Arkath did not speak.
He remained standing.
His eyes fixed on Zalrik.
And the shadows moving around him…
seemed to breathe with him.
They were not attacking him.
Nor were they separate from him.
They moved with his breathing.
With his gaze.
With his will.
Then Arkath looked at his own hand.
Empty.
And remembered.
The fractures.
The pain.
And how the core had nearly—
torn him apart from within.
He spoke in a low voice:
"...It was rejecting me."
A brief silence followed.
Then his father said:
"Because it was never yours."
Arkath slowly lifted his head.
This time, his eyes—
were not angry.
They searched.
For an explanation.
He asked:
"Then why did it respond to me at all?"
His father approached the stone table.
Ran his hand across the ancient carvings.
Then answered:
"Because the cores do not see strength alone."
He paused.
Then continued:
"...They see will."
He looked at Arkath.
"You were able to touch it."
Then he looked at Zalrik.
"But you could not carry it."
Silence.
Then Zalrik spoke calmly:
"Because it belongs to Shadows."
His father nodded.
"Each core is tied to a clan."
He gestured toward the five statues.
"Fire."
"Wind."
"Mist."
"Shadows."
Then—
his gaze shifted toward the statue of Will.
"And Will."
Arkath spoke:
"And only one person… can wield it."
His father looked at him.
Then said:
"Not wield."
A pause.
"...Merge with it."
Silence filled the chamber.
Then he continued:
"Every hundred years…"
"...the core chooses one person."
He looked directly at Arkath.
"And if it rejects you…"
His voice lowered.
"...either it destroys you."
A pause.
Then:
"...or destroys itself."
Arkath's eyes widened.
He remembered the fractures.
The pulse.
The collapse.
Then he understood.
He whispered:
"...I was about to kill it."
His father answered calmly:
"And it was about to kill you."
Heavy silence followed.
Then—
Arkath looked toward Zalrik.
The shadows around him had grown calmer now.
But they had not vanished.
They remained close to him.
As if they knew where they belonged.
Zalrik spoke quietly:
"I didn't feel it enter me."
He looked at his hand.
Then continued:
"...It felt like it had always been there."
His father nodded slowly.
"Because the core does not grant power."
Then he said:
"...It awakens it."
Arkath froze.
He raised his head.
"Awakens… what?"
His father looked toward the statues.
Then toward the carvings.
Then answered:
"What was left inside the blood."
Silence.
But this time—
it was not silence born of fear.
It was realization.
Something older than the clans.
Older than the leaders.
Had been moving from the very beginning.
Then—
the carvings on the Shadow statue glowed again.
But this time—
far brighter.
Everyone turned.
As for Zalrik—
he froze.
Because he felt something.
Not inside the core.
But—
outside the chamber.
He slowly lifted his head.
Then said:
"...Someone is coming."
Silence fell.
And in that same instant—
the massive stone gate trembled.
Once.
Heavy.
As if something…
had finally arrived.
The gate trembled again.
Stronger this time.
Yet no one moved immediately.
All eyes were on Zalrik.
The shadows around him had not disappeared.
They had only grown quieter.
As if waiting for a command.
Arkath's father watched him for a long moment.
Then said:
"Try."
Zalrik lifted his head.
"What?"
He answered calmly:
"Return."
A brief silence.
Then he continued:
"The core responded to you."
He gestured toward the surrounding shadows.
"So use it."
Zalrik looked at his hand.
Then at the darkness.
He was uncertain.
But he closed his eyes.
Focused.
Raised his hand.
The shadows moved.
Slowly.
Gathering before him.
Beginning to take shape.
Like a vortex.
But—
it stopped.
Trembled.
Then—
exploded.
Zalrik stepped back.
His breathing became uneven.
He said quietly:
"...I can't."
His fist tightened.
"I can feel it…"
He looked at the shadows.
"...but I don't control it completely."
Arkath's father nodded slowly.
As though he had expected this.
Then he said:
"That is normal."
He looked toward the statues.
"Response is one thing…"
Then looked directly at him.
"...control is another."
Silence.
