The Abyss-Touched Mage

Raine staggered back, ripping his hand from the stone as though burned. His breath came in ragged gasps, his heartbeat pounding against his ribs. The chamber was still spinning around him, the ghostly glow of the markings flickering in and out of focus.

The whispering had stopped.

But something had changed.

Kael watched him carefully, his expression unreadable. "What did you hear?"

Raine swallowed hard. The voices had been there—real, pressing against his mind like hands reaching from the dark. Not words, not fully, but something deeper. Something ancient.

Something that knew him.

He clenched his jaw. "I don't know."

Kael exhaled, looking at the dais as though considering something. "That will have to do for now."

Raine's frustration flared. "That's it?" He took a step forward. "You dragged me down here, told me the Arcanum fears me, that I take power instead of wielding it like a normal mage—and now you're just done?"

Kael's gaze snapped to him, sharp as a knife. "Do you want the full answer, Raine?" His voice was quiet, but something in it made the hairs on Raine's arms stand on end. "Because you won't like it."

Raine held his ground. "Tell me anyway."

A beat of silence stretched between them.

Then Kael sighed and leaned against one of the stone pillars, crossing his arms. "Fine."

He gestured toward the markings surrounding them. "The Weaving Society calls this place the Hollow, but long before they claimed it, before even the Arcanum took power, this was something else. A prison, of sorts. Not for people." He tilted his head. "For things that shouldn't exist."

Raine's stomach twisted. "Things like me."

Kael didn't deny it. "They call you Abyss-Touched because they think they understand what you are. But they don't. No one does. They've spent centuries erasing every trace of it, making sure no records remain. And yet—" He gestured to the dais. "Something remembers."

Raine rubbed his arms, forcing himself to stay steady. "And that's why the Arcanum wants me dead."

"Yes." Kael's gaze didn't waver. "Because the last time someone like you survived, entire cities vanished."

A cold shiver traced Raine's spine. "You said I take power." He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "What does that mean?"

Kael studied him for a long moment before answering. "It means magic doesn't work the same for you as it does for them. For Weavers, Essence comes from somewhere—it's borrowed, shaped, refined into spells. But you? You don't borrow."

Raine felt his stomach sink. "I steal it."

Kael's expression didn't shift, but his silence was answer enough.

Raine exhaled shakily. "That's why the Arcanum fears me. It's not just about control, is it? It's about what I am."

Kael nodded. "And what you could become."

The weight of the words settled over him.

They thought he was a threat—not just because he was dangerous now, but because he could become something worse. Something uncontrollable.

Something the Arcanum had spent centuries wiping from existence.

The room felt colder.

Kael pushed off the pillar. "I didn't bring you here just to scare you." He motioned toward one of the arched corridors leading deeper into the underground network. "The Society is waiting."

Raine blinked, forcing himself to focus. "You're taking me to them now?"

"That was the deal," Kael said evenly. "They agreed to take you in—but they'll be watching."

Raine swallowed. So this was still a test.

He wasn't being accepted. He was being evaluated.

He glanced at the stone dais one last time.

The whispering had faded. But he could still feel the weight of it, lingering at the edges of his mind.

Waiting.

He clenched his fists and followed Kael into the darkness.