Another morning.
Amon was once again near the river.
The gray sky stretched endlessly above him, dull and lifeless as always. The black trees stood silently along the riverbank, their twisted branches unmoving in the still air. The river flowed quietly, its dark surface reflecting the colorless world around it.
Amon sat cross-legged on the ground. His eyes were closed. His breathing was slow and controlled. He was again trying something new. Well, he had actually been practicing it for a while now.
On his right hand, something unnatural moved.
A thin layer of shadow clung to his skin like liquid smoke. It shifted and crawled across his fingers, slithering between them, coiling and uncoiling as if it were alive.
At the same time, faint strands of darkness began to gather in the air around his palm, appearing from nowhere, as if the space itself were leaking darkness.
He focused on both of them. His abilities. The shadow on his hand slowly extended outward.
