Page 4 of The Dark Mage

Under Jure’s strict eye, Ren’wyn raised unsettled dead, shadow forms, frost, and wind, wielding them like weapons. The brutal exercises made her feel sick, but Ren’wyn mastered each one with chilling efficiency, retreating into a disassociated version of herself she barely recogn ized.

In the bleak midwinter, Master Jure told her to dress warmly.

They loaded into a carriage in the dead of night and traveled for hours north to an ancient battlefield, arriving as the sun rose.

Master Jure was as cold as the air, as unfeeling as snow and ice.

Ren’wyn suppressed her nerves as he handed her down the carriage steps and led her to the center of the frozen p lain.

Brome bent under snow, filigrees and drifts stretching across the vast expanse toward the eastern horizon. The clouds promised more snow, and the rising sun pierced through like a coral sword before disappearing again behind the gray bla nket.

“Today,” Jure began in his dark rasp, “you learn to kill. You will kill effectively and quickly with your power, stripping your enemies of life. Wield your power with intention, Ren’wyn, and show it who master s it.”

Who could ever master the Dead? Her hands s hook.

With that, he turned his back. Shades burst forth as he moved, an army of black silhouettes creeping in on a shivering wind. They clawed and howled in rage, clinging to Jure’s wrists like black rib bons.

His eyes were black as night when he looked over his shou lder.

“Raise your magic, Ren’wyn,” he hissed, his tone sending every hair on her body standing on end. “I’m going to try to kill you.”

His darkness wound around her, seeping into muscle and marrow. Clawed hands grew from shadows, sinking into her legs. Ren’wyn screamed as terrible pain burst through her body.

The Void responded in an explosion, bubbling from the earth and rushing out like a frozen hurricane. On her scream, the dead wheeled toward Jure. Bands of night sprang from her wrists, but she had no desire to attack him. Instead, the shades froze, caught between the two m ages.

Jure’s power demanded their release with enough force to make Ren’wyn shake. He wrestled for control of the shades, and death beckoned her ever cl oser.

“Jure!” she screamed, shadows bursting along the boundary where their powers clashed. “I will not kill you!”

With one swipe of his hand, both their magics dissolved. Ren’wyn collapsed to her knees, the darkness dissipating like dust in the winter air.

“Your weakness will cost you everything,” Jure said quietly. “You’re too soft. If you won’t fight for yourself, who will you fight for? What would you die for? Your power? Your safety? The continuation of our kind?”

Only the wind answered as his words stripped her to the core.

“I don’t want to fight. I don’t want to kill,” she whisp ered.

“Raise the dead army,” was his only response as he turned away a gain.

With no choice but to obey, Ren’wyn stretched her arms out, summoning the Void around her. Death and will curled from her hands, spreading far and wide. The restless, tormented souls were both ancient and angry. Would they ever pass on, or were they bound forever to this place of viol ence?

“Good,” Jure stated. “Call them to you.”

Hours passed as Ren’wyn raised and banished the army over and over.

Jure opposed her magic with his own, training her without outright conflict.

It was brutal. Jure didn’t break for food, offering water only sparingly.

The cold seeped through every layer of clothing, and her movements grew ragged as the elements sapped her sta mina.

“Try harder,” Jure gro wled.

Ren’wyn choked on an angry sob.

“If you won’t stand for yourself and kill that weakling who hurts you at home, if you won’t run and make something of your unique power, at least have the strength to defend someone who might need it. Stand for something outside yourself, Ren ’wyn.”

His words were as cruel as the winter wind, biting deeper than her bones. Anger flared hot in her b lood.

“I am not weak,” she reto rted.

The shades hissed on a dark wind, materializing behind her in unison.

A host of the dead rose as her vanguard, their rage mirroring her own.

Darkness flowed from them, cascading over her shoulders toward Jure.

The mist spiraled up his legs, and he hid his surprise well, but in the Void, Ren’wyn felt him struggle against her p ower.

“I’m not weak,” she repeated, swiping her hands to send shadows curling over his torso. Delicate claws formed at the mist’s edge, barely pricking through his clothing to the skin beneath. Jure’s eyes widened as her magic stifled his.

“If you think my magic isn’t precious to me, that I don’t desire freedom for all of us as deeply as you, then you have learned nothing in our years together,” she said.

With that, she opened her hands, releasing the m agic.

Jure gave her a terse nod, and no more words were excha nged.

The ride home was silent and cold. Ren’wyn missed an entire week of classes, overcome by exhaustion and a deep depression.

Despite Peria’s bursts of peace to soothe her, Jure’s words pierced her most central insecurities.

She was not strong enough to stand up for herself, and she had no dreams of her own.

That weakness devoured her, body and soul, leaving dark hopelessness to gnaw at her sp irit.

When Ren’wyn returned to lessons, she found a new respect between herself and her Masters, including a warm hand on her shoulder after advanced magics from the previously removed Master Jure. For the first time, Ren’wyn understood she had stood for her self.

A small, foreign voice whispered its contentment, but Ren’wyn smothered it, killing hope before it could endanger her sa fety.