Power Stone - Light & Shadow: Power Stone, #1

PROLOGUE

Atall, youthful figure stumbled up the snow-covered hill, only stopping when it reached the old oak at the edge of the spring. Its movements were sluggish, every fiber of its body screaming for rest, but the danger left no room for such a luxury. The cold wind tugged at the thick, soaked coat that offered little protection, and deep breaths sent waves of pain through its chest. The figure leaned one arm against the rough trunk, the other hand shakily reaching for its hood. With a quick tug, it pulled it back, revealing a blood-smeared, dirty face in the moonlight — young, yet scarred by battle and escape. The adolescent's breath came in gasps, the metallic sheen of the blood reflecting the pale light that fell upon him.

Trembling fingers traced his wounds. Across the bridge of his nose, beneath the small bump, ran a deep gash, while warm liquid trickled down from his forehead into his eyes. He raised a hand to find the source. A gaping tear cut through the dark, damp hair on the left side of his head. The pain burned like fire, but it was the least of his worries.

He clenched his teeth and cursed quietly. Damn. It was more of a whisper, an exhausted word lost in the wind. A curse at himself, at the moment the plan had failed, and they had discovered him. They had seen what he was and what he was capable of. How long would it be before they found him up here? Their shouts echoed through the trees, filled with determination to hunt him down.

From here, he could see the lights of the monastery he had fled just ten minutes ago — but there was no sign of those who were supposed to meet him here. Alone, his chances of making it out of this alive were slim. Where are you? he muttered to himself, his eyes nervously scanning in all directions. With great effort, he pushed himself away from the oak and limped toward another tree on the opposite side of the spring.

There, they had stashed their packs, and he quickly found them again. He pulled out some dried fruit and a linen cloth — the wounds had to be tended to first, and something had to be done about his waning strength before he could continue. In his current state, neither fleeing nor fighting was an option.

With trembling hands, he reached under his coat for the small leather pouch attached to his belt. Even opening it was difficult, but he managed, and his left hand slid inside. Only a brief moment passed before he pulled out a needle, thread, and a small vial.

The youth soaked the linen cloth in the liquid from the vial and pressed it to the wound on his head. The burning pain was intense, but he had expected it and gritted his teeth. Stitching the wound, however, was a different matter entirely. Two stitches should do it... hopefully. His hand trembled even more as he brought the thick needle closer to his head. He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. He had stitched up countless wounds before; it had become second nature. Eventually, the pressure was great enough that the flesh gave way.

He kept his eyes closed during the procedure, cursing internally at the pain and the fact that none of the others had made it here yet. After ten minutes, it was finally done — the wound was stitched, and he exhaled in relief. His pursuers seemed to still be searching the area, and to his fortune, they hadn’t seen him flee up the hill.

Once more, he soaked the linen cloth in the liquid and pressed it to his head again. With trembling fingers, he pulled a narrow band from his pouch and tied the cloth in place. He leaned heavily against the tree, as if trying to anchor himself to its stability. A part of the tension drained from his body. At least that's one less thing to worry about, he murmured softly. But a new question burned in his mind: What next?

They would hunt him down. The Church of Light now knew he had resurfaced after they had thought him dead. Too many Clerics and Magisters had witnessed his abilities — there was no undoing that. He could flee, hide in the southern wildlands where the Church had not set foot in years. But between him and the wildlands lay a hundred kilometers of unforgiving cold, and it was far from certain that the mountain tribes there would welcome him.

As he thought, he mechanically reached for his waterskin and opened it. Not much was left inside, but he drank greedily until the last drop quenched his parched throat. The skin was empty. With shaky hands, he stowed it back, his movements slow and clumsy. For a moment, he leaned against the tree again, trying to organize his thoughts. The storm had passed, the air was clear and cold, and the snow sparkled in the moonlight. In the distance, he could make out the faint lights of the city. The watchtowers on the city walls stood bright and menacing in the darkness. No matter which path he chose, this might be the last time he would see them.

Should he fight? His condition argued against it, as did the strength of those pursuing him. He had seen what the Magister was capable of. A second encounter would be far shorter than the first. And yet — the youth came to the bitter realization that luck had finally abandoned him. Nothing forced him to take the risk and stay at the monastery longer than necessary — but he didn’t want to pass up the chance to make his tormentors pay for what they had done to him.

