Xaveir Evernight

The cave greeted me with silence.

Not the empty kind—the kind that pressed inward, thick and deliberate, as if the air itself was waiting for me to make the first mistake. I stood still for a moment, boots planted against cold stone, letting my breathing settle into something slow and controlled.

Trials liked hesitation.

I didn't give it the satisfaction.

Light bled in from nowhere and everywhere at once, dim and colorless, illuminating a space far larger than it should have been. The cavern stretched upward into darkness, its ceiling lost beyond sight, its walls uneven and scarred as though something massive had once tried to claw its way out.

I felt my mana immediately.

Whole.

Unrestricted.

Coiled tight in my core, eager and volatile, like it always was.

Good.

That told me everything I needed to know.

This wasn't about limitation.

This was about confrontation.

I flexed my hands. My gauntlets responded, plates shifting slightly, runes along the knuckles glowing faintly with contained force.

A familiar weight settled into my arms, grounding me. At my shoulder, a ripple of shadow detached itself from the air and resolved into a sleek black crow, feathers absorbing light instead of reflecting it.

My spirit beast tilted its head, one glassy eye fixed on the cavern ahead.

"Yeah," I muttered. "I know. Not a fan either."

The cave answered by exhaling.

Something poured out of the far end of the chamber a slow, seeping darkness, like smoke dragged underwater. It did not rise. It did not disperse. It advanced, clinging low to the ground before lifting, stretching upward, thickening into a towering mass of black vapor.

It had no face.

And yet I knew exactly who it was supposed to be.

My stomach tightened despite myself.

Not fear.

Recognition.

The gas twisted, folding inward, condensing until a vague silhouette formed within it—tall, broad-shouldered, rigid. No details. No features. Just the unmistakable impression of a man standing with arms crossed, head tilted slightly downward.

Judging.

Waiting.

Disappointed.

I exhaled through my nose.

"So that's how you're doing this," I said quietly. "Subtle."

The presence radiated pressure, not physical but emotional, an invisible weight that pressed against my chest, made my shoulders want to slump, my spine want to bow. Every instinct screamed not enough, whispered it directly into the spaces between my thoughts.

I had felt this before.

Every time my explosion affinity ran wild.

Every time I cracked stone instead of shaping it cleanly.

Every time my father watched in silence instead of praising.

The gas surged forward.

The trial had begun.

I moved first.

Mana flooded my limbs, explosive force coiling through my muscles. I slammed my foot into the stone and launched forward, the ground behind me detonating as compressed force erupted outward.

My fist followed.

The gauntlet ignited, runes blazing as I drove a punch straight into the heart of the black mass.

The impact shook the cavern.

Fire and force tore through the gas, blasting a hole clean through its center. The explosion roared outward, shockwaves rippling through the stone walls, loose fragments raining down from above.

For a split second, I thought—

The darkness folded back in on itself.

The hole sealed, vapor knitting together seamlessly, as if I'd punched smoke and expected bone to break.

The pressure doubled.

A voice, not spoken, not heard, but felt, pressed into my mind.

Too loud. Too reckless. Too much.

My jaw clenched.

"Yeah," I muttered, stepping back into a fighting stance. "That tracks."

The gas surged again, tendrils lashing outward like grasping hands. They moved faster than they looked, snapping through the air with enough force to crater stone where they struck.

I dodged, twisting aside as one tendril slammed into the ground where my head had been. I countered with a sweeping kick, detonating compressed force along the arc of my leg. The explosion tore through three tendrils at once, scattering black vapor like shredded cloth.

Still, it reformed.

My crow shrieked, wings snapping open as it launched into the air. Shadows peeled off its feathers, condensing into razor-edged arcs that sliced through the gas in coordinated strikes.

The entity recoiled, not physically, but conceptually.

The pressure wavered, just slightly.

Good.

That meant it could be hurt.

The gas thickened, rising higher, its silhouette sharpening. The vague suggestion of arms lifted, and the cavern darkened as if the light itself recoiled from it.

Control, the presence pressed into me. If you cannot master yourself, you will never surpass me.

My chest tightened.

That line was new.

That line was fresh.

I snarled and threw both hands forward, mana roaring as I unleashed a focused detonation—smaller, tighter, a controlled blast instead of a wild eruption. The explosion hit like a battering ram, slamming into the entity and forcing it back several meters.

Stone cracked beneath its retreat.

The pressure spiked again, more targeted now, less ambient.

