Her left wrist still throbbed with a dull, persistent ache. That day—the day her runaway power had stilled in Walter's arms—Cerianna had begun to fear her own body in a way she couldn't quite name. She couldn't control it. It was hers, and yet it moved in a place completely beyond her reach. Carrying that sensation with her still, she stood now in the underground training grounds of the Black Wedge Tower. As you descended the stairs into the depths, the air grew heavier with each step. Shadow essence—the magical force that the mages of the Dispelsia Alliance studied and controlled academically, opposing the light essence—pooled and accumulated in the underground like sediment. Thin magical circles carved into the stone walls glowed a pale blue, their light making the shadows on the floor tremble and shift. The training grounds were vast. Incomparably larger than the rooms above in the tower. Multiple targets lined the floor. Straw cores wrapped in a special mineral fiber that absorbed shadow essence—called "night-woven cloth," or *Nachtgewebe*—targets that light essence attacks couldn't even scratch, but that shadow essence blades could cut cleanly through. "Begin." Walter stood in the corner of the room. His arms crossed, the index finger of his right hand tapping quietly against the back of his gloved left hand. An old habit. The one he fell into when thinking. Shadow essence magic practical training—beginning today. After a week of basic magical control, Walter had said it was time to "give it form." To fix shadow essence, to manifest it as a blade. The entrance to offensive magic. Cerianna turned her palm forward. Gather the shadow essence. Feel the flow. She could do this much now. The problem came next. Not just gathering, but giving it shape. A cutting shape. A shape with intent. ...The memory of light kept interfering. The light essence magic she'd learned at the seminary had been fundamentally about protection. Shields, healing, purification. The sensation of spreading power outward, of wrapping and containing. That sensation, soaked into her very bones, reared its head the moment she tried to transform shadow essence into a "blade." The shadow essence began to form at her fingertips. It sharpened. Grew keen. But then— It dissolved with a soft sound. "Weak." [cold] A single word. Not a trace of emotion in his voice. Cerianna concentrated again. This time, she thought only of "cutting." She didn't need to protect. Didn't need to spread. A single point, sharp, piercing— A form appeared. Something resembling a blade, a mass of shadow essence. But it trembled. Unstable. "It wavers. That is not a blade but smoke." [cold] Walter stepped away from the wall, moved closer to watch her hands, then returned to his original position. "You are trying to discard the sensations you cultivated with light essence. That is your mistake." [cold] Cerianna looked up. "...Not discard it?" "Confine it. To a separate drawer. The circuit of light essence and the circuit of shadow essence are different things. Do not try to move them simultaneously. Use only the shadow essence pathway." [cold] His words were clear. But as a sensation, she couldn't grasp it. She didn't know where the "drawers" were in her body, or how to touch them. She tried again. It dissolved again. She tried once more. This time a blade appeared, but it scattered into mist almost immediately. An hour passed. "That is enough for today." [cold] "But I—" "Continuing in an exhausted state only reduces precision. It is pointless." [cold] His tone left no room for argument. Walter began walking toward the stairs. "Your weakness is muddying the shadow essence." [cold] He said it without turning back. * Outside, the sky was ash-gray. Above the Gründer Forest, thick clouds hung low and heavy. In this land where shadow essence was dense, even on clear days the light felt thin somehow. Still, it was easier to breathe than in the underground training grounds. Cerianna left the Black Wedge Tower, passed through the forest path, and entered the town of Gründer. Since she'd been dismissed early, she had time until evening. Shadow Lamp Street—the shopping district at the heart of Gründer. True to the town's name, small shadow essence lamps hung from the eaves of shops, casting an orange glow even in daylight. A color slightly tinged with blue, unlike the light of light essence lamps. When she'd first arrived, it had made her uneasy. Now she was used to it. Shops dealing in magical catalysts, shops stacked high with old books, shops bundling dried medicinal herbs for sale—walking the street, different scents drifted from each one. The earthy smell of minerals, the old scent of paper and mold mingled together, the sharp, blue smell of herbs. Cerianna stopped. "...It's you." [surprised] A voice she recognized. She turned, and there stood a woman with silver hair tied back, deep blue eyes. A faint old scar visible on her left wrist where her sleeve pulled back slightly. Hanna Ruthel. The woman who managed the marketplace in Seraphim Alta. The one who had found Cerianna in the capital of the theocratic nation Orthlysche and arranged day labor work for her for a time. "Hanna...what are you doing here?" "Work, work. Running a marketplace doesn't work with just the east side. I have regular dealings with catalyst merchants on the west side. Didn't expect to end up in your teacher's town, though." [laughing] Hanna studied Cerianna carefully. Her deep blue eyes narrowed. "You've wasted away quite a bit." [serious] "...Is it that noticeable?" "Very noticeable. Dark under your eyes, shoulders drooping. That straight posture the holy maiden used to have—it's gone." [sarcastic] A