The cavern breathed.
That was the only way Azer Tor could describe it—the slow, wet inhale of ancient stone drawing cold air inward, followed by an exhale that carried the scent of rot, iron, and something far older than death. Each breath sent a tremor through the jagged walls, as though the mountain itself dreamed and Azer had stumbled into its nightmare.
He stood at the cavern's threshold, cloak torn, blood drying in black lines along his forearms. The fight above had been brutal—too brutal. Three Shadespawn dead, one escaped, and Azer had paid for every inch of ground with flesh and stamina. His Shadow Path pulsed weakly beneath his skin, responding sluggishly like a wounded animal.
And yet… it whispered.
Go deeper.
Azer clenched his jaw. Shadows always whispered. That didn't mean he had to listen.
But he did.
The cavern sloped downward, uneven stone steps worn smooth by time or something far heavier than time. Faint glyphs flickered along the walls as he passed—old magic, pre-Empire by the look of it. Not Shadow-aspected, but adjacent. Adjacent enough to be dangerous.
His ring grew warm.
Azer stopped.
He lifted his left hand, staring at the band he'd taken weeks ago from a corpse that should not have been intact. The man had worn no armor, no sigils, nothing of note—except the ring. A simple iron band, etched with a design that seemed to shift if he didn't look directly at it.
At the time, Azer had assumed it was a trinket. A curiosity. Something he might sell later.
He hadn't been able to take it off since.
Now it pulsed faintly, matching the cavern's breathing rhythm.
"Inconvenient," Azer muttered.
The shadows around him thickened as if offended by his tone.
He stepped forward.
⸻
The cavern opened into a vast hollow, its ceiling lost in darkness. At the center stood a stone dais carved in the shape of a broken circle, as though something had been torn violently from its heart. Black veins ran through the stone floor, converging toward that absence.
Azer felt it immediately.
Not pressure. Not fear.
Recognition.
The Shadow Path within him stirred, tendrils of power uncoiling like serpents stretching after long sleep. His vision dimmed at the edges, colors bleeding away until the world sharpened into contrast—light and dark, nothing between.
A presence watched him.
Not hostile.
Not welcoming.
Evaluating.
Azer rested a hand on the hilt of his blade, though he knew steel would be meaningless here. "I didn't come to kneel," he said into the emptiness. "If this is a trial, get on with it."
Silence answered.
Then the shadows moved.
They peeled away from the walls, gathering into forms that resembled men—but only barely. Their faces were smooth, featureless masks. Their bodies leaked darkness, dripping into the stone and vanishing.
Not Shadespawn.
Something older.
They spoke as one.
"Bearer of the Path incomplete."
Azer's lips curled. "That's flattering. Usually I get 'abomination' or 'mistake.'"
"You walk between thresholds without anchor."
The ring burned.
Azer hissed, clutching his hand as pain flared up his arm. Images flooded his mind—fractured and violent.
A city in ruin.
A tower collapsing inward, not falling but folding.
A man screaming as shadows wrapped around his soul, tearing him apart and stitching him back together wrong.
Azer staggered, breath ragged.
"What," he growled, "was that?"
The figures stepped aside.
Behind them, the darkness parted.
A mirror of shadow rose from the dais—not reflective, but revealing. Within it, Azer saw himself.
Or rather—
He saw what he would become.
His body was taller, leaner, wrapped in living shadow that clung like armor. His eyes were void-black, stars of silver burning within. Around him lay corpses—not slain, but emptied. Hollow shells drained of something essential.
And on his hand—
The ring.
Whole.
Complete.
"This is the Path fulfilled," the voices intoned. "And this is its price."
Azer stared at the reflection, heart pounding. "You're saying I end like that."
"You end like that if you survive long enough."
The mirror shattered.
Darkness rushed inward, slamming into Azer's chest. He dropped to one knee, gasping as shadow flooded his veins. Pain lanced through him—white-hot and merciless.
Then—
Stillness.
The cavern dimmed, the figures dissolving into the walls as if they had never been there. Azer lay panting, sweat-soaked, his Shadow Path settling into a new, heavier rhythm.
He was stronger.
He could feel it.
And he hated it.
Slowly, he pushed himself to his feet.
"What did you do to me?" he demanded.
No answer came.
Only a single object remained atop the dais.
A book.
Bound in something that looked uncomfortably like skin.
Azer approached cautiously. The moment his fingers brushed the cover, knowledge surged into his mind—not spells, not techniques, but structure. Understanding.
Shadow Path: Second Threshold Unlocked.
Abilities stabilized. Degradation slowed.
Cost increased.
Azer exhaled sharply. "There's always a cost."
The book crumbled to dust in his hands.
Behind him, something shifted.
Azer spun, blade drawn—
Too slow.
A figure stepped from the darkness, tall and wrapped in layered robes of dusk-gray. His face was visible—pale, sharp-featured, with eyes like polished obsidian.
The man smiled.
"Well," he said calmly, "you survived longer than expected."
Azer raised his blade. "You know me."
"I know of you," the man corrected. "Azer Tor. Shadow Path carrier. Walking anomaly."
"And you are?"
The man bowed slightly. "Xyvar Ren. Archivist of the Umbral Concord."
Azer's blood ran cold.
The Concord didn't observe.
They harvested.
"You're far from your libraries," Azer said carefully.
Xyvar's smile widened. "And you are far from safety."
The shadows around them writhed, responding to both men. Azer realized with grim clarity that Xyvar wasn't controlling them.
They were listening.
"To him," Azer realized aloud.
"Yes," Xyvar agreed. "And to you. Which makes this fascinating."
He stepped closer, unafraid of the blade. "You stand at the edge of something vast, Azer Tor. Something that devours men like you for breakfast."
Azer's grip tightened. "Then you're here to kill me."
"No." Xyvar's gaze flicked briefly to the ring. "I'm here to see how you die."
The ring pulsed.
Hard.
For the first time since Azer had put it on, a voice spoke—quiet, intimate, unmistakably not the cavern.
Not yet.
Azer's eyes widened.
Xyvar noticed.
"Oh," he murmured softly. "That's new."
The cavern trembled as shadows surged upward, responding to a will not entirely Azer's own.
Xyvar stepped back, interest blazing in his eyes. "This just became much more dangerous."
Azer raised his blade, shadow wrapping around it like a living flame.
"Then stop watching," he said coldly, "and start running."
The darkness exploded outward.