Then he continued:
"But you must learn."
He stepped forward.
"The other leaders must reach their cores before it is too late."
Arkath froze.
Then quickly raised his head.
"The core that was taken from us…"
He looked toward his father.
"...who did it belong to?"
A brief silence.
Then he answered:
"The Fire Clan."
Arkath's eyes widened.
And in that instant—
the gate shattered.
Stone exploded inward.
The chamber trembled.
Then—
a body was thrown inside.
It slammed against the ground.
Rolled violently.
And stopped near the stone table.
Everyone froze.
Then Arkath shouted:
"Ignar!"
They rushed toward him immediately.
He was covered in blood.
His armor shattered.
His breathing heavy.
His body filled with wounds.
Arkath knelt beside him quickly.
Lifted his head.
"Ignar!"
Ignar opened his eyes with difficulty.
Looked toward them.
Tried to speak.
But blood came first.
Morvan whispered in shock:
"Who did this to him…?"
But the answer—
arrived on its own.
Footsteps.
Calm.
Steady.
A figure entered the chamber.
Slowly.
He carried no weapon.
And bore no wounds.
Only calmness.
The same as before.
Arkath froze.
Because he recognized him.
The man who had taken the core.
He stopped in the center of the chamber.
Looked at everyone.
Then—
at Ignar.
And said calmly:
"His injuries are severe."
Heavy silence.
Then he lifted his gaze.
And his eyes stopped on Arkath's father.
For only a moment.
Then he said:
"Most likely…"
He looked toward the statues.
Then at Arkath.
"...you possess something that belongs to me."
Silence again.
But this time—
it was not fear.
It was—
the beginning of confrontation.
The chamber grew still.
Heavy.
Tense.
The man stood in the center.
Calm.
As though the presence of the clan leaders around him…
meant nothing.
Meanwhile, Ignar could barely breathe.
Blood continued spreading beneath him across the stone floor.
Arkath's father looked toward everyone.
Then said sharply:
"Move. Now."
But no one moved.
Arkath stepped forward.
His sword lowered slightly.
But his eyes never left the man.
He said:
"We're not running again."
Behind him—
Zalrik tightened his fist.
The shadows around him…
began to move.
Slowly.
Then—
he smiled.
A faint smile.
Not complete confidence.
But realization.
He said quietly:
"Then… this is my chance."
At that same instant—
his shadow vanished.
No—
it separated.
It rose from the ground.
A black copy of himself.
It moved instantly.
With terrifying speed.
Even Arkath's eyes widened.
The copy rushed through the darkness.
Leaving no trace.
Making no sound.
It appeared directly behind the man.
And struck.
A killing blow.
But—
at the very last instant—
the man moved.
Calmly.
He merely raised his hand.
And stopped the strike.
Everyone froze.
Even Zalrik himself.
Because the man—
had not even turned around.
He caught the shadow-copy's arm…
as though he had known it was there from the beginning.
Then—
the copy shattered.
Turning into black smoke.
And vanished.
Silence.
Then—
everyone looked toward Zalrik.
Because what had happened before the strike…
was not natural.
That speed.
That appearance.
That technique…
had never existed before.
As for Zalrik—
he looked at his own hand.
Then smiled.
This time—
clearly.
And said:
"Then…"
He raised his eyes toward the man.
"...mastering it won't be difficult."
Then—
he vanished.
Not movement.
Disappearance.
The shadows inside the chamber erupted.
Black copies appeared.
One.
Then another.
Then a third.
All of them lunged toward the man from different directions.
But the man—
did not retreat.
He moved instead.
Calm.
Precise.
Every strike from Zalrik…
was blocked at the last possible instant.
Every shadow-copy that appeared—
was destroyed.
But Zalrik—
did not stop.
He became faster.
More synchronized with the darkness.
As though the chamber itself…
had become his weapon.
As for the others—
they stood watching.
In silence.
Even Arkath's father…
did not interfere.
He only watched.
And for the first time—
his eyes were no longer calm.
Because he realized something.
The core had not merely responded.
It had—
fully awakened.
End of Chapter XV 🔥