Lost in thought, he reached for his chest, feeling the power stone beneath his linen shirt. Today, you’ll have full control, I promise, he whispered in his mind to the stone. But there was no response — no reaction. A wave of disappointment washed over him.

He was torn. On one hand, he felt a strange indifference toward his fate. Whatever was to come, he could accept it. He found a grim peace in knowing that none of those who had once tried to kill him were still alive. His life should have ended back then, and everything that followed was, to him, merely a bonus.

On the other hand, he thought of the last few months — of everything he had achieved. The friendships he had made. The control he had gained over the power stones that were meant to kill him. The changes that had occurred because of him. The thought of having to give all that up hurt more than the gaping wound on his head.

Voices were drawing nearer. One of the search parties seemed to be climbing the hill. Arik peeked out from behind the tree and saw a larger gathering of white lights. His expression fell as he realized this was no ordinary search party — it was everyone who had been at the monastery. At least they're attacking openly, not treacherously, he murmured as he stepped out of the shadows and threw off his cloak. The cold night air filled his lungs, and he exhaled calmly. Spirals of light and shadow unfurled from his shoulders down to his arms. The same pattern repeated from his waist to his legs. For his torso and head, he chose thinner threads, as fine and interwoven as he could manage. Within half a minute, his armor was complete.

He recalled with gratitude how the shadow-walkers had taught him the use of various combat techniques and weapon styles. His talent for arm claws had become second nature to him. He focused and formed them: a one-meter-long claw for his right arm and a shorter one for his left. For his final battle, he wanted to bring out the best he had to offer. The voices and sounds grew louder with every passing second. They were now only a hundred meters away.

He looked up at the sky and saw the clear stars above. Tears streamed down his cheeks, and he closed his eyes. Back then, his will had kept him alive. Was it justice or vengeance that had fueled that will? He had never asked himself that question before... But now, on the brink of his final fight, the answer seemed unimportant.

His stone began to glow. It released energy that coursed through his body. The youth felt it from his toes to the tips of his hair and allowed it to flow. The armor he had created was reinforced without any effort on his part; he seemed to grow taller, stronger, and the exhaustion melted away.

Freed from all burdens, he moved forward. He effortlessly entered the realm of Unlight and turned inward. I'm ready, he whispered to his power stone. A smile crossed his lips.

A cascade of impressions flooded his mind, and he thought his brain was playing tricks on him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a familiar face grinning broadly at him. But the blow from the club that struck the back of his head — he recognized as real, just before he lost consciousness.

CHAPTER 1

From the depths of the underground complex came the sound of massive, old wooden boards splintering. The noise echoed off the cold stone walls, creeping through the dark passageways. Each crack was like a blow to the silence, reverberating until it finally reached Teto, pulling the entire common room into its spell. He sat there with the others, the group’s faces lit by flickering torchlight, as he inevitably began to wonder whether he had made the right decision. Teto crossed his arms behind his head, leaning back as his expression grew more thoughtful. The shadows cast by the many torches along the walls had a calming effect, helping him gather his thoughts. But with each dull snap of the boards, the uncertainty within him seemed to grow.

Had his guest recovered so quickly? Or was there another explanation? The question gnawed at him. When he had found the young man on the street a day and a half ago, the youngster had been on death’s doorstep. He looked no older than 16 or 17, and his build suggested he was more scholar than fighter. The color of the cord on his robe supported that assumption. Physically, it was unlikely that he would even survive the first night. And yet, he had. Our guest has quite a strong will, Teto murmured, drawing that conclusion from the distant sound. His forehead furrowed, the creases deepening over his already weathered face.

It had to be the stones in the youngster’s body. Teto wouldn’t have survived so long in this world if he hadn’t learned a thing or two about power stones. In his 42 years, he had witnessed a few times how the stones could take over a person’s body once their willpower was extinguished. But he’d never stayed around long enough to see what happened afterward. Like many others, he believed it was far healthier to run as fast as possible. No one considered it cowardice to flee from such a situation — even the instructors once recommended it.

