Chapter 9: The Test of Shadows
Five maesters, clad in the muted greys and browns of the Citadel's order, sat around a crescent-shaped table carved from old oak and inlaid with rune-inscribed bronze. The air was still—heavy. Judging. Watching.
Kaelion stood calmly in the center of the chamber, the flickering torchlight casting long shadows behind him. Though his face wore the mask of nervous awe, inside, Kaelion was utterly unmoved.
So this is the game they're playing… Silence to put me on edge.
If only they knew how little their theatrics mattered.
He had already won.
The moment he'd stepped foot in the Citadel, Kaelion had secured what he came for. Their approval was nice to have, but not essential. Still, the maesters served a purpose—for now.
A low, deliberate clearing of the throat broke the stillness. Maester Baldwin, a silver-bearded man with keen eyes and rings heavy on both hands, leaned forward.
"We've heard much about you, Kaelion. A genius in the making, if the whispers are to be believed. They say the blood of your mother's healing hands, and the teachings of Maester Arthur, already mark you for greatness. Some claim you might surpass her... and rival even your mentor."
Kaelion lowered his head with practiced grace.
"You do me too great an honor, Archmaester. I am only a student of the world's mysteries. Whatever skill I have is owed entirely to my mentors."
Before he could finish, another voice—sharper, younger—cut in.
"A bit of humility would do well to be tested, I think."
The speaker was a man in his thirties, his maester's chain still gleaming with youth. "Folk praise what they don't understand. Most smallfolk have never even seen a real maester—how would they know the difference between our knowledge and a boy's tricks?"
Kaelion raised an eyebrow. That one had sharpness in him. Insecurity too.
Before he could answer, Maester Arthur shifted in his seat, speaking for the first time.
"Are you suggesting I do not know how to recognize talent when I see it, Maester Rynald?"
The chamber fell to ice.
Rynald's mouth opened, closed, then opened again like a fish floundering on dry stone. He swallowed hard.
"That... that's not what I meant, Archmaester. Of course not. I only meant—"
"That the smallfolk are ignorant," Kaelion cut in smoothly. "And that I am, by extension, their overhyped darling?"
All eyes turned to him. He noticed his master wasn't going to interfere—he wanted Kaelion to handle it himself. And honestly? Kaelion was happy with that.
He smiled, bowing his head again—measured, precise.
"If that is the fear, then I welcome the chance to be tested—openly. If only to prove that my master's faith in me is not misplaced."
Maester Baldwin stroked his beard, eyeing Kaelion with fresh interest. Clever, but bold. A little too forward, perhaps—but it had smoothed the tension before it boiled.
He knows what he's doing, Baldwin thought. And he knows we know.
Still, the boy had overstepped. Even if he did it well.
Kaelion, inwardly, was already halfway gone. He'd discovered something more valuable than any forged link. Power—true, raw, elemental power.
He wanted to return to his room, dive into it, unravel it further. He could've asked Raphael to simulate this whole meeting, honestly.
He could probably multitask—entertain these old men while focusing on magical theory and how best to pass it on to his students.
But he just wanted to get this over with and truly focus.
Instead, here he was, listening to five old men too high on their own farts.
Finally, Maester Rynald spoke again, as if the slight earlier embarrassment had finally worn off.
"As it happens," Rynald said—perhaps a bit too quickly—"there is a test. An ancient one. Rarely used, and only for those whose potential defies conventional judgment."
He glanced at the others. None interrupted.
"We call it the Test of Shadows."
Kaelion blinked.
What edgy teenager came up with that?
Maester Baldwin arched a brow. "That test is not lightly proposed."
"Indeed," Arthur said, voice cool and even.
The others murmured agreement. They didn't want to offend a Hightower—Arthur's name still carried weight. But Rynald, young as he was, came from a notable noble house himself. Eventually, none disagreed.
---
The oaken doors groaned shut behind him.
Kaelion stood alone in a dark stone chamber deep beneath the Citadel—so deep the air was colder, the walls seemed to hum with echoes of forgotten screams.
This was no library. No stained glass. No books.
Just a long hall lit by obsidian lanterns, filled with the faint scent of dust and copper. At its far end stood a pedestal—carved from weirwood, streaked with veins of black glass like frozen lightning. Atop it sat a twisted relic: a dark orb veined with red, no larger than an apple, pulsing faintly.
"Begin when ready," came a voice from a hidden alcove above.
Kaelion didn't flinch. He stepped forward, eyeing the orb.
> "Raphael?"
[Scanning. Unknown magical object. Material composition: obsidian fused with bloodroot and shadow-infused crystal. Caution advised.]
Perfect.
According to Maester Arthur, the Citadel's Black Vaults held things too dangerous, too magical, or too misunderstood to destroy. This relic—called the Whispering Core—was one of them.
Used during the Doom of Valyria, recovered by sea traders near the Smoking Sea. Said to show you truth—or break you.
"Focus," Kaelion muttered.
> [Mental defenses reinforced. Thought Partition active. Proceed.]
He reached out and touched it.
---
Kaelion gasped, his body hitting scorched ground. The air was thick with ash and blood. Above, the sky bled crimson, clouds frozen in place like suspended screams. The world was locked in a horrific stillness, as if time itself had fractured.
Mountains wept molten tears in the distance.
Around him, creatures he'd only seen in comics and manga clashed in grim silence. True dragons—massive and terrible—wheeled overhead. Elves, tall and ageless, fought beside merfolk with scaled cheeks and gills. Towering beastmen charged forward with primal fury, their roars muted in the freeze-frame of time.
Thousands of corpses surrounded him—dragons, wolves, men, women, and children. All frozen mid-scream.
They weren't fighting each other. They were facing something else.
On the horizon pulsed an endless darkness, vast and malevolent. A sea of hate and silence.
Kaelion's instincts screamed. He vanished—teleporting just as the ground erupted beneath him in violet fire.
Hovering now, he scanned the battlefield—
And froze.
Descending from the sky, shrouded in white flame and shadow, came a figure.
Older.
Worn.
Powerful.
The eyes were his.
And yet not.
"Of course," Kaelion whispered. "The Test of Shadows… it wasn't about the monsters. It's about me."
The older version of himself landed amid the chaos. There was something in his gaze—something hollow. Like a god preparing to unmake a mistake.
Kaelion's skin prickled.
What the fuck was he? A doppelganger? A future me conjured by the orb?
---
Author's Note:
Once again, thanks for reading and supporting me with comments and power stones. Please continue to do so for more chapters—it helps me know if I'm going in the right direction or not.
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