The Abyss-Touched Mage

The weight of their gazes hadn't lifted.

If anything, it had worsened.

Raine could feel it in every sparring session, in the way conversations cut off when he passed, in the careful glances from Weavers who had once ignored him. The Society wasn't just watching him anymore. They were expecting something.

Ezren had been the first to put that expectation into words.

"You're on borrowed time. They'll judge you by what you do next."

And so they tested him.

Again. And again.

"Move."

Raine barely had time to breathe before the strike came. He twisted, avoiding the brunt of it, but the impact still sent him staggering back.

His ribs ached. His arms burned. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.

Raine forced himself upright, breath ragged. Across from him, his opponent—a seasoned Weaver trained under Ezren's personal guidance—watched him carefully. Not just preparing for the next attack, but studying him.

They all were.

Not just Ezren. Not just Kael.

All of them.

The Society wasn't like the Arcanum. They didn't fear what they didn't understand. They pushed at it, tested its limits.

And Raine was their latest experiment.

"Again," Ezren ordered.

His opponent moved.

Raine reacted—faster this time. He felt the shift in the air, the telltale pulse of Essence bending toward him. His opponent was already shifting the angle mid-strike, trying to corner him.

A feint.

Raine adjusted. He didn't think—he just moved.

A sharp twist, a counter-step—his opponent's attack missed by inches.

For the first time, Raine saw the shift before it happened.

Ezren called the fight to a halt.

Silence stretched across the training hall.

Raine exhaled sharply, chest rising and falling. He hadn't won. But he hadn't lost as quickly, either.

Ezren studied him for a long moment. Then, he nodded.

"You're learning."

Raine wiped the blood from his lip, exhausted. "Yeah. Barely."

Ezren smirked. "Barely is better than nothing."

The days blurred.

Ezren pushed him harder than ever.

Even Alden seemed tense.

"You've noticed it too, huh?" Alden muttered one night, sitting beside Raine in the lower halls, both of them drinking water between training sessions.

Raine rolled his sore shoulders. "Noticed what?"

Alden gave him a dry look. "Don't play dumb." He leaned back, staring at the stone ceiling. "People are on edge. Like they're waiting for something to happen."

Raine didn't respond. Because he had felt it too.

Not just the tension in the air.

Something deeper.

A presence that lurked just beneath his awareness.

A shadow at the edge of his mind.

Alden nudged him. "You planning to stick around?"

Raine frowned. "What do you mean?"

Alden exhaled. "You're not stupid. You know they don't fully trust you yet." He glanced toward the training grounds. "Hell, some of them are still hoping you burn out."

Raine tightened his jaw. "And you?"

Alden smirked. "I'm just enjoying the show."

Raine scoffed but didn't press.

Because that was the problem, wasn't it?

He wasn't sure if he belonged here.

Not with the Society. Not with the Arcanum.

And time was running out.

That night, the whispers came.

Raine didn't know if he was dreaming.

He stood in the halls of the Weaving Society—but they weren't right.

The stone was cracked. The lanterns flickered, their light barely holding against the dark. A sound echoed through the tunnels—distant, yet close.

The smell of smoke curled at the edges of his senses.

And then—

The hallway changed.

It wasn't just cracked anymore. It was ruined.

Blood streaked the walls. Ash coated the floors. The air was thick with the scent of something burning.

He turned a corner—

Ezren's body lay motionless against the stone.

A sharp, gasping breath tore from Raine's throat.

Then—

Footsteps.

A shadow moved through the flames.

A figure—tall, imposing, clad in Arcanum robes.

The face was blurred. But the intent was clear.

The Society had been erased.

By the Arcanum.

By the people who had already marked him for death.

A gust of wind howled through the ruined halls, and the ground beneath him split.

Raine fell—

Fell into the dark.

Fell into the Abyss.

And just before the void swallowed him whole—

He heard it.

A voice.

Not his own.

Not Ezren's.

Something older.

Something waiting.

"Seek the city swallowed by the Abyss."

The words crawled through his mind like fingers gripping at his thoughts.

And then—

Raine woke.

His breath came fast, sharp. His pulse hammered against his ribs.

The room was silent. The air was thick with the weight of the dream, like it had clung to him even after waking.

The Society was going to fall.

Ezren was going to die.

And if he wanted to survive—if he wanted to find answers—

He had to find the city.