Chapter 4: The Test of Blood and Shadow
The morning mist still hung low among the trees as we moved, the Master leading with footsteps nearly silent on the carpet of moss and dead leaves. I followed, trying to mimic his floating gait, every muscle in my body taut as a bowstring. The three golden lights and the single blue dot of fear drew closer, moving at a steady pace through the still-dim forest.
"Here," the Master whispered suddenly, pulling me behind a large boulder overgrown with neon-green moss in my sight. From a narrow gap between the rock and a gnarled old tree, we could observe unseen.
They emerged from behind a fern thicket no more than thirty paces away. Three men in dull brown traveling cloaks over leather armor reinforced with subtle metal plates. Their cloaks were simple, unadorned, but on each chest, prominently displayed, was a silver pin shaped like a white rose bathed in the morning light. They carried long swords sheathed at their waists, and one of them, the tallest, held a wooden object inlaid with a pale crystal like a compass in his hand. His eyes constantly shifted between the path ahead and the object in his hand.
And among them, a coarse rope tied to his wrist, was Max. His face was pale, his eyes swollen and red. His servant's uniform was dirty and torn in places. The pale blue aura of his fear pulsed erratically, and I could see streaks of dirty yellow—guilt?—and faded red—physical pain—all over his body.
"This way, Lord Inquisitor," Max mumbled, his voice hoarse. "I felt… something. Like a cold wind, last week. From this direction."
Lord Inquisitor? My heart pounded. Not just ordinary Scouts.
The man holding the compass—the tall one—nodded slowly. His face was gaunt, with a nose crooked like it had been broken and sharp, pale blue eyes. His golden aura was brighter, more focused than his two companions. At its center, the white rose symbol shone more intensely.
"The resonance is faint, but present," the Inquisitor said, his voice shallow yet clear. "Residual forbidden energy. Not natural magic, not holy blessing. This is… older. Wilder." He looked at his compass, where a crystal needle quivered weakly, pointing slightly east of our hut's actual location. His tool wasn't perfect. But accurate enough to bring them close.
"Is it… a Vampire, Lord Hadrian?" asked one of the others, a young man with a newly-grown blonde beard. His voice tried to sound confident, but there was a tremor of pale yellow uncertainty around his hand gripping the sword hilt.
"Not a Vampire. Their trace is different, more… cold and thirsty," answered Hadrian, the Inquisitor. "This is something else. Something even the Order's records only mention in passing. 'Devil's Eyes that can see the soul'. Village superstition, but the Blackwater Duchy reported similar disturbances decades ago. Before the great purges." His eyes swept the forest, as if he could see through ordinary illusion. I breathed slowly, trying to calm my vital radiance as the Master had taught. Was it enough?
The Master beside me didn't move at all. I glanced at him with my Vars Eyes, and as usual, he was almost invisible. Just a blurred grey silhouette, a calm void amid the forest's colorful life. No wonder they didn't detect him.
"And this slave is sure it's connected to the escapee from the dock?" asked the third man, heavier and older.
Hadrian stared at Max, his gaze like ice. "He described an outburst of anger, eyes glowing with light not of this world, before another slave became catatonic. And then, a smuggler known as 'The Bearded One' suddenly obtained a black coin and ordered the slave handed over to a hooded stranger. That is too many coincidences." He yanked the rope binding Max, making the boy stagger. "You are sure of the direction, slave? Remember, lying to the Order is worse than death itself."
Max trembled, his blue aura flashing with fear. "Y-Yes, Lord. The cold feeling… like death creeping up the spine. From around here."
They were twenty paces away now. The compass now clearly pointed almost directly at our hiding rock. Hadrian frowned, raising a hand. "Halt. There is something." His pale eyes narrowed. "Too… quiet."
He was right. The sounds of the forest—bird calls, squirrel rustles, insect buzz—had died down in this area. The Master must have done something.
"Now," hissed the Master in my ear, his voice softer than the wind. "Go to the spot we discussed. Don't run. Walk. Let them catch a glimpse of your shadow, only a glimpse. Lead them west."
