The night arrived quietly, as if the world itself were holding its breath. Stars hung low in the sky, pale and distant, and the moon cast a silver haze across the village. The air was still, almost too still, and the pulse beneath Aion's skin throbbed sharply, a drumbeat warning of something that had been waiting.
He could feel it before he saw it — the shadow stirring beyond the fields, brushing against the edges of the wheat like a predator testing the strength of its prey.
Drazon stood beside him, silent and watchful. His ash-colored hair caught the moonlight, turning into streaks of silver, and his eyes were fixed on the darkness ahead.
"You feel it again," Drazon said softly. "Good. That is the first step — knowing it is coming before it touches the world."
Aion swallowed. His hands clenched the wooden horse, now a talisman more than a toy. "Why does it come?" he asked. "What does it want?"
Drazon's jaw tightened. "It wants to see what you are. To test whether the world can withstand what is inside you. Shadows do not ask. They take. And sometimes… they will stay until you answer."
The wind shifted, carrying a faint hiss that made the hairs on Aion's arms rise. The shadow moved again, no longer a flicker, but a figure made of smoke and jagged light, edges breaking and re-forming like water over rocks. It advanced cautiously, but deliberately, as if aware that it had met something unfamiliar.
"Remember," Drazon whispered, "restraint. Awareness. Everything else will follow."
Aion nodded, pulse surging, eyes wide. He stepped forward, feeling the earth beneath his feet hum in response. The shadow recoiled slightly, as if sensing the rhythm that surged within him.
"You are not like them," Aion said aloud, almost to himself. "I… I am not afraid."
The shadow hesitated, a flicker of uncertainty rippling across its form. For a moment, it seemed almost curious, tilting as though examining him. Then it surged forward, a wave of darkness that bent the moonlight around it.
Aion raised his hands instinctively. The pulse within him responded — not violently, not as a weapon, but as a mirror to the shadow's movement. Wind lifted, whipping through the wheat, swirling leaves and grass. A faint hum resonated from the soil, the heartbeat of the earth answering the boy's call.
The shadow hissed again, the sound like silk tearing in the night, and faltered. Aion felt something inside him surge — a mixture of fear, awe, and the raw awareness that he could shape the world with his pulse. He did not want to harm the shadow, but he did not want it to harm the village.
Drazon stepped closer. "Feel it," he murmured. "Do not fight it. Guide it. Everything you do flows outward. Control the river, and you do not break the banks."
Aion exhaled, letting the pulse center him. The wind calmed, the shadow paused, and for the first time, it seemed to hesitate. Aion extended his hands slowly, imagining the darkness bending, not away, but around the village, around the people who slept unaware of what stalked the night.
The shadow shrieked, but it did not move closer. Instead, it twisted, warped, then evaporated into the mist beyond the trees, leaving only the echo of its presence behind. Aion's chest heaved, his pulse slowing but still alive, a quiet reminder of the power that slept inside him.
"You did well," Drazon said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Not because you fought, but because you understood. This is the difference between a weapon and a guardian."
Aion lowered his hands, trembling, the wooden horse clutched tightly. "It… it came back. Will it keep coming?"
"Yes," Drazon admitted. "And it will grow stronger each time. Shadows do not forget. They do not forgive. They are relentless. But neither are you."
The boy stared at the mist, the echo of the shadow lingering in his mind. Fear rose, but it was tempered by the knowledge that he could face it, that he could guide the pulse, and that he was not alone. Drazon's presence, steady and unyielding, anchored him to the world.
"Tonight was only the beginning," Drazon said quietly. "Tomorrow, you will learn to move through the shadow without even touching it. You will learn that the world itself is your ally if you listen. And beyond that… you will learn that the choices you make will shape everything that comes after."
Aion nodded, understanding the weight but also feeling the stirrings of courage inside him. He had seen the shadow, faced it with guidance, and survived. But more importantly, he had felt the pulse within him respond — not as a weapon, but as a force of balance.
The village lay asleep below, smoke curling from chimneys, unaware of the night's trial. Mara and Elden slept in their simple home, hands entwined in quiet rest. The boy looked at them, and for a moment, the pulse within him seemed to soften, echoing the warmth of human life, the fragility and strength intertwined.
"You must rest now," Drazon said, voice gentle but firm. "Power is not only in the moment of action. It is in the moments between. Sleep, and let the world recover. Tomorrow, the shadow will return, and you will be ready to meet it differently. Not with fear, but with understanding."
Aion nodded again, climbing the stairs to his small room. He lay beneath the blankets, eyes wide open, thinking of the pulse, the wind, the shadow, and the weight of what lived inside him. The wooden horse rested beside him, carved and crooked, yet perfect in its imperfection. A reminder that life — human life, fragile and ordinary — was worth every challenge, every fear, every pulse of power he could feel.
Outside, the mist swirled around the village, carrying the whispers of shadows and the first faint warnings of the world beyond. And somewhere beyond the hills, beyond forests and streams, the shadow lingered, patient and waiting, knowing that the boy it had touched was only beginning to understand what he truly was.
And Aion, lying beneath the quiet warmth of his blankets, let the pulse slow, steady, and learned for the first time that even in the presence of darkness, light could be a choice, and courage could be born from restraint.
The first true test of shadow and pulse had passed. But the path ahead would demand more than courage. It would demand understanding, mercy, and the quiet, terrible weight of being more than human in a world that was not ready to bear it.