CAIUS: Crown of Threads and Shadows

The cultivation continued deep into the night, long after the castle had fallen into the uneasy rhythm of preparation for war. Caius remained seated before his father with his legs crossed and his hands resting upon his knees. Sweat gathered along his forehead as he concentrated on the circulation technique Cullum had taught him, slowly drawing the mana through his body and guiding it back toward the center of his abdomen. The faint warmth that had first appeared within him had grown steadily stronger, becoming denser with every cycle until it felt as though a small furnace had been kindled beneath his flesh.

Cullum watched his son closely, his own mana still flowing through Caius’s body to guide the process. Forming a first mana core was dangerous, particularly for someone who had not yet reached the age at which Cullum would normally permit such a thing. The core would become the foundation of Caius’s future cultivation, and if the foundation was damaged or formed incorrectly, it could hinder his growth for the rest of his life. Under normal circumstances, Cullum would have spent months preparing his son’s body before allowing him to attempt it. The approaching orc horde had taken that luxury away.

”Keep your breathing steady,” Cullum commanded quietly.

Caius obeyed, drawing in a slow breath before releasing it through his nose. He continued circulating the mana exactly as his father had taught him, resisting the urge to force the energy when it became difficult to control.

”It is resisting,” Caius gritted out through clenched teeth.

”Then let it resist,” Cullum replied softly.

Caius relaxed his body and continued. The warmth within his abdomen gradually became pressure, and the pressure soon became painful. It felt as though something inside him was being compressed from every direction, but he refused to break the circulation. He remembered Cullum’s warning that mana could not simply be forced into submission; the body had to accept it, and the mana had to find its own balance.

Cullum could feel the change occurring inside his son. The scattered mana that had been circulating through Caius’s body was beginning to gather toward a single point. The energy became increasingly dense until the air around them seemed to grow heavy. Cullum carefully adjusted the flow of his own mana, guiding Caius without taking control of the process.

”Do not force it,” Cullum urged. ”Let the mana gather naturally.”

Caius’s breathing became heavier as he fought through the mounting pressure. His entire body trembled, but he maintained the circulation. Then, without warning, the pressure collapsed inward with a sudden, silent snap. A powerful pulse of mana moved through Caius’s body, and Cullum immediately felt the change.

The first mana core had formed.

For several moments, the newly created core remained unstable. Mana surged erratically around it before beginning to settle, and Cullum prepared himself to intervene if necessary. But as he probed deeper with his own senses, he saw the color of the energy forming within his son’s abdomen.

His expression remained stoic, but his eyes narrowed in sudden shock.

The core was black.

Cullum had seen thousands of mana cores throughout his life. He had fought warriors of different races, trained beside mercenaries, studied the abilities of mages, and witnessed countless variations in mana affinity. He had seen cores that burned red like fire, cores that shimmered blue like water, and cores that carried unusual shades of silver, green, and gold. He had never seen one like this.

Caius’s core was not merely dark; it was completely black. The small sphere of condensed energy seemed to absorb the light of the mana surrounding it. Rather than reflecting the energy around it, the core appeared to draw it inward, creating an unnatural darkness deep within Caius’s body. Yet there was no sign of corruption, nor any wild flare of dark corruption that usually marked forbidden arts.

Memory pulled Cullum violently into the past. He remembered the deep, lightless abyss down in the Misty Valley fifteen years ago, a place where the sun never reached, buried beneath thick, unnatural veils of vapor. Cullum remembered the horrors, the ancient remnants of power, and the desperate struggle to survive. His memory of that dark place was crystal clear. It was not his own mind that had failed him, but an oath he had taken to Caius’s mother.

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She had made him swear never to speak of what had truly happened to her down in those lightless depths, or the nature of what she had given up so Cullum and their infant son could escape. It was as though a piece of her life had simply vanished into the fog. Even years after her disappearance, Cullum had returned to the valley again and again, driven to find her, only for the living fog to violently reject him every single time. He had never told Caius any of it. He lived in constant fear that if his son knew the truth, Caius would run into the mist to search for the mother he had never known, only to be swallowed by the same fog.

His heart heavy with an old dread, Cullum stared at his son, silently praying that this void-like black core was not the lingering consequence of what had transpired in the abyss.