This was my part. My chest tightened. I nodded, then, carefully, I peered out from behind the rock and immediately slipped behind it, heading for the narrow trail between bushes the Master had shown me earlier. I purposely stepped on a small twig. Crack.
The sound was like thunder in the silence.
"There!" shouted the blonde-bearded man, his sword hissing from its sheath.
I didn't look back. I darted, not with a panicked run, but with quick, deliberate steps, letting my drab cloak (a gift from the Master) flutter for a moment between the leaves before disappearing behind a large tree. I heard shouted orders, the thud of pursuit. Their golden auras now pulsed with orange-caution—triggered alertness.
"Do not separate! Follow his trail!" commanded Hadrian. His voice sounded closer.
I ran, following the path the Master had quickly outlined. It twisted, rose and fell, over rocks and roots made deliberately difficult. The goal wasn't to escape, but to lure. After several minutes of running, I reached the designated place: a small, murky pond surrounded by old, drooping willow trees. This was where the plan changed.
I stopped at the water's edge, pretending to be out of breath, letting myself be clearly visible from the trail entrance. The three Order Scouts emerged from the trees, a few paces apart. Max was dragged behind Hadrian, his face full of confusion and terror.
"Halt in the name of the Order of Thymol and the Goddess of Justice!" barked Hadrian, his compass now fastened to his belt, his right hand holding a sword that gleamed faintly in the light piercing the canopy. His eyes bore into me, analyzing. I could see his golden aura radiating, trying to 'feel' me. I struggled hard not to let fear flood my mind, trying to remain a point of calm as the Master had taught.
"You are the escaped slave from Blackwater," stated Hadrian, not a question. "And you carry the taint of magic within you. I see it now. A stain upon your soul."
"I don't know what you mean," I said, trying to keep my voice flat. "I'm just a runaway seeking shelter."
"Lies," muttered the blonde-bearded man. "Look at his eyes, Lord Hadrian. They… they are not normal."
Indeed, without realizing it, my instinct had fully activated my Vars Eyes. The world around me was layered in colors: their bright golden auras, Max's blue vibrations, the vibrant green of the moss around the pond, and a faint, deep purple glow emanating from the stagnant water itself—traces of ancient minerals or something else. My eyes must have looked strange, perhaps shimmering with unnatural light.
"Devil's Eyes," hissed the heavier man, making a warding sign over his chest with his free hand.
"There are no devils here," I said, repeating words I'd once heard from the Master. "Only things you do not understand."
"We understand enough to know it must be purged," Hadrian answered coldly. His golden aura was now tinged with a deep red hue—deadly conviction. "Seize him. Alive if possible. The Order will want to question him."
The two Scouts stepped forward, swords drawn. The blonde on the left, the heavier one on the right. Hadrian remained in position, watching, the rope still tied to Max's wrist.
This was the moment the Master had waited for. I took a step back, closer to the swampy edge of the pond. "You don't want to do this," I said, trying to sound confident. "This place… does not like strangers."
"Nonsense," growled the blonde one, and lunged.
He was fast, far faster than the slavers. His sword swept low, aiming for my legs. My weeks-trained instinct took over. I didn't think. I jumped sideways, feeling the wind of his blade brush my thigh. I landed smoothly, my hand already holding the short knife the Master had given—the same one used for practice.
The heavier one attacked from the other side, a slower but powerful slash. I ducked, feeling his sword sweep over my head. In the crouch, with my Vars Eyes, I saw a bright red point at the base of his leather armor's groin—a weak join. But killing wasn't my goal. Luring, distracting.
I darted forward, not away, but toward Hadrian and Max. The blonde Scout was caught off guard, turning awkwardly. The heavier one overcommitted. Hadrian raised his sword, ready to receive.
But I didn't attack Hadrian. I slipped between him and Max, and with a quick motion learned from knife lessons, I cut the rope on Max's wrist. It snapped.
"RUN!" I yelled at Max, shoving him toward the bushes on the opposite side of the pond. "TOWARD THE HEART-SHAPED BOULDER!"
That was the instruction for the rendezvous point, a place the Master had shown me if things went wrong.
