The fire had long since dimmed to a smoldering glow when Caleb sat alone under the carved stone arch of Gorrin's cave. Gorrin was sprawled on a flattened nest of beast hides, snoring with the ease of someone who had survived far too many nights in places like this.
Outside, the Corrupted Realm churned in silence. A low-hanging mist slithered over the ground, curling around jagged stones and creeping roots like ghost fingers. Nothing attacked tonight—but everything watched. It always did.
Caleb ignored it.
His legs were crossed, back straight, sweat sliding down his temples as he held the Riftbone in both hands.
The crystal pulsed softly, a muted glow casting thin shadows across his arms. It wasn't beautiful—its surface was uneven, pitted with tiny fractures—but there was something alive about it. Every time his mind wandered, the pulse grew erratic. But when he focused…
The Riftenergy inside him stirred.
He reached inward. Slowly. Carefully. He'd learned by now that forcing it would just cause pain—splitting headaches or worse. So instead, he listened.
The energy responded in threads. Tangled at first, but there. It felt like trying to grab mist with his fingers—until the Riftbone helped him hold it. Shape it. Mold it.
He tried to form a blade. Not one of force—he wasn't ready for that. But a shape. A clean one.
His first attempt sputtered into a lumpy rod that shimmered and collapsed with a hiss.
"Alright," he muttered, cracking his neck. "One more."
He tried again. Closed his eyes. Slowed his breath.
He pictured the thing. Not just its appearance, but its purpose. Its balance. Its danger. A dagger, like the one he'd trained with in Gorrin's drills.
This time, the energy coiled properly. It shimmered to life between his palms, long and narrow, edges jagged but sharp. It floated for a moment—stable.
He smiled.
Then it flickered and shattered into light.
But it had held. Longer than before.
From behind him, Gorrin's voice, sleepy but amused: "Took you long enough."
Caleb jumped. "I thought you were asleep."
"I was," Gorrin grunted, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. "But Riftbone hums when it's being used properly. It woke me. Not bad, rookie."
Caleb turned the crystal in his hand. "It's getting easier to feel it. Like the energy is... waiting to be told what to become."
"That's the first step," Gorrin said. "But remember this: shaping isn't just control. It's will. You're not bending the Riftenergy to your orders—you're convincing it to agree with your intention. That's what separates survivors from corpses out here."
Caleb nodded, serious. "So I keep practicing."
"Yeah. Until the energy doesn't feel like a tool, but a limb."
Gorrin walked to the cave's edge, scanning the shadows. "You've got potential, Caleb. But don't let that get to your head. Out here, talent means nothing if you can't back it up with grit."
Caleb looked down at his hands. A faint glow still clung to his fingertips.
He didn't feel powerful yet. But he felt... connected. To something bigger than himself.
Something dangerous.
"I won't waste it," he said quietly.
Gorrin chuckled, stepping back inside. "Good. Because the Rift doesn't care if you're tired, scared, or full of dreams. It only cares if you're useful."
And then he flopped back down on the furs and resumed snoring.
Caleb smiled slightly and sat back, holding the Riftbone close to his chest.