The air was crisp against my skin as I sat cross-legged atop Victor’s Point, the highlands stretching endlessly before me, bathed in silver moonlight. No clamor of battle, no ringing steel—only the whispering wind. I exhaled slowly, watching my breath curl in the cold.

The day had been long, the march relentless, the fight sudden. The ambush came in the pass. Bandits, or so I thought—until the first strike. When cut down, they didn’t bleed. They unraveled into thick purple smoke that clung to the air, clawed at my mind, seeped into the edges of my thoughts. But now, in the quiet, I faced something greater than shadow—myself.

I had seen the Light work miracles—mending wounds, shattering darkness, lifting warriors from the brink of death. But never through my own hands. I had never called upon it, never dared. What if I reach… and nothing answers?

Swallowing hard, I curled my fingers into my palms. And yet—something within me ached to try.

I straightened my spine, closed my eyes, and breathed. The night wind carried the scent of wild grass and distant hearth smoke. The world felt vast, infinite. I reached inward, past muscle and bone, past fear. Please.

No golden warmth. No sudden radiance. Just silence. My pulse quickened. Was I foolish to think it would come?

But then—soft as a candle’s flicker—something stirred. Not outside me, but within. A quiet hum beneath my ribs. Gentle. Patient. My breath hitched. It wasn’t fire, wasn’t blinding. It was stillness. It was presence.

I opened my eyes. The night had not changed, but something inside me had.

I wasn’t alone in the dark.

I never had been.