Max stumbled, eyes wide with shock, then survival instinct took over. He turned and vanished into the undergrowth.
"FOOL!" roared Hadrian, furious. His red aura now blazed. He no longer cared about taking me alive. His sword swung sharply at my neck.
I raised my small knife to parry, a futile act. But before the blade connected, something happened.
From within the pond, the deep purple mist I saw with my Vars Eyes suddenly roiled. Not physically, but on the energy plane. A wave of invisible pressure hit us all. Hadrian was thrown off, his blade deviating by inches, only grazing my shoulder. The other two Scouts halted, clutching their heads with pained expressions.
"A magic trap!" shouted the blonde, his voice sounding choked.
This was no ordinary trap. It was something older, something the Master had 'awoken'. I saw, with my Vars Eyes, a complex pattern of silvery light suddenly flare at the pond's bottom, connected to symbols on the surrounding willow trees. It was an Ars diagram, a kind of trigger using the bright vital energy of the Scouts as bait.
The purple mist crawled up, forming vague shapes—grimacing faces, clawing hands. It was just an illusion, a psychic projection feeding on deepest fears, but utterly convincing. Whispers of sorrow, rustlings, and distant screams filled the air.
Hadrian, with iron will, slammed his sword into the ground. "This is deception! An illusion of darkness! Stand firm in the light of the Goddess!" A golden light pulsed from his rose pin, spreading weakly, holding the purple mist at bay around him. But his two underlings were not as strong. The heavier one screamed, swinging his sword at non-existent shadows. The blonde one retreated, eyes wide with horror, his yellow fear-aura blazing brightly.
Now.
I heard the Master's sigh in my head, as if he spoke directly to my thoughts. West. Now. Don't look back.
I turned and ran, this time with all the speed I could muster, leaving the pond and the chaos behind. Screams, shouts, and the sound of clashing swords—perhaps they were attacking each other in panic—echoed for a distance. I ran following the memorized path, my heart pounding in my chest, the wound on my shoulder hot but not deep.
I reached the Heart Stone—a large rock formation that indeed resembled a vital organ—just as the sky began to fully lighten. There, leaning against the rock calmly as if on a morning stroll, was the Master. And sitting on the ground, still panting and looking bewildered, was Max.
"Timely," said the Master, his grey eyes sweeping over me, stopping at the shoulder wound. "A minor cut. Good. You baited them well."
"What… what happened at the pond?" I asked, catching my breath.
"A psychic resonance. This forest is saturated with ancient energy. One who knows how can… divert it, create a mirror of the observer's fear. They will be fighting their own ghosts for a while." He approached, taking a small vial from his robe and pouring a stinging clear liquid onto my wound. I groaned. "That will prevent infection. You did more than asked. Freeing the slave added an unnecessary variable."
I looked at Max, who now stared at us with a mixture of fear, gratitude, and confusion. "They forced him," I said. "His aura was full of fear and coercion, not betrayal."
The Master raised an eyebrow. "So now you read intent?"
"You taught me," I replied, though not entirely sure.
He looked mildly amused. "Indeed." He then turned to Max. "And you, boy. Why would the Order trust you? You are an escaped slave."
Max shivered, looking at the ground. "They… they captured me three days after you left. Tortured me. Asked about him," he pointed at me. "I didn't know anything, I swear! Then… that Lord Inquisitor brought that thing, his compass. He said it could feel 'traces of darkness'. He made me walk with him, and whenever I felt the same cold I felt when… when he got angry," he glanced at me again, "I was to tell him. They promised to free me if I helped." He sobbed. "But I knew they'd kill me afterwards. I saw how they looked at me."
"Accurate enough," murmured the Master. He paced, thinking. "They will recover from the illusion. Might take a few hours, maybe a day if one of them is badly wounded. But they will report. And a report of 'dark illusions' and a slave with strange eyes will draw greater attention from the Order. Higher-level Inquisitors. Perhaps even a Purifier."
"What do we do?" I asked. The hut was no longer safe. That was clear.
