Chapter 32: Power in the Shadows

Dawn paints the forest in shimmering hues of gold and amber as Giroud and Aya make their way deeper into the woods outside Whitespire. The air is crisp and still, save for the gentle rustling of leaves and the occasional birdsong that pierces the tranquil silence.

Giroud’s brow is furrowed in concentration as he scans their surroundings, his senses heightened and alert. He knows they need privacy for what is to come – Aya’s powers are not meant for public eyes, and the risks of their discovery are too great.

“The Sintarians don’t know about you,” Giroud says, his deep voice cutting through the stillness as they enter a small, secluded clearing. He sets down his pack, his movements measured and deliberate. “They will be expecting a conventional army of well-trained soldiers and believe they have a great advantage with their two warlocks.”

Aya nods, her expression serious and focused. She has tied her dark hair back tightly, her slender frame radiating a sense of purpose and determination. “And we have one too – me,” she says, her voice bright as she smiles confidently. Her tone a juxtaposition to the weight of responsibility tied to the spoken words.

Giroud’s gaze lingers on her for a moment, a mix of pride and concern flickering in his storm-gray eyes. “Exactly,” he says, his tone softening ever so slightly. “That’s our advantage.”

They begin their training, Aya’s incoherent mumbling generating a powerful barrier shield overhead. A faintly purple, translucent ceiling stretching across the perimeter of the clearing. Giroud watches, his expert eye assessing the strength and stability of the dome, his brow furrowing in concentration.

“Good,” he says, his voice measured and calm. “But we will need it wider. Their warlocks will rain hellfire down on our forces. We need to protect as many as possible. How far can you stretch it?”

Aya’s brow furrows with focus, and the barrier shield expands, shimmering as it extends to cover a much larger area. Sweat beads on her forehead as she pushes the spell further, her focus straining with the effort. Giroud can see the toll it’s taking on her, but he remains silent, unwilling to interrupt her concentration.

“Now look at me,” Giroud instructs.

Aya turns, the crimson fading from her eyes. Giroud swallows anxiously as he admires how Aya’s pretty face glows with the exertion of casting such a powerful spell.

Blinking away the effect of her gaze, Giroud looks up, seeing the faint shimmer of the translucent barrier, still in place.

Giroud draws the four throwing knives from his pack, feeling their familiar weight in his hands. With practiced precision, he launches them one after another at seemingly random trees around the clearing. Each blade sinks deep into the bark with a satisfying thunk, their handles glinting in the morning light.

“Bring them back to me,” he says to Aya, keeping his voice steady despite the flutter in his chest as she focuses her power.

The air around them suddenly chills, raising goosebumps along his arms. Four writhing tendrils of pure darkness burst from the earth before them, each one a manifestation of void energy that makes his skin crawl. The dark appendages shoot toward the embedded knives with serpentine grace.

Giroud glances upward, relieved to see the protective barrier still shimmering above them, unaffected by Aya’s additional spell-casting. His attention snaps back down as the void tendrils return, each one presenting a knife before him like otherworldly servants offering gifts to their master.

“Well done,” he says warmly, genuine pride coloring his tone as he carefully retrieves each blade from the ghostly tendrils.

“Now drop everything - the shield and the tendrils.”

The void appendages dissipate into wisps of shadow, and the temporary ceiling above them fades away, leaving only the natural canopy of leaves overhead.

“Let’s do it again.”

After several repetitions, Aya lets the shield barrier drop, her breathing heavy. Giroud offers her a waterskin, his rough fingers brushing against her own as she takes it.

“We should rest,” he says, his voice tinged with concern.

“No,” Aya shakes her head, her eyes alight with determination. “What’s next?”

Giroud can’t help but feel a swell of pride at her resolve, even as his heart aches with the weight of the responsibility he’s placed upon her. He nods, turning his attention to the next phase of their training.

“Multiple targets at once, as fast as you can,” he says, his voice low and serious. “The soul essence will make their soldiers faster, stronger. We need to stop the strongest foes.”

Giroud holds seven knives before sending them flying in rapid succession with practiced precision. The knives embed themselves deep into the bark of different trees around the clearing, their handles forming a scattered pattern.

His heart skips as Aya focuses before three void tentacles erupt from the ground at the foot of three targets. The dark appendages wrap around the first three trees, their grip tightening until the wood splinters and cracks with a deafening snap.

Without pause, Aya directs her power toward the next set. Three more tentacles manifest, crushing the targeted trees with even greater force. The final tentacle snakes up from the ground at the last tree, demolishing it with brutal efficiency.

“Good work,” Giroud says, approval lacing his tone despite the unsettling display of destructive power. He studies her face, searching for signs of fatigue. “Can you try it again? Four trees first, then the last three?”

Aya nods, her chest rising and falling with controlled breaths as she refocuses her concentration. The air grows heavy with magical energy as she prepares to unleash another round of void tentacles.

Giroud watches intently, his hand unconsciously moving to rest on the hilt of his sword. Though he knows Aya would never harm him, the raw power she commands sends primal warning signals through his trained body. He forces himself to remain still, trusting in her control even as the darkness chills the air around them once more.