The next morning arrived with a soft hush. Golden rays filtered through the wide dormitory windows, casting long, warm streaks across the wooden floors. Reed sat by his bedside, legs drawn up to his chest, staring at the spot where the onyx hog had stood the night before. Though it had long since vanished into mist, the memory of it—its weight, the hum of its presence, the way it had bowed to him—remained vivid, like a permanent mark etched into the fabric of his thoughts.
Marek, already dressed and halfway through his third piece of toast, was tying up his academy sash with clumsy fingers. His eyes flicked toward Reed.
"You good, man?" he asked between chews.
Reed gave a small nod, his fingers absently curling around his knee. "Yeah. Just… processing, I guess."
"Well, it was a shadow hog the size of a horse," Marek said, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "You know, casual stuff."
Reed chuckled. Marek's tone was light, but the glint of awe in his eyes hadn't faded since last night.
"Anyway, I've got classes with Professor Veers," Marek continued, heading for the door. "You sure you're okay on your own?"
"I'll be fine. I was thinking of heading down to Professor Harlen's quarters anyway. Maybe… figure out what this new power even is."
"Sounds like a plan." Marek grinned and saluted. "Good luck with that pig magic or whatever it is. Try not to summon anything with more than four legs."
Reed shook his head, smiling as the door clicked shut behind his friend.
And then, with the dorm suddenly empty and quiet once again, he stood, slipped on his coat, and made his way through the polished corridors of the academy. Every footstep felt a little heavier than usual. Not from weariness—but from purpose. From possibility.
Professor Harlen's training quarters were exactly as he'd left them—battered wooden dummies, racks of blunted training swords, weights stacked like pyramids in the corners, and the ever-present scent of iron, sweat, and leather. The older man stood near one of the far tables, a curved blade in hand, humming softly as he dragged a whetstone down its edge.
When he spotted Reed, he looked up with a grin. "Hey, Reed! Ready for another day?"
"Yes, sir," Reed replied, feeling a strange flutter of nerves. "And I think you'll find some things… particularly interesting."
At the promise of something unusual, Harlen paused mid-sharpen. He set the blade down carefully and turned to face Reed, one eyebrow raised in curiosity.
"Oh? How interesting are we talking?"
"You be the judge of that, Professor."
And with that, Reed inhaled deeply and reached inward, into that quiet domain behind his consciousness. The shadows stirred, then flowed from his back like water from a cracked dam. In seconds, the massive form of the hog took shape, emerging into the training room in full onyx glory. Its skin gleamed like polished stone, and it let out a deep, rumbling snort that echoed through the chamber.
Harlen's mouth opened slowly. "What in the holy church of the Golden Throne… it looks like a greater tusk…"
His eyes didn't leave the beast. "Reed, what exactly is that?"
"Well," Reed began, stepping closer and placing a hand on the hog's warm, plated hide, "you see…"
He recounted the night before in detail—how he'd wandered with Marek, how the pig on the roaster had somehow reacted to him, how the pain had erupted through his body and left something changed behind. Harlen listened intently, arms folded, gaze sharp. But when Reed finished, it was clear there was one detail the professor had latched onto more than the rest.
"So," Harlen said slowly, "you touched the pig's carcass… and it was somehow registered in your mind?"
Reed nodded, scratching the hog affectionately behind its tusked ear. "I suppose you could say that. As of now, I can only keep them active for about four minutes or so. And I can't use my body's shadows at the same time—it takes too much. But I can already tell I'm improving."
With a soft command, the boar dissipated into a cloud of black mist, vanishing into the ether.
Harlen was silent for a long moment. Then, without a word, he turned and strode toward the back room—the small chamber where Reed had often studied theory, strategy, and survival tactics under the professor's watchful eye.
Reed raised an eyebrow. "Uh… sir?"
"Wait here," came the reply.
Reed blinked. It was rare Harlen ever asked him to wait. Usually, he shadowed the man like an apprentice glued to a master's hip. Still, he obeyed.
After a few minutes, Harlen returned—carrying something in both hands.
It was small, limp, and clearly dead. A creature no longer than Reed's arm, with bright yellow scales and slender limbs. It looked vaguely like a salamander, but with longer digits, four clawed paws, and a tiny forked tongue poking out between sharp teeth.
"Sir," Reed asked, brows furrowing, "what exactly is that?"
"It's a lesser salamander," Harlen said. "You were right on the guess. It can breathe fire at short distances—nothing too dangerous, but quick and nimble. Might make a good scout, if you can register it the same way."
"Well," Reed replied, "I'll give it a shot."
He extended his hand. Harlen held the salamander out flat, and Reed's fingers lightly brushed the scales.
The jolt came instantly.
It wasn't as intense as the hog's—the pain was milder, more like a sharp cramp than searing fire—but it still forced him to stagger slightly. His breath caught in his throat, and he gritted his teeth, waiting for the sensation to pass.
Then he reached inward, eyes closed, focusing on that familiar realm again. The domain.
There it was.
The "Tusk"—as Harlen had named it—stood tall in the dark space. But beside it, a second figure flickered into form. The salamander. Only… not quite as he expected.
It looked like the same species, but scaled to an absurd size—just slightly smaller than the hog itself, with shimmering gold scales and curling embers around its snout.
Reed exhaled slowly. Harlen's going to have a field day with this one.
And so, without fanfare, he summoned it.
A burst of shadow rippled out, and the beast emerged. The salamander stood proudly, flames licking the corners of its mouth, its yellow scales catching the sunlight with an almost blinding sheen. It looked up at Reed with alert eyes, intelligent and focused.
Harlen gave a low whistle, arms crossing over his chest. "So my theory was right…"
Reed tilted his head. "Sir, what theory?"
"The theory that when you touch a dead monster's corpse," Harlen explained, "you amplify their magical properties. Somehow, your domain doesn't just store them—it enhances them. Evolving them into something greater. If you ever gain the stamina to hold more at once—or collect even more varieties—Reed, you'll be unstoppable."
Reed's heart swelled with pride. Excitement buzzed in his limbs, a hundred ideas forming in his mind already. No one else at the academy had a power like this. No one else could do what he could.
He wasn't a mistake.
He wasn't weak.
He was something new.
But before he could bask in that feeling for long, something clicked in the back of his mind. A voice—not his own, but mechanical, unfeeling, and unmistakably clear:
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His smile faltered.
"Well," he muttered with a sigh, "guess I've got another reason to go to the trials."
Harlen's laugh echoed through the training hall.
"Then we'd better start preparing."