"We must move. Deeper into the forest. There is another place." He looked at Max. "And he is a problem. We cannot take him. He will slow us down and leave a trail."
Max looked desperate, his blue aura almost fading into grey despair.
"We can't leave him," I said, my voice firm. "They will capture him again. And this time they'll torture him to death for escaping. Or their compass will use his fear, his connection to us, to track us."
The Master glared. "Sentiment. Sentiment is a luxury we cannot afford, Apprentice."
"Not sentiment," I countered, a half-formed idea taking shape. "Strategy. You taught me that knowledge is defense. He knows things. He has seen how the Inquisitors work, their compass. He could be a source of information."
The Master was silent for a moment, considering. His analytical eyes looked at Max as if examining a rare specimen. "He could also be a traitor once fear takes over again."
"Then we must ensure his fear is directed at the right things," I answered, looking at Max. "Do you want to die today, Max? Or do you want a chance, however small, to live free from the Order and masters?"
Max looked at me, then at the Master, then back at me. In his eyes, usually full of hot-headed anger, there was now a new spark: the understanding that this world was larger and more terrifying than he'd ever imagined. "I… I don't want to die," he murmured. "And I hate them. Both the Order and my master."
"Good," said the Master suddenly, startling us both. "Because your choice is simple. Follow us, follow orders without question, and you might survive. Or stay here, and become bait for whatever is drawn to your blood and fear come nightfall. This forest has dwellers other than us and that underworked Order."
It was a threat, but also truth. Max nodded quickly, trembling. "I'll come. I promise."
"Promises are worthless," said the Master. "But obedience can be measured. Let's go. We have distance to cover before sunset."
The journey was exhausting. The Master led us through the densest, most unfriendly parts of the forest, far from any trail. He taught us how to disguise our tracks, walk on river stones, and use certain plants to mask our scent. Max, though weak and still traumatized, tried hard to keep up. I watched him with my Vars Eyes, and his blue fear-aura slowly began to mix with a pale green—fragile determination. He was no longer an immediate threat, at least for now.
As we rested in a small cave hidden behind a miniature waterfall, the Master called me aside.
"You used your sight deliberately during the confrontation," he said. "You read their auras, looked for weakness, even read the slave."
"That's what you taught," I answered.
"I taught you theory. Today you applied it under pressure, with your life at stake. That is different." He paused. "There is improvement in your control. Your vital trace, though still bright, is slightly dimmer than before. Your survival instinct is beginning to assimilate the lessons."
"What does that mean?" I asked.
"It means you might not die next week. Possibly." He glanced at Max, who was fast asleep in a corner of the cave. "Saving him was a mistake. But… it was a mistake born of calculation, not mere pity. It shows tactical thinking, though still raw. You are beginning to understand that information comes in many forms, even from a frightened slave."
"Is that a compliment?" I asked, slightly surprised.
"It is an observation," he replied, but there was a slight relaxation in the corner of his usually cold eyes. "Tomorrow, we will reach the new hiding place. Deeper, more remote. Lessons will continue. But now, we will add a new layer: how to create and maintain illusions, not just see truth. Because sometimes, the right lie is the strongest defense."
That night, listening to the waterfall and Max's sleeping breath, I contemplated the day's events. I had faced real enemies, used my abilities, made decisions with consequences. I was no longer just a victim or a passive apprentice. I had taken action. And though fear remained, something else was beginning to grow within me, a small, hard confidence like the core of a stone.
The Master may see me as an experiment, a question. Max may see me as a savior or a dangerous madman. And the Order undoubtedly sees me as a monster to be purged.
But for the first time, I began to question what I saw within myself. Not just a curse, not just a tool. Perhaps there was a choice. And today's choice, though risky, felt… right. Strangely, for this cynical life.
I looked at my own hands, and with my Vars Eyes, I saw my vital flow like a strong-pulsing bluish-silver light, full of potential and chaos. It was my heritage. My curse. My weapon. And today's lesson proved one thing: I could wield it without being completely consumed by it.
The first test was over. But in the deeper forest darkness, greater trials awaited. And I would have to be ready. Or die trying.