Only footsteps on stone, echoes, as if someone is walking behind. Everything else is an illusion or worse.
He entered a room where even the lanterns had not reached. The darkness was viscous, almost physical. But not darkness, but emptiness. No magic, no sound, no feelings.
Just the voice.
"Price."
Kalen tensed, staring into the void.
"You showed your will. You showed your strength. But it's all nothing if you don't know what you're paying for. Or who."
A light appeared in front of him, faint as a lantern in the fog.
Three figures.
One is Vereen, brother. He stands with a bloodied sword, breathing heavily, an arrow sticking out of his chest.
The second Reina has her back to him. Her tattoo pulses with light and darkness, but her shoulders are trembling. She doesn't speak.
The third is himself. But different. With a charred face, empty eyes, and a sword in his hand.
"Who will you choose? Who will you save?"
"What the—" He took a step forward, but his legs gave way. It was as if he was being tied to the floor by the very essence of the question.
— This is wrong. This is not real.
"It doesn't matter. Everything you do in life will cost you something. Your life. Your honor. Your pain. Are you willing to pay?"
The figures began to disappear. Varen's eyes were the first to go. Then Reina's voice.
"No, wait, fuck!" Kalen lunged forward, but the air was thick as tar. He couldn't breathe.
The figures disappeared.
And he was the only one left. Alone in the hall. The floor gave way beneath him, and he collapsed to his knees.
The first ragged breath escaped from his chest. And with it came pain. His body twitched. The veins in his neck bulged. His chest felt as if a dragon were squeezing it with its claws from the inside.
He screamed.
— AAAAAA! — into the darkness, into the void, into myself.
A tattoo lit up on his skin. At first, it was as thin as a feather. Then it grew brighter. His entire chest was ablaze. For a moment, he saw his own Shadow, not a dragon or a monster. His own Shadow.
Bent, broken. But alive.
And she whispered:
"You started paying. Now pay the rest."
The hall disappeared. He was thrown into the void. He was falling. Without sound. Without pain. Only the echo of his own breathing.
He was falling. But there was no bottom. There was no air.
Every cell in his body was screaming, as if a hellfire had been lit inside him. He couldn't feel his arms. His legs felt like they were made of cotton. His stomach was in spasms, and his head was pounding, as if a bell were ringing inside his skull.
"You're not ready."
"Fuck you," Kalen croaked, choking on his own saliva.
"You are not capable. You should have died at the first touch of the shadow. Your bones are not a vessel. Your soul is not a castle."
Something was moving inside him.
He clenched his teeth and fell to his knees. The ground began to tremble beneath him. Or was it his body trembling?
The veins on his arms began to swell, black as ink, spreading from his chest. The tattoo blazed in the shape of a dragon, not on the outside, but as if beneath his skin. Claws and fangs gnawing their way out from within.
"AAAAA!" Kallen roared, clutching himself. "WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?!"
"This is your shadow. This is you. This is what you couldn't accept. This is what you hid. Now you're alone. And you're with yourself."
And then the pain changed.
It was no longer physical.
There were more voices.
"You've made a mistake. You should have been different."
— Pathetic. The weakest of them all.
— How did you even survive?"
— No one's waiting for you.
— Family? They hope you die.
— You're an empty space. An error.
"Die, Kalen. Surrender."
He closed his eyes. Blood was coming from his nose. His fingers were trembling.
— NO... NO!"
He stood up, swaying, and roared, his voice breaking into a hoarse whisper:
— I'M NOT GOING TO DIE, BITCHES! I'M NOT GOING TO DIE!
The light flared from his chest, and the shadow recoiled as if in fear. For a split second, he saw himself from the outside: a fifteen-year-old boy in a tattered shirt, covered in burns and abrasions, with a flaming dragon tattoo wrapped around his neck and chest.
And everything was gone.
Only the heart goes boom, boom, boom.
His breathing is wheezing, labored, and angry.
He fell again. He had no strength left. He couldn't even cry.
"If you survive, you will become something great."
"But first you have to die. Almost."
He screamed until his voice gave out. Then he screamed without sound.
***
Kalen didn't know how much time had passed. Days? Weeks? Eternity? He lost count when they shoved a living monster, black and slimy like mucus, with needle-like limbs, into his mouth. He was forced to chew, swallow, and choke as each bone burst in his throat and each creature stirred in his stomach. He vomited them back up. They were shoved back inside.
When he couldn't take it anymore, they injected a needle into his eye, slowly and coldly. It was like they were testing his reaction. They were testing when he would break.
It didn't break. But it cracked.
At some point, a human hand appeared on the table in front of him.
Then there was the man. He was told to eat. There was no other option. He tore, beat, and screamed. He was beaten in return. Needles were stuck into his skull. His fingers were broken. They tore him off and put him back on. They tore him off again. He no longer felt pain, only a silent, dull "fuck it all."
He was talking to himself. He was sitting in a corner, rocking.
— I don't exist. I didn't exist. I won't exist. I'm a boot-licker. I'm not Kalen. I'm not a son. I'm not a mage. I'm nothing. I'm empty. I'm just... something...
And then-silence.
Full.
No screaming. No pain. No monsters.
He was lying down.
There was a stone at hand. It smelled of burning. There was a dim light above it. Torches in stone niches.
He slowly regained consciousness.
His chest was rising and falling heavily. The air felt like it was scraping against his insides.
— ... what... for."
He tried to sit up, but he couldn't. His muscles wouldn't cooperate. His entire body was broken. But he was alive.
"You've passed. Unsuccessfully, but you've passed."
"Two months in two minutes. You survived. So... you'll be allowed to live."
He turned his head with difficulty. On the wall was the dragon's mark. His. Alive, burning, staring straight into his soul.
Kallen laughed. Insanely, over-the-top, almost in a sob.
"Two months... for what? To go back? To the fucking Academy?"
He spat on the stone. The spit trembled like his hands.
And then the ceiling opened. Light. Real light. Daylight. The platform descended, quietly, as if he were not a prisoner, but a guest.
He realized that he was being let go. Or let out. Or thrown out like a dog that had survived.
Kalen lay there, staring at the light, and whispered:
"If it's a dream... let it never happen again. And if it's not a dream... bitch, I'll get my revenge..."