The Witch of Tallow led Kael to a desolate grove where remnants of the dead had gathered, pale and fragmented, their souls flickering weakly against the wind. She instructed him to focus, to use the Sight not only to perceive but to act.
Kael extended his senses, the glow beneath his skin spreading outward like molten light. The fragments of souls responded, twisting and pulsing in recognition. He moved his hands in deliberate motions, and the spirits shifted, pulled along invisible lines he could now perceive.
Each interaction carried weight. Pull too hard, and a soul would shatter. Too soft, and it would slip beyond his control. Kael learned quickly that precision and patience were as vital as raw strength.
Hours passed, the sun tilting west, and Kael guided the fallen into structured forms, disassembling broken limbs and tethering the essence into harmless shapes. He felt the first thrill of power tempered by responsibility; the dead were not tools but entities to be respected, controlled without consumption.
By nightfall, Kael had mastered basic manipulation, and the Witch nodded. "The Shards are your first lesson in offense and restraint. Every soul, even broken, has weight. Never forget that."