direct hit. Cerianna managed a wry smile. "The training...it's not going as I'd hoped." [serious] "I see." Hanna gave a short reply and gestured down the street with her chin. "I was heading to the *Wirbel Flasche*—the specialty shop for shadow essence minerals. Want to come along? Help me carry things and I'll buy you dinner." * The *Wirbel Flasche* was a small shop in the middle of Shadow Lamp Street. Inside, minerals lined the shelves. Some gleamed black, others were deep purple, some transparent yet seemed to have something moving inside them. Each had a small placard with its name and properties. The shop owner, Petra Nimmt—a woman in her forties, known as an appraiser of shadow essence minerals—stood up the moment she saw Hanna, saying "You came," and the two began their transaction with practiced ease. While they talked, Cerianna examined the shelves. Minerals used as catalysts for shadow essence magic. The core material of that *Nachtgewebe* they used in training—was it sourced from here? Her hand stopped before one stone. "Does that one catch your eye?" [whispers] Hanna had appeared beside her without Cerianna noticing. "What is this stone?" "*Nachtstein*—night stone. It stabilizes shadow essence. It helps narrow the flow of shadow essence, which tends to run wild, to a single point. It's a supplementary aid." [gentle] Petra added the explanation. "Young mages in training buy these often. When they can't control things properly yet, they use them as auxiliary stones to grasp the sensation. Once training progresses, you don't need them anymore, but they help you get over that first wall." [serious] Cerianna picked up the stone. A smooth, black stone. When she placed it in her palm, it felt cool and gentle. Similar in quality to shadow essence, but somehow more settled. A quiet sensation. "...I'll take one." When they left the shop, Hanna took her to a tavern called the *Sinkender Mond*—the Sinking Moon. The tavern where students gathered was busy even at this hour, the smell of dark beer and voices mingling together. Cerianna ordered soup. Hanna ordered a glass of dark beer. The two sat across from each other, eating in silence for a while. "That's not like you." [serious] Hanna set down her cup and spoke. "Whether you were in the holy maiden's seat or carrying cargo at the marketplace, you always looked forward. Today you're only looking at your feet." [serious] Cerianna stopped her spoon. "...Sometimes I wonder if shadow essence magic simply isn't suited for me." [sad] "Maybe it isn't." Agreement. Not comfort. Cerianna looked up, slightly surprised. "Maybe it isn't suited for you. But your eyes aren't dead." [gentle] Hanna's eyes narrowed slightly as she continued. "Those aren't the eyes of someone who's given up. You're still frustrated. That means you'll be fine." [gentle] There was no logic to that reassurance. She simply said it with certainty. It was very like Hanna. Cerianna took a sip of her soup. It was warm. Just that was enough to make her body relax a little. * The next morning, the underground training grounds. Cerianna closed her eyes, gripping the night stone she'd bought last night in her left hand. She recalled Hanna's words. "Eyes that haven't given up." And then something else that had occurred to her. She wasn't failing because she was trying to forget light essence. She was failing because she was trying to forget it. That's why she kept being aware of it. "Confining" it—that wasn't about erasing its existence. It was about acknowledging it was there, and then opening a different door. Light essence was within her. Shadow essence was within her. Both were part of her. She directed her awareness toward the shadow essence pathway. The sensation there was cold, quiet, logical. Make it a blade. Sharpen it. Not to protect, but to pierce— The air changed. A form appeared at her fingertips. It didn't waver. It didn't scatter into mist. Thin, sharp, truly there. A blade made of shadow essence. Cerianna opened her eyes. She turned toward the target and swung. The air split with a soft sound. A clean line appeared in the night-woven cloth. —It cut. "...Slightly better." [cold] Walter's voice. Emotionless, brief. But it was different from before. Not "weak." Not "pointless." Cerianna turned. Walter was already walking away toward the stairs, his back to her. His shoulders—for just an instant, they seemed to relax ever so slightly. It might have been her imagination. But. * Night. Outside her window, the forest was dark. Cerianna sat on the edge of her bed, absently polishing the night stone she'd bought that afternoon. Each time she wiped the surface with cloth, the stone returned a dull gleam. "...Slightly better." She repeated those words in her mind. She still knew almost nothing about what it meant when Walter Neustadt offered praise. Cold formality, brief criticism, voice stripped of emotion. That was his normal. Which was why that single phrase echoed so much louder. Looking up from the window toward the tower's upper reaches, she saw light in the top-floor study. Walter wasn't asleep yet. Every night, he was there, researching something. What was he investigating? Surrounded by grimoires in the tower's highest room, those cold eyes fixed on something. She understood, somehow, that it was connected to her power. And understanding that, she remained here. Fear still lingered. That day's gaze had frightened her. But today—that slight relaxation of his shoulders. What was her teacher truly seeing? Cerianna held the stone and continued watching the distant light. Cold shadow essence drifted through the room. But tonight, somehow, that coldness felt just a little bit softer.