Chapter 44 – The Weight of Power
POV: Aric
The chamber smelled of old stone and burned incense. Aric sat cross-legged before the black shard his father had revealed only hours earlier. It rested on the ground within a ring of glowing runes, each line humming with quiet containment.
Daren stood behind him, arms folded, gaze sharp.
"You will not touch it," his father warned, voice iron. "You will only listen. The shard is a relic of gods and mortals alike, and it will try to bend you. If you yield, it will devour you. Understand?"
Aric swallowed, throat dry. "I understand."
The shard pulsed, faint but insistent, like a heartbeat out of rhythm with his own. He reached with his senses, mana flowing along the channels his father had drilled into him since childhood. At once, the world shifted.
Heat. Suffering. Screams.
Thousands of voices whispered at once, cascading into his mind — some shrieking, some chanting, others pleading. He nearly broke away, but Daren's steady voice cut through the noise.
"Hold the pattern, Aric. Do not drown. Observe."
So he steadied his breathing, letting the flood wash over him without resistance. Slowly, the chaos settled into layers. Beneath the screams lay a rhythm, a pulse of raw power. Unlike normal mana, which trickled like water through channels, this energy was dense, jagged, almost metallic. It fought him, resisted his shaping. Yet it was there — alive, primal, waiting.
He tried to guide it into the simplest spell he knew: a conjured flame. The shard's energy surged, but instead of the small flicker he expected, fire roared to life across the chamber wall, thick and black-edged, shadows writhing within the blaze.
Aric yelped, losing control. The flames snapped back toward him, clawing like living things.
Daren moved instantly, a hand sweeping through the air. A wall of shimmering wards burst into place, swallowing the dark fire before it could consume them both. The ward cracked under the force, splinters of light scattering, but it held. Barely.
Aric collapsed back, chest heaving, sweat cold on his skin. "I—I didn't mean—"
"I know," Daren said, voice softer now, though his eyes still burned with intensity. "This is why mortals are not meant to wield such power without discipline. The shard will always push harder than you intend. It is not a tool, Aric. It is a predator. Treat it as such."
Aric nodded, but his gaze stayed fixed on the black shard. It gleamed faintly, as if amused by his failure. And yet, within his chest, excitement burned. For the first time, he had touched something greater than the system's leash, something unbound. It had nearly killed him — and he wanted to try again.
"Did you see it?" Daren asked quietly.
"The fire?"
"No. The truth behind it. This is divine residue — the remains of a god's destruction. Mortals cannot reproduce this power. Only relics like this, stolen from forgotten wars, hold fragments of their essence. What you wielded was not mere magic. It was the echo of divinity itself."
Aric's breath caught. The word divinity felt heavy, dangerous, yet exhilarating.
His father's hand rested briefly on his shoulder, grounding him. "I show you this not to make you reckless, but to prepare you. The system will notice you sooner than we wish. And when that day comes, you must be able to reach beyond mortal limits. To do that, you must master both patience… and hunger."
Aric looked again at the shard. It pulsed once, faintly, like a promise only he could hear. He shivered, both from dread and from the intoxicating taste of what lay beyond the system's chains.
For the first time, he truly understood what his father meant by forbidden power.
And for the first time, he knew he wanted more.