Teto closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and sighed. Many of those he led didn’t have the same experience as him. They were at risk if they crossed paths with the youngster. With a calm, low voice, still leaning his head back, he spoke: Diemo, go and get everyone to safety. Don’t fight the newcomer. In his current state, he’s unpredictable, and you’d all be risking your lives.

Teto finally brought his head forward again, locking eyes with the young man seated across from him at the table. Diemo was in his mid-twenties, his eyes dark and cold, his scarred, clean-shaven face as unmoving as stone. Diemo remained unfazed.

He stood, kicking his chair back with his right foot. The fingers on his left hand twitched like those of a puppeteer, and within three seconds, he had disappeared into the shadows below. Teto turned his head to the left, looking at a small woman in her late twenties with waist-length blonde hair. In contrast to Diemo’s imposing muscles, which could intimidate by presence alone, she seemed delicate and fragile. Before Teto could say a word, she cut him off with her almost squeaky voice. Don’t even think about it!

Teto feigned innocence, and she continued. You know perfectly well that there’s too little space down here in the tunnels for me to fight properly.

We’ll have to discuss that again soon, Fenna, Teto responded dryly. At some point, you won’t be able to avoid a fight. An opportunity like this won’t come around again soon.

The complex shook, and the screams of several people echoed down the tunnels. Teto’s face grew more serious, and he corrected himself with a sigh: On second thought, I’d better handle this myself before our newcomer destroys the entire complex.

Had he underestimated the urgency? Should he have gone with Diemo after all? These questions raced through his mind as he bolted upright, grabbed his staff, and rushed off.

Shortly after he left, a rough voice rang out. Why didn’t he send us? It came from a man seated across from Fenna, about 10 years older than Teto. The older woman next to him replied, Because Teto doesn’t want us to snuff out that light of his. She snickered, her raspy voice cutting through the room, before the man responded, That wouldn’t have been a problem. I could’ve just promised to break a few small bones. Both immediately caught Fenna’s glare, making it clear they shouldn’t push their luck.

Teto reached the well-lit corridor where the youngster had been. From a distance, he could see the damage to the stone wall. Splintered oak fibers were scattered across the passage. To his relief, the unconscious fighters had already been pulled from the danger zone and were being treated by healers. Those who had managed to flee or had only sustained minor injuries noticed their leader’s arrival. Their faces were etched with fear.

Te... Te... Teto... we tried to stop him, one of them stammered. Teto looked at her, noticing the thin red line of blood slowly trickling down her forehead, across her nose, and dripping onto the ground. She clearly had a head injury. He raised his right hand to stop her. This wasn’t a fight you should’ve been involved in. When facing someone like that, the only option is to flee if you want to live to see another day. Teto paused, looking her directly in the face, though his words were loud enough for everyone to hear. There’s no shame in that. This will be the first time I face him myself. His shoulders tensed, the staff in his hand trembling slightly.

Despite his nerves, he smiled gently, exuding confidence. He had to conceal his doubts, as he had done so many times before. It was the burden of leadership. Then he pointed at the wound beneath her red-blonde hair. Get that treated quickly, Ostara. I have to move before things get worse. Did you see the color of his eyes?

Ostara hesitated, unsure why it mattered. White and black... Why?

Good, Teto replied. That means it hasn’t happened yet. If the stone colors merge, we’ll have even more trouble. I assume our guest is just around that corner?

Yes, Diemo and Romilda are holding him off. Diemo immediately pushed him back when he arrived and covered our retreat.

He shouldn’t have fought him... why can’t he ever listen to me, Teto muttered, leaving Ostara behind as he rushed ahead. Small black spheres appeared out of nowhere and began to orbit him. They were no larger than plums. At first, only a few; then dozens, then hundreds of them.

As he turned the corner, a flash of white light blinded him. Teto saw Diemo being thrown against the stone wall. Like a sack of potatoes, Diemo slumped forward and fell onto the cold stone, motionless. Teto sprinted forward, liquid shadow already covering his body. Just before he reached the corner, he raised his staff with both hands, swinging it like a sword. Romilda, down! he bellowed as he swung. The orbs that had been circling him shot toward Romilda. She dove forward, barely dodging them. The landing wasn’t smooth, but she managed to cushion most of the fall. Her arms ached, but there was no time to think about it. She had to get up quickly.