It was adapting.

Figures.

I advanced, chaining explosions beneath my feet, each step a calculated blast that propelled me forward without destabilizing my balance. I drove my elbow into the gas, detonated point-blank, then followed with a rising knee, another explosion layered atop the first.

The cavern echoed with thunder.

The entity retaliated.

The gas condensed suddenly, collapsing inward before erupting outward in a shockwave of oppressive force. It wasn't an explosion—it was a denial, a crushing insistence that pressed down on my body, my mana, my thoughts.

I skidded backward, boots carving furrows through stone.

For a moment, just a moment, my arms trembled.

Images flickered at the edges of my vision.

My father standing at the training grounds, arms crossed.

Silence after a flawed strike.

The weight of expectation without guidance.

I shook my head hard, snarling under my breath.

"No," I said. "You don't get to use that."

The crow screamed again, diving straight into the heart of the black mass. Its form blurred, shadow and feather merging as it detonated into a burst of dark energy that tore a ragged wound through the entity's core.

I seized the opening.

Mana surged as I gathered force into both gauntlets, runes flaring white-hot. I twisted my torso and unleashed a rapid sequence of controlled detonations—each one precisely timed, layered, and shaped.

The explosions didn't scatter.

They drove.

The entity staggered, its silhouette destabilizing, pressure flickering erratically.

For the first time, the disappointment shifted.

It sharpened.

You think power alone is enough? the presence pressed. That noise and destruction are substitutes for discipline?

I felt the words hit deeper than any blow.

I laughed once, sharp and humorless.

"Funny," I said, launching forward again. "That's exactly what you taught me."

I leapt, flipping midair as I slammed both fists downward. The resulting detonation cratered the stone floor, force erupting upward in a column that engulfed the entity completely.

The cavern shook violently.

Cracks spiderwebbed across the walls.

For a heartbeat, there was nothing but dust and dissipating vapor.

I landed hard, breathing steady, eyes locked on the epicenter.

The gas stirred.

It rose again, slower this time, thicker, more deliberate. The silhouette reformed—but now it was closer. Looming.

The pressure intensified, focused entirely on me now.

You will always fall short, it pressed. Because you refuse to be less.

That one hurt.

I straightened.

My hands trembled—not from fear, but from restraint.

"Yeah," I said quietly. "That's the point."

I inhaled deeply, drawing mana inward instead of letting it spill outward. The explosive force compressed tighter and tighter, contained within my core, within my limbs, within the runes of my gauntlets.

Control.

Not suppression.

Not denial.

Balance.

I stepped forward without detonating, letting the pressure wash over me. My muscles screamed as the weight bore down, my vision darkening at the edges.

The crow circled overhead, silent now.

The entity surged, tendrils lashing out, wrapping around my arms, my torso, constricting like coils of judgment.

I didn't resist.

I focused.

Then I detonated—inside the bindings.

A precise, inward-folded explosion tore through the tendrils from within, shredding them into nothing. I followed immediately, chaining the force through my body in a controlled wave rather than a burst, turning myself into the epicenter of a sustained, focused blast.

The black gas screamed.

Not audibly.

Emotionally.

I advanced through the pressure, each step a deliberate act of defiance, each explosion smaller, tighter, more refined than the last. The entity's silhouette fractured, losing coherence as its oppressive presence began to buckle.

You are reckless, it pressed, weaker now. Unrefined. Incomplete.

I stopped directly in front of it.

"Maybe," I said. "But I'm learning."

I drew my fist back.

No theatrics.

No excess.

Just one perfectly controlled detonation, released at the exact moment my knuckles met the core of the darkness.

The explosion didn't roar.

It ended.

The black gas imploded, collapsing inward with a soundless violence, pressure snapping like a broken spine. The cavern brightened as the oppressive weight vanished, the silhouette tearing apart into nothing more than fading vapor.

Silence returned.

Real silence.

I stood there, breathing hard, fists clenched, mana slowly settling back into its usual volatile hum. My crow landed on my shoulder, feathers ruffling as it let out a low, satisfied croak.

I exhaled.

"…Huh," I muttered. "Guess I passed."

The cave shifted, light changing subtly, the air feeling lighter somehow. The trial had ended.

The disappointment was gone.

Not erased.

But no longer towering over me.

I rolled my shoulders, already feeling the familiar itch of anticipation.

Whatever came next, I'd blow it apart too.

Carefully.

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