Days had passed since Morvane and Esmael's fierce battle. The aftermath had left Morvane drained, his body aching from the sheer exertion of wielding the power bestowed upon him by Drace. Medas, ever watchful and wise, had expressed his growing concern.
"You used too much of that power," Medas warned, his voice tinged with caution. "Drace's energy is not something to be taken lightly. It carries dangers beyond what you understand."
Morvane, resting against a sturdy oak within the confines of the room, simply nodded. Though he understood the risk, a part of him remained restless. His desire to grow stronger burned hotter with each passing moment.
"I need to practice more," Morvane declared, his voice resolute. "Or at least go to the cemetery and let my shadow beast devour spirits."
Medas narrowed his eyes. "You're still weak, Morvane. You need more time to recover."