Not all the orbs hit the youngster. But enough struck him to knock him off his feet and send him flying several meters back. Romilda was already on her feet again, knowing the attack was over. Grab Diemo and get to safety! Teto ordered. She complied, and moments later, Teto was alone in the hallway with the youngster. The youngster stood once more. Except for his head, one half of his body was bathed in light, the other in shadow.

You’ve caused enough damage. Time to end this. With those words, Teto acted, and a shadow wall shot from his body, filling the entire hallway. The youngster stood still, seemingly unbothered that the intensity of his light was diminishing. He stood for a moment, as if trying to summon something. When nothing happened, he charged at Teto, throwing a basic punch. Teto dodged effortlessly. The youngster repeated his attacks a few times, then switched to kicks. These missed their mark as well.

Their eyes met. The youngster’s face twisted into a broad grin, mocking his opponent. Then Teto saw it happen. The colors of the youngster’s eyes merged into one — if it could even still be called a color. It was Unlight, the realm between light and shadow.

That... is unexpected, Teto muttered, surprised, but it didn’t faze him. He hadn’t anticipated it happening so soon.

The youngster attacked again. This time, he was faster, more precise. More dangerous. Each strike came like a whirlwind, but Teto dodged effortlessly, his movements fluid and controlled. The youngster’s light seemed to tear through the surrounding shadows, but Teto remained unshaken. ‘You’re fast,’ Teto thought, ‘but not fast enough.’ With a single, precise movement, he thrust his staff into the youngster’s abdomen, snuffing out his power in an instant. The youngster was thrown backward, spitting blood. Teto had amplified his strike just enough to ensure the youngster wouldn’t get back up. Light and shadow peeled away from the youngster’s body.

Teto let his shadow dome dissolve and approached the unconscious body, grabbing him by the collar and dragging him down the corridor to the others. There, he dropped the youngster to the floor and ordered them to chain him up. Before returning to the common room, Teto made a quick stop at his quarters. He needed a few moments alone. After closing the door behind him, he exhaled deeply, the tension draining from him. Strong mind, weak body... we really got lucky there.

CHAPTER 2

Teto entered the common room, deep in thought, the same room he had left about twenty minutes earlier. Fenna and the other two were still seated at the table. The light from the torches reflected off one man's bald head. Teto headed toward the table, but had to stop for a moment. His left leg ached again, as it often did in the eight years since the last battle. He took a deep breath and swallowed the pain.

Did you kill him? the old woman at the table asked mockingly, looking up at him. She grinned widely, revealing poorly maintained teeth beneath her wild gray curls. A short giggle followed her question.

Teto didn’t respond with words. He snapped his right hand, and a small black orb struck the old woman’s forehead, causing her to tumble backward along with her chair. Instead of getting up, she stayed lying down, laughing uproariously. Teto sat down on his wooden chair and reached for his cup. Resting his left elbow on the table and swirling his drink in his right hand, he waited for her laughter to subside.

Are you done? he asked irritably, the words escaping his lips. I find nothing funny about this. Our 'guest' has seriously injured two of us, and seven others were lucky to get away with lesser wounds. Diemo is among them.

The old woman sat up and cleared her throat before replying, They'll be fine. Especially Diemo — he's tough as nails. Reminds me a bit of good old Raban here in his younger years. She nudged the burly man with the bald head and wild beard beside her. His stout arms were visible beneath a dark green woolen vest, and on both upper arms were uneven oval, matte black stones embedded into his skin.

And quit looking so grim. No one died.

No, thank the gods, we were spared that much. When we’re done here, go and assist the healers. Make sure Diemo is back on his feet as soon as possible. I wouldn’t rule out this happening again in the coming days.

How bad is it? Fenna's high-pitched voice came from beside Teto. She sounded uncertain.

The stones had taken control of him. Teto clenched his fist beneath the table, his eyes gleaming with tension. His attacks were powerful, but completely uncoordinated. He grimaced. It happened while we were inside the shadow dome. The stones' powers merged. But I was able to subdue him pretty quickly. It’s surprising how fast it all happened. He’s only had the stones for two or three days.

