Hurt walked to the center of the training yard. Morning sunlight tore through clouds, painting the cracked earth and scorched stones in a golden glow that mirrored the very Arcane Energy they would wield.
He turned to Ronin and lifted a single finger. His voice was calm, instructional. "If this is your choice, then we begin. Your first practical lesson: Energy Conversion."
Ronin's eyes widened. He scratched his head in mock exasperation. "Again with the big words, Hurt? I am five! My brain's gonna melt before my magic does."
Hurt blinked, then allowed a slight, genuine smile. "Right. I forgot. Very well. Energy Conversion is the most fundamental principle for any path—Sorcerer, Necromancer, Alchemist, Diviner, anyone. It is the art of transforming raw Arcane Energy into a specific, usable form. Every school of magic has its own unique energy signature and laws."
"Watch closely," he commanded. A swirling sphere of pure, bright Arcane Energy coalesced above his palm. "This is the primordial force. Now, observe the shift."
The sphere's brilliant, golden light twisted, deepening into a sorrowful, cold, and violent violet. The warmth of Arcane was gone, replaced by a humming, aggressive chill.
Cursed Energy.
Ronin rubbed his eyes, leaning closer. "What—? It was just gold, and now—"
"The lesson is not ended yet," Hurt interrupted. He shifted the orb to his fingertip. It began to spin at a blurring speed.
In the next heartbeat, the violent violet light vanished. It was replaced by a dark, bruise-gray luminescence that seemed not to emit light, but to devour the sunlight around it.
Necrotic Energy.
Ronin's jaw went slack. He shook his head, as if to clear a vision. "No way... Arcane to Cursed to Necrotic? That's insane!"
Hurt closed his fist, crushing the silent, devouring sphere. He then extended both his heavy, gauntleted hands towards Ronin—the left held out flat, the right a fist.
His crimson gaze locked onto the boy's face, his voice serene and heavy with finality.
"Now, choose Ronin. The path of accepting the nature's ultimate truth... or the path of forging your darkest self into your greatest weapon. Choose wisely."
Ronin closed his eyes. He took a deep, steadying breath, the scent of ozone and damp earth filling his lungs. He looked at two of the offered hands—one open, one closed.
"I choose," he said, his voice small but firm. "I choose Curse Techniques."
He placed his small, warm hand atop the cold metal of Hurt's right gauntlet—the closed fist.
Hurt stood up, straightened his robes with a nod. "Very well. Now, before you can convert Arcane to Cursed Energy, you must answer this: what is your most powerful negative feeling?"
Ronin frowned. "But how does a feeling help convert energy?"
Hurt placed his hand on his own chest, his voice thick with unseen weight. "Cursed Energy is Arcane Energy, inverted. To flip the light, you need a catalyst—a 'Core Negativity'. It is the strongest negative emotion rooted in your soul. It becomes the key."
With a child's blunt curiosity, Ronin asked, "What's yours?"
Hurt's eyes closed. For a fleeting moment, his mind was elsewhere—in a past of flames and screams echoing screams.
He opened his eyes, and they held an old, unspoken, deep pain that Ronin could feel in the air between them.
"Regret," Hurt said, the word simple and final. "Guilt. That is my core. Now... find yours. Are you ready?"
Ronin nodded. He walked to the center of the yard, shaped his hands into a half-spherical cup, and tried to pull his energy into the space between them.
"Do not draw it out," Hurt instructed. "Let it flow. Like blood. Like breath."
Ronin inhaled deeply. He focused past the instructions, to the memory of how his body felt when he teleported—a willing, effortless release. He exhaled slowly.
A single, tiny spark shimmered into existence between his palms.
Hurt's lips twitched. "Good. Very good. Hold that focus."
Ronin closed his eyes completely. He tuned out the world, listening only to the rhythmic drum of his own heart.
Then, a warm, golden radiance began to seep from his palm. It gathered, swirling, condensing into a small, intensely bright sphere of pure Arcane Energy, hovering perfectly at his center.
Ronin's eyes flew open. They sparkled with profound, unfiltered triumph. "YES! I did it! In the first try!"
He grinned, puffing out his chest with pure pride. "I am born talented, aren't I?"
Hurt let out a low chuckle. "Not yet, little prince. Drawing your Arcane Energy is the first step. The true test begins now. Convert it."
Ronin's triumph froze. He stared at the beautiful golden sphere, then at Hurt. "Are you serious? I just learned to make it! Converting it now is impossible!"
"Nothing is impossible," Hurt said, his voice unwavering. "This is your crucible. Find your Core Negativity?"
Ronin straightened his spine. He closed his eyes again, but this time, he didn't seek a feeling in his body—he dove into his memory.
The park. The children scrambled away, their screams. "It's the monster!" The crushing, hollow loneliness.
A thin, crimson haze began to pulse from his small form, syncing with his heartbeat.
The dark of the Whispering Forest. The terror in his mother's eyes as the cloaked figure tore him from her. The helpless grief.
The crimson aura around him deepened, darkening from pink to the color of a fresh wound.
The attacker's grip. The violent throw. The swallowing shadows. The searing, righteous rage. The bitter, personal hatred.
CRACK.
The sound of Ronin's own knuckles tightening echoed in the silent yard. The beautiful golden sphere in his hands convulsed. Its warm light twisted, sickened, and inverted into a violent, roaring orb of pure violet malice—a condensed ball of rage and hatred.
Hurt instinctively took a half-step back, his eyes wide.
Ronin's hands trembled violently. A groan of strain escaped his lips. He couldn't hold it. His arms gave out.
WHOOSH.
The sphere of Cursed Energy tore from his grasp. It screamed across the yard and struck the far wall—a wall forged from pure, magically-reinforced obsidian, designed to tank the mightiest of Arcane blasts.
The wall did not crack. It did not shatter.
It crumbled, dissolving into a heap of fine, grey dust as if it had been aging for a thousand years in an instant.
Ronin slumped to his knees, breathing heavily. He saw the destruction and his eyes filled with tears of shame. "No... I lost control. What I did... I failed..."
Hurt was already moving, not toward the wall, but toward Ronin. He knelt, his fingers gently wiping the tears from the boy's cheeks. His voice, when it came, was thick with a pride so profound it vibrated in the air.
"Do not cry. You did not fail." He glanced back at the pile of dust that was once an impregnable wall, his crimson eyes wide with awe.
"You surpassed every expectation I dared to have. That was not a loss of control... that was a release of power. I am... immensely proud of you."
Ronin sniffed, wiping his face with his grimy hands. "Really? I... I passed?"
Hurt's stern face softened into a true, warm smile. "Without a single doubt."
A wobbly smirk touched Ronin's lips. "Yes! But... I am really... sleepy..."
His eyes rolled back. He pitched forward, unconscious, directly into Hurt's waiting arms.
Hurt caught him easily, scooping the small, exhausted body against his cold chest. He looked down at the peaceful, smudged face. "You channeled your rage... and paid for it with your body's fuel. You have earned this rest, little warrior."
He glanced up at the sun, now high and bright in the afternoon sky.
A soft, wondering smirk touched his pale lips as he murmured to the sleeping boy,
"It seems you were right, after all. You are something special, my little Necromancer."
***
The first test was complete.
And Ronin had passed—not with grace, but with sheer, devastating will.
The path of flames had just been ignited.