Caius continued to meditate, entirely unaware of what his father was seeing or remembering.

”Stabilize the core,” Cullum said, keeping all emotion out of his voice.

Caius gave a faint nod without opening his eyes.

Cullum slowly withdrew his own mana and allowed his son to continue the process alone. His gaze remained fixed upon Caius for several moments before he finally reached for the leather-bound book resting beside him on the table. He opened the records of the Macrae bloodline and began searching through the parchment pages.

The book contained generations of family history, carefully recorded by those who had carried the Eye of the Loom before Caius. Each known member of the bloodline who had awakened the gift had been documented, including their abilities, accomplishments, cultivation, and the nature of their mana cores.

Cullum searched through the oldest records first, then the middle generations, and finally the most recent entries. Nothing. He continued turning the pages, hoping that perhaps some obscure ancestor had possessed a similar core and that the record had simply been overlooked. He found descriptions of powerful warriors, exceptional users of Far Sight, masters of Inner Sight, and several ancestors whose abilities had pushed the Eye of the Loom to remarkable levels.

There was no record of a black core.

Cullum stopped turning the pages. Every Macrae recorded in the book had possessed a core of a known nature; none had possessed Caius’s pitch-black core. He looked across the chamber at his son, who remained seated in deep meditation. Caius’s breathing had begun to settle, and the mana surrounding his body was gradually becoming more stable as he learned to control the new core.

Cullum lowered his eyes toward the book again. There was no answer here. He had spent most of his life studying the Macrae bloodline, yet the family records offered him nothing. They had preserved their secrets for generations, but even their ancestors had never encountered what had just appeared within Caius.

His mind turned back toward the old stories he had heard during his years as a mercenary. There had always been myths about strange mana cores that appeared black as the deepest night. Some ancient tales claimed that their owners could manipulate shadows, conceal themselves within darkness, or command powers that ordinary mana users could not fathom. Most scholars dismissed such stories as simple superstition, and Cullum had never placed much value in them himself.

Still, those stories had never mentioned the Eye of the Loom, nor had they accounted for the strange lingering influence of the misty valley.

He looked at Caius again. The black core remained stable, and there was no sign that it was harming him. His mana pathways were intact, his breathing was controlled, and the energy circulating through his body was becoming increasingly orderly. Whatever the black core meant, it had not rejected Caius.

That mattered more than ancient myths or old oaths.

Cullum closed the book and rested his broad hand upon its worn cover. He remained silent as he studied his son, his mind weighing the possibilities. He could spend days searching for answers, perhaps weeks speaking with scholars or digging through old family records, but none of that would change the reality surrounding them.

An orc horde was approaching. The castle had only a hundred men-at-arms, twenty archers, and ten loyal Macrae guards. Cullum himself would have to fight, and Caius was now carrying the first mana core of his life.

Three days remained before the enemy reached Castle Precipice.

Cullum’s expression hardened. Whatever the black core meant, he would find out eventually. For now, the only thing that mattered was making sure his son survived the coming storm.

Caius slowly opened his eyes, taking a deep, ragged breath. ”Father.”

Cullum looked toward him.

”I think it is stable,” Caius said softly.

Cullum studied his son for another moment before nodding slowly. ”Good. Continue circulating your mana until you can feel the core moving with your natural flow.”

Caius closed his eyes again and followed the instruction, slipping back into his trance.

Cullum remained beside him, watching in total silence. He did not tell Caius what he had seen, nor did he speak of the Misty Valley or the oath he was bound to keep. Not yet. There was no reason to burden the boy with terrifying questions that even Cullum could not answer, or risk driving him into the mist. If the black core was dangerous, he would discover it himself; if it was a blessing, he would learn how to use it. Either way, the answer would come with time.

Cullum looked toward the narrow window of his chamber. Beyond it, the jagged mountains were buried beneath darkness, and somewhere beyond those peaks, the orc horde continued its march toward them.

He had no idea what awaited his son, nor what the black core would become. But Cullum Macrae had survived too many wars to allow uncertainty to control him.

An enemy was approaching his home, and that was all that mattered. He turned away from the window and looked once more at Caius, who continued cultivating in silence. Whatever this black core was, they would deal with it when the time came.

The war would not wait for them.