Chapter 4: The Price of Power

The canyon twisted into a labyrinth.

Walls of black stone loomed over Kaelen, blotting out the sky.

The deeper they went, the colder the air became — thin, sharp, biting.

Selene moved ahead, her pale figure barely visible through the mist that clung to the ground.

Kaelen followed, each step heavier than the last.

His body ached.

The ember inside him — once wild and raging — now simmered, waiting, hungry.

He didn’t know if he was walking toward salvation… or damnation.

Maybe both.

---

At the canyon's heart, they found it.

An ancient courtyard carved directly into the stone, ringed by statues long broken and eroded.

In the center stood a single slab of black iron, half-buried in ash.

Selene stopped and turned to face him.

"This," she said softly, "is where your training begins."

Kaelen frowned, breathing hard.

"Training? For what?"

Selene’s eyes gleamed like twin stars.

"For war."

She gestured to the iron slab.

"It is called the Anvil of Ash. Here, the souls of heroes were once tempered — made strong enough to defy even the gods."

Kaelen stepped closer, feeling the air ripple with unseen force.

"It looks dead."

Selene’s smile was grim.

"Because no one has survived the forging for centuries."

Kaelen hesitated.

He remembered the pain from before — the way the ember had torn through his flesh and spirit.

This would be worse.

He knew it.

"Why me?" he asked quietly.

Selene studied him.

"Because you carry a spark that should not exist. A fragment of a god thought lost forever."

She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a whisper.

"And because if you do not learn to control it — others will. They will bend you, break you, use you."

Kaelen's fists clenched.

No.

Never again.

He had been a tool once. A pawn.

He would rather die than be shackled again.

Slowly, he nodded.

Selene’s expression softened for a moment — almost proud.

"Good."

She raised her hand.

The Anvil of Ash shuddered.

With a groan of tortured metal, it rose fully from the earth — a jagged slab as tall as a man, covered in ancient runes.

The ground around it blackened, smoking.

Selene pointed at it.

"Place your hand upon the Anvil. Offer your ember willingly. Let it be tempered."

Kaelen swallowed hard.

Every instinct screamed at him to run.

But he stepped forward.

He placed his hand against the cold, rough surface.

---

Pain exploded through him.

It was different from before — not wild, but methodical. Precise.

It peeled away his flesh, his memories, his very sense of self — layer by agonizing layer.

Visions assaulted him:

A battlefield soaked in golden blood.

A black tower rising into a burning sky.

A woman’s laughter, cruel and broken.

And beneath it all, a whisper:

"Give in..."

"Let go..."

Kaelen gritted his teeth.

He saw himself — broken, chained, kneeling.

He saw himself — burning cities, slaughtering innocents.

Two futures.

Two fates.

Neither one he could accept.

With a roar, he forced the ember to obey.

He shaped it — not into a weapon, not into a curse — but into will.

Unbreakable. Unyielding.

The Anvil blazed white-hot.

Kaelen screamed, the sound torn from his very soul — but he did not let go.

He would not break.

Not this time.

Not ever.

---

When it ended, he collapsed onto the blackened stone.

Smoke rose from his skin.

His cloak was nothing but ashes.

But when he opened his eyes, he was… different.

Stronger.

The ember no longer felt foreign.

It pulsed in time with his heartbeat — a part of him, and yet something far greater.

Selene knelt beside him, her face unreadable.

"You survived," she said quietly.

Kaelen managed a weak smile.

"Was there ever any doubt?"

For the first time, Selene laughed — a short, sharp sound.

"There was always doubt."

She helped him to his feet.

"You are tempered now," she said.

"But the forging is only the beginning."

She gestured to the statues ringing the courtyard.

Kaelen looked closer and shuddered.

They weren’t statues.

They were bodies — warriors, mages, kings — all frozen mid-scream, their souls consumed by failure.

Selene’s voice was cold and clear.

"You carry the spark of a god. But so did they."

She met his gaze, hard and unflinching.

"Power alone is not enough. Will alone is not enough."

She stepped back, drawing a line in the ash between them.

"Only purpose will see you survive what comes next."

Kaelen stood there, the ember burning bright within him.

Purpose.

He thought of the hunters.

Of Black Hollow.

Of the chains he had shattered — and the ones still binding the world.

"I have a purpose," he said.

Selene’s eyes gleamed with something fierce.

"Then we begin in earnest."

She drew a blade of pure light from the air.

Kaelen raised his fists.

Training.

Survival.

War.

The path ahead was blood and fire.

And Kaelen was ready to walk it.

---

(End of Chapter 4)