Next time, you’ll go immediately — before we actually lose people! Fenna shouted, her face flushed with anger. Take these situations more seriously! It’s bad enough that Vanadis and Raban are joking around here. I always thought that with age, you’d get wiser! Instead, you’re acting like spoiled little brats! As she aimed to pound the table with her fist, her hand turned black and swelled to about three times its size. The moment it touched the table, it splintered and broke in half. Mugs shattered with a loud crash, and shards scattered among the broken wood. The bowls of food also spilled across the cold stones. Even Vanadis toppled backward in her chair again.

The once-bustling common room fell into sudden silence. Fenna stared at her hand, her face turning pale. S-sorry... seems like I lost my temper. Her cheeks were still flushed, though now from embarrassment.

The two old folks exchanged a brief glance before bursting into raspy laughter, their voices creaking like old wood. Raban’s shoulders shook gently, while Vanadis’s laugh resembled more of a cackling giggle. Raban went to fetch a new table while Vanadis lazily kicked aside the broken pieces within her reach. Once they had a new table in front of them, they resumed their conversation.

Teto spoke first. We’re keeping him here.

What? the other three exclaimed in unison. Fenna snapped at him directly. Have you lost your mind? Even if we manage to stop him from tearing apart our entire complex and killing most of us — if the Church of Light finds out, they’ll destroy us. They’ll do what he failed to do. She calmed herself slightly. Not even those two, she gestured toward Vanadis and Raban, could handle the number of paladins the Church would send to Aregelia.

I rarely agree with Fenna, Raban chimed in with his calm, deep voice, but that would be too much. Back when they took the city, enough of us managed to escape and build this place. It was close, but we did it. Now they control the city, and they’ll hunt us to the last shadow. He shook his head. No, Teto, it’s too great a risk for all of us.

WHAT are we risking, really? Our slow and steady decline, which we’ve been living through for the past twenty damn years? Teto’s voice was rough, years of pent-up frustration spilling out. Thoughts he had suppressed for so long now surged forth. Our community gets smaller every year. Even after our defeat, we were twice as many as we are now. I’m tired of constantly fighting against decay. We’ve become so insignificant that the Church doesn’t even bother hunting us anymore. His hands clenched into fists.

Teto let his gaze sweep over the three. We’ve been given an opportunity, one I don’t know if we’ll ever get again — and you want to let it slip by? With a wave of his hand, he signaled Fenna not to interrupt him. No, with him, the situation changes, and we’re already at an advantage because we’re the only ones who know. We need to bring him under control. Train him and teach him how to wield his powers. Fenna?

Yes? she asked, her voice still tinged with uncertainty.

You said he was wearing the robe of an Extractor when Diemo found him?

Yes. He must have been one of those who finished their apprenticeship a few days ago.

We should keep that in mind. Teto’s voice was firm. That youngster likely has knowledge that could prove useful to us. Fenna, grab Diemo — once he’s up again — and a few others. You need to gain his trust. Help him with whatever he needs and intends to do. 

Teto turned to Vanadis. You, he pointed a finger at her, will take him down if he loses control. Quickly, painlessly, permanently.

Vanadis grinned widely, her eyes gleaming with anticipation. Ohhh... I like it when you’re so cold and calculating.

A simple yes would’ve sufficed, old hag.

Raban... there are preparations to be made. Twenty years ago, you were in your element and accomplished things I’m still grateful for. Can you do it again?

Deep lines creased Raban’s face, but after a brief hesitation, he answered Teto. I’m a bit rusty, but yes, I will. It’ll take time and some of the men and women, but I’ll let you know when everything’s ready.

I’m not sure how this will all play out, but let’s make the best of it. Teto raised his cup. To an uncertain future!

Not so fast, Teto, Fenna interrupted, grabbing his arm and pushing it back down. Do you really think, just because you’ve dreamed this up in your head, that we’ll immediately agree?

Teto smirked crookedly. That was part of the plan, so yes. Why do you ask? He tested her patience, casually sitting back with the cup in one hand and a plate in the other. But he could feel the tension rising in the room.

"Has it