The Abyss-Touched Mage

The underground halls of the Weaving Society were never quiet.
Even in the dead of night, murmured conversations echoed through the tunnels, the faint hum of magic seeping from the stone itself. The Society was alive in a way the Arcanum never had been—moving, shifting, breathing.
But tonight, something felt off.
Raine could feel it in the way people moved. The way they spoke in hushed tones and cast wary glances toward him when they thought he wasn't looking.
The novelty of his arrival had worn off. Now, the weighing had begun.
He wasn't one of them.
Not yet.
He tightened his grip around the worn bandage on his arm, still sore from training. If Ezren's brutal regimen hadn't killed him yet, the exhaustion might. Every muscle in his body ached from drills, spellwork, and physical training, but there was no time to rest.
Not when he was still proving himself.
Not when doubt was creeping in.
Alden had been the first to say it out loud. "They don't trust you, you know."
They sat on the far edge of the training chamber, watching a pair of Weavers spar in the center ring. Raine exhaled through his nose. "Yeah. I noticed."
Alden smirked. "You could make it easier on yourself."
"How?"
"Show them something useful." He gestured toward the duel. "Win a fight. Outweave someone. Give them a reason to believe you belong here."
Raine watched as one of the Weavers twisted their fingers in the air, pulling threads of Essence into a sharp lance of force. Their opponent barely dodged in time, rolling across the floor before countering with a kinetic blast.
Raine's stomach twisted.
That wasn't how his power worked.
He didn't call on magic the way they did. He didn't shape energy into something useful.
He took.
And every time he did, it felt like something was watching him back.
Alden nudged him. "Come on. You're tense. I'd say it's because of Ezren, but I've seen you train with him. You hold up fine."
Fine. That was generous.
Ezren was relentless, his training harsh and calculated. He never wasted time explaining what Raine was doing wrong—he expected Raine to figure it out on his own. And if he didn't? The consequences hurt.
But Ezren wasn't what bothered him.
It was something else.
Something Raine couldn't shake.
"Something's wrong," he muttered.
Alden frowned. "Wrong how?"
Raine wasn't sure how to put it into words. It wasn't something tangible. Just an unease that had settled deep in his chest.
The way the air felt heavier in the corridors.

The way whispers stopped when he entered a room.
The way Kael had been gone too long.
Alden sighed, kicking a loose stone across the floor. "You think they're going to turn on you?"
Raine hesitated.
He didn't think that. Not exactly.
But he knew what people did when they were afraid.
Alden rubbed his jaw. "If they were going to get rid of you, Ezren wouldn't be training you."
That was true. But—
Ezren wasn't the only one with a say in the Society.
And judging by the looks Raine had been getting, he wasn't convinced the others saw the same value in keeping him alive.
He didn't realize he had gone silent for too long until Alden sighed. "Alright. That's enough brooding."
Raine shot him a glare.
Alden grinned. "Come on. You need to move before you start sinking too deep in that head of yours."
Raine barely had time to react before Alden grabbed his arm and hauled him forward.
Straight into the sparring ring.
"Alright!" Alden called out, clapping his hands. "We've got a challenger."
Raine stiffened. The entire room turned toward him.
A few of the Weavers raised eyebrows. Others exchanged looks. Some laughed.
Raine wanted to kill Alden.
Alden, of course, looked entirely pleased with himself. "Don't give me that look. You want to prove you belong here? Here's your chance."
Raine swallowed hard. His skin prickled as eyes landed on him, waiting. Watching.
This was exactly what he had been afraid of.
The Society wasn't testing him in the tunnels anymore.
They were testing him here.
A figure stepped forward.
Lean. Quick. Confidence in every step.
Raine recognized them—one of the more experienced Weavers, someone who had been training here for years. Someone who expected this to be easy.
The Weavers surrounding the ring murmured, a few placing bets on how long Raine would last.
Alden patted him on the shoulder. "Try not to die."
Raine clenched his jaw.
His opponent gave a lazy smirk. "Whenever you're ready."
Raine had a choice.
He could refuse. Step out. Show them all that he wasn't what they thought he was.
Or—
He could prove something.
Raine exhaled sharply and dropped into a stance.
The room shifted.
The smirks faded. The laughter quieted.
Now, they were watching for real.
His opponent didn't wait.
They struck fast—a whip of Essence arcing through the air toward him.
Raine barely dodged in time, rolling to the side as the magic crackled against the floor where he had just been standing.
His opponent moved smoothly, sending another strike his way—this time a controlled blast of kinetic force. Precision. Technique. Power.
Raine had none of those things.
What he did have—
Was something else.
He dodged, skidding across the stone, and as his opponent's spell crackled past him—
He reached out.
The world stretched.
The air rippled.
For a single heartbeat, the flow of Essence hesitated.
And that was all Raine needed.
He turned the pause into a counter, lunging forward before the magic could strike. His opponent's eyes widened in surprise—just for an instant—
And then Raine took him to the ground.
The silence that followed was stifling.
Raine gasped for breath, his pulse hammering. His opponent was stunned, blinking up at him in disbelief.
The rest of the Weavers?
They were watching.
Measuring.
But this time—
It wasn't with doubt.
It was curiosity.
Alden let out a low whistle. "Huh."
Raine slowly pushed himself back to his feet.
The damage had been done.
The Weaving Society had seen something.
And now?
They were paying attention.