was getting closer.

  Darleyn smirked. “Now let’s see if you can actually use it in combat.”

  She leaped to her feet, the stone she had been levitating snapping to the ground with a dull thud. With a swift motion, she pulled her arms upward, and the ground beneath Pag shifted. A small jagged pillar of rock shot up at his feet, forcing him to jump back. The moment his feet touched the ground, Darleyn launched another attack, a cluster of pebbles swirling around her before shooting toward him in rapid succession.

  Pag reacted instinctively, flames flickering in his grasp, but before he could launch a counter, something unexpected happened. The shadows around him responded—not as an afterthought, but as if they had a will of their own. They coiled, extending from his limbs like living extensions of himself, intercepting the incoming projectiles.

  Pag's eyes widened. He hadn’t consciously directed them, yet they obeyed, curling protectively around him and swallowing the stone in an inky void before releasing it harmlessly to the ground. He faltered for a split second, stunned by the responsiveness of the darkness.

  “Enough.”

  The voice carried a weight that stilled the air itself. Lord Adrien Valcrest strode onto the training ground, his long coat billowing behind him. His sharp gaze locked onto Pag, a mix of scrutiny and warning in his expression.

  Pag straightened instinctively. “Lord Adrien.”

  “You are playing with fire—and worse, with shadow,” Adrien said, his voice even but firm. “If you are truly set on becoming a Doomflame Sentinel, you must understand the risk you take.”

  Pag frowned. “I’m learning to control it—”

  Adrien raised a hand, silencing him. “Control means nothing if you do not respect what you wield. Shadow, death, and chaos magic are all paths that lead to a singular danger—Umbralysis.”

  At the name, both Darleyn and Eryk stiffened.

  Adrien continued, his tone grave. “It begins as a mere leak in your soul. A shadow with a will of its own, reflecting your actions. The symptoms may seem minor at first—headaches, mood swings, loss of appetite. But if left unchecked, it will consume you.”

  Pag swallowed hard.

  Adrien stepped closer, his gaze piercing. “And if you push too far? You will reach Umbral Pentralae. The moment your soul begins manifesting outside your body, you are lost. You will decay, becoming a hollow husk—a zombie—while your soul lingers as a shade, hating all that lives.”

  The warning settled like a weight in Pag’s chest. He had felt the shadows responding too easily, too eagerly. Had he already begun down that path?

  Adrien’s expression softened, but his words remained firm. “Tread carefully, Pag. The power you seek is a double-edged blade.”