The training yard of the Order of the Black Sun shimmered beneath the morning sun, but the warmth in the air did little to touch the cold silence that followed Rael's revelation.
"The Whispering One called me 'chosen.'"
Those words echoed in the minds of every knight, scholar, and war priest present at the midnight assembly. Rumors spread like wildfire, but none dared speak them aloud. The mere name of the Whispering One was a curse, a nightmare children were warned about and mages buried deep within forbidden texts.
Now, one of their own had drawn its gaze.
Rael stood alone in the center of the yard, stripped to the waist, his chest heaving with each breath. Faint, dark markings curled across his skin, like smoke that never quite dissipated. His eyes gleamed faintly with abyssal light—no longer fully human, not yet monster.
Lady Selene Drakos circled him like a predator, her silver armor catching the sun. She held no blade. She needed none.
"Again," she commanded.
Rael lunged forward, summoning the abyss. A whip of shadow snapped from his hand, shrieking as it sliced through the air. Selene stepped aside with casual grace, grabbed his arm mid-strike, and slammed him into the stone ground.
Pain exploded through his ribs. He groaned, but the hunger inside him howled louder.
"Control it," Selene hissed. "Don't let it speak for you. You speak for it."
Rael pushed himself up, spitting blood. His hands trembled—not from fear, but fury. The Whispering One's voice had grown bolder since Greystone. It whispered during sleep, hissed behind his thoughts. Promises. Power. Madness.
He rose again.
And again.
And again.
Mira watched from the shadows, arms folded across her chest. Darius stood beside her, arms bandaged from his own morning drills.
"She's pushing him harder than the others," Mira muttered.
Darius shrugged. "He's different. He needs it."
"She's trying to break him."
"No," Darius said, eyes fixed on Rael. "She's trying to forge him."
By midday, Rael collapsed. Not from weakness, but exhaustion. His muscles were stone, his breath ragged. The black tendrils he summoned flickered like dying embers.
Selene stood over him.
"The abyss wants a vessel," she said. "But you—Rael—you will become its sword. You will not kneel to it. You will make it kneel to you."
Rael looked up, blood running from his brow, and smiled with cracked lips.
"I'll make it bleed."
Selene offered her hand. He took it.
That night, as the moons cast twin shadows over Varenthia, the high towers of the Order glowed with a dull crimson hue. A council was summoned in secret.
King Varian appeared via astral projection, his spectral form flanked by robed magi. His voice was a whisper of thunder.
"The Whispering One stirs," he said. "The darkness at the edge of our world gathers strength. The seals weaken."
Selene stepped forward. "Then let us send a message."
Varian nodded. "Your next mission awaits."
The next morning, Rael stood before Selene, Mira, and Darius—his armor reforged, bearing a new crest: a black star encircled by silver flame.
"You three," Selene said, "are to travel beyond the Bastion Wall. A scout patrol vanished near the ruins of Velrath. We believe it's no longer just the Devoured you'll find there."
Rael felt it then—a chill, familiar and ancient.
The Whispering One was waiting.
And so was something else.