A fog rose over the wasteland, curling around Kael's boots like living smoke. The Witch guided him silently, her presence steady. Kael's Sight allowed him to see the souls trapped within the mist, cries muted but palpable, threads of light dancing among the gray.
He practiced moving among them, avoiding the whispers that tried to pull him toward consumption. Each soul was a puzzle, a thread to be understood and respected. The fog tested him, isolating him and intensifying the hunger's voice.
Kael faltered, nearly taking one, but he forced himself to step back, letting the Sight absorb the energy without feeding. The Witch observed quietly, offering subtle guidance and the occasional word of encouragement.
When the fog lifted, Kael felt drained yet victorious. He had begun to internalize control, balancing the hunger with awareness, patience, and self-restraint.