The night was quiet. The fires in Ridgehall’s courtyard had dimmed to embers, and most of the people had gone to their beds. In a smaller chamber lit by a single torch, Kael stood across from Daren. The room was bare, only a wooden table pushed to the side and straw mats rolled along the walls. It was meant for training, not comfort.

  Daren’s eyes were steady as he spoke. “The special eye that you have… I’m sure you know already that it has a twin.”

  Kael frowned, caught off guard. “A twin?” His voice carried disbelief.

  “Yes,” Daren said. “Though no one has ever seen it, and no record speaks clearly of it. We don’t know if it truly exists, but we do know your eye is one half of something greater. What I am sure of is this—your eye has a copy ability.”

  Kael let out a short breath. “Yeah. I know that much already.”

  “I see.” Daren crossed his arms. “Do you also know it can copy and hold three abilities at once?”

  Kael blinked. “Three? That’s not possible. If it was, I’d still be using Alex’s fireball. When I copied it, I lost it as soon as I used it.”

  Daren’s gaze hardened. “That only proves my point. You copied and released it because you don’t yet have the strength to retain what you take. You have no discipline over the eye. Right now, it takes more from you than you take from it.”

  Kael shifted, uneasy. “And you know all this… how?”

  For a moment, silence hung between them. Then Daren’s voice lowered. “Because your father had the eyes before you. He too lacked the strength, but he managed to keep one ability—the light beam. He learned enough to hold it. But his body could not bear the weight of more.”

  Kael froze at the mention of his father. He rarely spoke of him, and others spoke less. The idea that the man had carried the same burden—and failed—struck deeper than any blade.

  “So this power runs in the blood,” Kael muttered.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “Yes,” Daren said. “But blood is not enough. Discipline must be learned. Power without control will destroy you.” He stepped forward. “That is why we begin tonight.”

  Kael straightened. “What do I need to do?”

  “First,” Daren said, “you must learn to call upon the eye and dismiss it at will. If it stays active always, it will drain you dry or reveal you before you are ready. If you cannot summon it, you will be useless when you need it most.”

  Kael nodded, jaw set.

  Daren motioned to the mat. “Sit. Cross your legs. We start simple.”

  Kael obeyed, settling onto the mat. The torchlight flickered against the walls, shadows dancing. Daren crouched across from him, his tone sharp but calm.

  “Close your eyes. Feel the place where your sight begins. Not the lids, not the surface, but deeper. That is where the eye rests. Imagine a door. Locked. Closed. You decide when it opens.”

  Kael tried. He breathed deep, reaching into himself. For long moments, nothing happened. Then, a faint burning at the edge of his vision. His eyes opened on their own, and one iris shimmered faintly, the strange mark of the power flashing alive.

  “There,” Daren said. “You called it. Now close it. Shut the door.”

  Kael strained, but the glow did not fade. He gritted his teeth. His head began to ache, his pulse loud in his ears.

  “I can’t,” he muttered.

  “Not yet,” Daren replied. “Again. Until you can.”

  That night, Kael tried until sweat dampened his brow. Sometimes the eye flared on its own, other times it refused to stir at all. Each time Daren corrected him, forcing him to steady his breath, to picture the door opening and closing.

  But nothing came easily. When dawn neared, Kael slumped against the wall, exhausted.

  Daren rose, his arms behind his back. “It won’t happen in a night. You’ll need days—perhaps a week. But if you don’t master this, you will never go further. Rest. We try again tomorrow.”

  The days passed in steady rhythm.

  On the first day, Kael could not shut the eye once it opened. It stayed lit until his strength drained and left him pale.

  On the second day, he managed to flicker it for a moment, the glow dimming before returning. Daren called it progress, though Kael only felt failure.

  By the third day, the headaches grew worse. Kael swore under his breath, fists clenching, but Daren’s sharp voice cut through: “Control is patience, not anger. You must rule the eye, not fight it.”

  On the fourth day, Kael sat for hours in silence, opening and closing his eye like a door. It flickered longer each time. Sweat dripped down his back, but at last, it dimmed on his command.

  By the end of the week, Kael could summon the glow with a thought and dismiss it again just as quickly. It was not perfect—sometimes it lingered, sometimes it snapped too fast—but it was his will guiding it, not chance.

  The night he finally mastered it, Daren stood behind him, arms folded. Kael sat on the mat, eyes opening and closing with precision. The glow sparked alive, then vanished, then returned again.

  Daren gave a slow nod. “Good. You’ve taken the first step. From now on, you decide when the eye opens and when it rests. No one else. No fear. No accident.”

  Kael let out a long breath, relief mixing with exhaustion. His body ached, but pride lit his chest.

  “It took longer than I thought,” Kael admitted.

  “One week and 4 days .. It took as long as it needed,” Daren replied. “Your father struggled more than you did. But remember—this is the beginning. To copy, to hold, to endure, you must first be master of yourself. Now you are ready for the next step.”

  Kael looked up, determination burning in his darkened eyes. “Then show me...bht first I think I knew to rest .”

  Daren’s lips pressed into the faintest hint of approval. “true Tonight, you rest. Tomorrow we test your strength, and you will learn how much the eye can take before it breaks you.”