DISTANCE OF THE TREE

Eryndor and the woman trudged onward, the air thick with a lingering tension. Though the shadow had been vanquished, the weight of what lay ahead was palpable. As they walked, Eryndor felt an unsettling sensation at the edge of his mind, something stirring within him ever since he plunged the dagger into the shadow's core. It was faint, like a whisper, but growing stronger with every step.

The path twisted between ancient stones, their surfaces etched with markings long faded by time. The ground beneath them grew more uneven, the cracks wider, and the cliffs looming on either side like silent sentinels. The woman had not spoken since the battle, her gaze fixed on the horizon, where a faint glow emanated—possibly from the Creation Tree. But the closer they came, the more Eryndor sensed something stirring deep within him.

Suddenly, he stopped. His hand went to his chest, his breath catching in his throat. A dark fog clouded his vision for a moment, and a strange warmth pulsed through his veins.

The woman turned, her brow furrowed. "What is it?"

Eryndor shook his head, his hand trembling as it hovered over the spot where the dagger had been. "Something… something's happening to me."

Her expression darkened, and for the first time since they had met, Eryndor saw something in her eyes other than sorrow—fear. "The shadow," she whispered. "It left its mark on you."

Eryndor's mind raced, the feeling inside him growing stronger, more insistent. His vision blurred again, and he felt the pull of something—something dark, ancient, and powerful. The tendrils of the shadow that had once enveloped the battlefield now slithered inside him, coiled around his soul, waiting for a chance to surface.

"You never told me what the shadow was," Eryndor said, his voice strained as the sensation gnawed at him. "What is this curse? What did I take into myself?"

The woman hesitated, her gaze slipping to the ground. "The shadow is no mere creature. It is a fragment of Aazam's being, a twisted remnant of his fall into the void after the cosmic battle. Long ago, when he became the multiverse, fragments of his darker essence split off into what we call shadows. They are drawn to those who seek the Creation Tree. You wounded it, but by doing so, you may have... bound it to you."

Eryndor's heart sank. "Bound it to me?" He clenched his fists, feeling the strange heat in his chest. "So I'm cursed?"

"Not entirely," she replied. "The shadow is not fully within you, but part of its essence lingers. And that essence has power. You may be able to control it—but at great risk."

Eryndor looked at his hands, which now glowed faintly with the same eerie light he had seen in the shadow's eyes. Fear crept up his spine, but with it came a sense of strange clarity. He could feel the darkness, like a second skin, not just waiting to consume him but... obey him.

"Control it?" Eryndor whispered, more to himself than to her.

The woman nodded. "You will need it if you hope to reach the Creation Tree. It will protect you, but it will also hunger for more. Every time you use it, you will have to fight to keep it from taking over. The shadow is patient, and it will wait for your weakness."

Eryndor's breath quickened. The idea of wielding the power of something so malevolent was as terrifying as it was tantalizing. But if it was the only way forward...

"I don't have a choice, do I?" Eryndor said, glancing toward the glow in the distance. "If I'm going to end this curse, I need every advantage I can get."

The woman's gaze softened. "No, you don't have a choice. But you can still choose how to wield it. That dagger is the key. It was forged from the essence of the Creation Tree, and it can balance the shadow's influence. Keep it close."

Eryndor gripped the hilt of the dagger, feeling its warmth push back the chill that had begun to creep into his bones. He could sense the shadow writhing within him, but for now, it was subdued.

They walked in silence for what felt like hours, the path winding higher into the cliffs. The oppressive atmosphere of the battlefield had been replaced by a strange stillness, as though the world were holding its breath. The glow in the distance grew brighter, and soon they could see the outline of something massive ahead—tall, ancient, and bathed in a soft golden light.

The Creation Tree.

It stood alone in the center of a vast, broken plain, its branches reaching out like arms trying to grasp the heavens. Its leaves shimmered with an ethereal glow, each one carrying a flicker of life, and at its roots, the earth pulsed faintly with a rhythm that matched the beating of Eryndor's heart.

But as they neared the tree, the air grew colder, and the sense of foreboding returned. Eryndor felt the shadow stir again, more insistent this time, as if it recognized the power that lay within the Creation Tree. He gritted his teeth, willing it back down.

"Be careful," the woman warned. "This is where Aazam's power is strongest. The shadow will try to take control."

Eryndor nodded, his hand never leaving the dagger. He could feel the pull of the tree, the strange connection between it and the shadow inside him. It was like a battle waging within his soul—light and dark, both vying for control.

They approached the tree, and the ground began to tremble. A low, deep hum emanated from the roots, vibrating through the air. Eryndor's vision swam, the shadow surging up within him as if called by the tree itself.

The woman placed a hand on his shoulder. "You must resist," she said urgently. "The tree will try to cleanse you, but the shadow will fight back. You have to—"

Before she could finish, the ground beneath them shook violently, and the earth split open. From the fissure emerged another figure, cloaked in darkness like the one before, but larger, more formidable. Its red eyes glowed with a deeper malice, and its form was more defined—more dangerous.

The woman stepped back, fear flashing across her face. "This is not just a shadow," she whispered. "This is an echo of Aazam himself."

Eryndor's hand tightened around the dagger, but this time, he felt the shadow inside him react—not with fear, but with hunger.

And for the first time, Eryndor did not push it down.

The power surged through him like fire, dark tendrils of energy coiling around his arms as he stepped forward to face the echo. The woman gasped, but Eryndor's focus was on the creature before him.

He could feel its essence—its connection to Aazam, to the void, to the curse. And he could feel the shadow within him yearning to reunite with it.

But Eryndor wasn't going to let that happen. Not yet.

With a roar, he raised the dagger high, channeling both the light of the Creation Tree and the darkness of the shadow within him, forging them into a single force.

This time, he wasn't just fighting the shadow.

He was becoming something more.