Six days. Six agonizing days of indecision. The three crystals—fire, earth, and nature—sat heavy in Sam’s thoughts, as if taunting him. Fire magic promised raw power, an inferno capable of obliterating his enemies. Earth magic offered stability, the strength to endure anything thrown at him. Nature magic? That wasn’t even in the race. It felt too soft, too gentle for someone who dreamed of wielding forces that could shake the world.

  Sam lay sprawled on his bed, eyes fixed on the wooden ceiling above as the evening sunlight bled into his room, painting it with deep hues of crimson.

  “Why am I overthinking this?” he muttered, frustration lacing his voice. “It’s just a crystal, Sam. Just choose already.”

  He groaned, covering his face with both hands.

  A knock broke his spiraling thoughts.

  “Come in,” he called, his voice muffled.

  The door creaked open, and in stepped Isonorai, her presence commanding yet graceful. Her golden hair caught the light of the setting sun, and her robe whispered softly as she approached, settling herself beside him on the bed.

  Sam stiffened, a heat creeping up his neck. Why does she have to sit so close?

  Isonorai glanced sideways at him, her aquamarine eyes sharp with suspicion. “You better not be thinking something inappropriate, Sam.”

  “N-no, of course not!” Sam stammered, sitting up straight as his face burned scarlet.

  Her lips curled into the faintest smirk, but she let it slide. “Good.” She paused, her tone turning more serious. “Have you decided which crystal to choose?”

  Sam swallowed hard. The question hung in the air like a blade over his head. He had spent nearly a week tormenting himself over this decision, but now… now it felt like the moment of no return. He exhaled sharply and nodded.

  “Yes,” he said, his voice steadier than he felt. “I’ll choose the fire crystal.”

  Isonorai froze, her serene expression cracking. For the first time since they met, she looked genuinely surprised.

  “What?” she asked, her tone sharp.

  Sam blinked, unsure if he’d misstepped. “I choose the fire crystal,” he repeated, more forcefully this time.

  Her lips parted as if to say something, but no words came out. She stared at him for a long moment, her gaze piercing, as though trying to look straight into his soul. Finally, she sighed and stood, the surprise melting back into her usual calm.

  “Fire magic is not a path for the faint of heart,” she said, her tone uncharacteristically serious. “It is volatile, unforgiving. It requires control most people lack, and willpower that few possess.”

  “I have both,” Sam replied quickly, though his voice wavered. “I’ll prove it.”

  Her eyes narrowed slightly. “You have no idea what you’re committing to. Many who try to wield fire fail. Some lose their magic. Others lose their lives.”

  The words sent a chill down Sam’s spine, but he forced himself to meet her gaze. “That doesn’t matter. If it’s hard, then I’ll work harder. If it’s dangerous, then I’ll be careful. I won’t back down.”

  Silence filled the room as Isonorai studied him, her expression unreadable. Then, slowly, she nodded. “Very well. Training begins tomorrow. Rest well—you’ll need it.”

  She turned and walked out, leaving Sam sitting alone, the weight of his choice settling heavily on his shoulders.

  The next morning, the crisp chill of dawn hung in the air as Sam stood in the training field behind their home. The fire crystal lay in his palm, its ruby-red glow pulsing faintly.

  Isonorai approached, her movements deliberate and fluid as always. “Today, you’ll absorb the fire crystal. It will bind to your core and unlock your affinity to fire magic. Be warned—it will hurt.”

  Sam clenched the crystal tighter, his jaw set. “I’m ready.”

  Her gaze lingered on him for a moment, doubt flickering in her aquamarine eyes. “Press it to your forehead. Focus on drawing the energy in. Don’t fight it, no matter how much it burns.”

  He nodded and lifted the crystal to his forehead. At first, it was warm—a comforting, gentle heat. But then it began to sink into his skin, disappearing entirely as that warmth turned searing.

  Fire erupted in his veins.

  The pain was immediate and all-consuming, as if molten lava had replaced his blood. Sam fell to his knees, his scream tearing through the morning air. His hands clawed at the ground, the world around him a blur of red and black.

  “Breathe, Sam,” Isonorai said softly, kneeling beside him. Her voice was calm, but her hands gripped his shoulders firmly. “Don’t fight it. Let the magic flow through you. Focus.”

  Sam gritted his teeth, his entire body trembling as the fire coursed through him, burning away his doubts and fears. Every second felt like an eternity, but he clung desperately to her words.

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  Breathe. Focus.

  Slowly, the pain began to recede, leaving behind a strange, simmering warmth deep within his chest. Sam collapsed onto the dirt, gasping for breath.

  “Good,” Isonorai said softly, her hands easing away. “You survived the binding. That’s more than most can say.”

  Sam wiped the sweat from his brow, his hands still shaking. “What’s next?”

  Her expression flickered with something—concern?—before she stood. “Summon a flame.”

  “A flame?”

  “Focus on the magic you just absorbed. Channel it to your palm. Fire magic requires willpower more than anything else. Picture the flame, Sam. Feel it.”

  He nodded weakly, pushing himself up. His body still ached, but he pushed the pain aside and held his palm out.

  Focus. Breathe. Fire.

  Sam closed his eyes, trying to imagine the warmth inside him flowing outward. But nothing happened. His thoughts were too loud, too chaotic.

  “Relax,” Isonorai said patiently. “Fire cannot be forced into existence. You must understand it.”

  Her words grated against his frustration. He clenched his fists, his mind racing. How do I ‘understand’ fire?

  And then he remembered—science class in his old world. Fire needed heat, fuel, and oxygen. He was all three. He just needed to spark it.

  He took a slow breath, imagining a single spark catching onto dry wood. Warmth stirred in his chest. He guided it to his palm, his focus razor-sharp.

  Suddenly, he felt it.

  A soft fwoosh broke the silence. Sam’s eyes shot open, and there it was—a small flame dancing in his palm, flickering softly like a candlelight.

  “I did it…” he whispered, awestruck.

  Isonorai’s eyes widened slightly. “You’re holding it for longer than expected.”

  Sam grinned, his confidence swelling. The flame felt alive, and for the first time, he felt like magic was his to command.

  But the heat started to spread. The tiny flame grew hotter, its edges darkening. Sweat dripped down Sam’s forehead, and his arms began to tremble.

  “Stop, Sam,” Isonorai warned. “You’re losing control.”

  “I can handle it,” Sam shot back, his teeth clenched as he tried to stabilize the flame.

  The heat became unbearable, burning against his palm. His vision blurred, but he refused to let go.

  I can’t fail. Not now. Not after this much pain.

  Isonorai’s voice cut through his haze, sharp and commanding. “Enough, Sam! Stop before you—”

  Sam ignored her. He had to push through. He wouldn’t stop. He couldn’t. The flame in his palm roared brighter, a volatile surge of heat and power that threatened to consume him. Its edges twisted unnaturally, flickering like it was alive and angry, ready to devour everything—including its creator. His body screamed for him to stop, but his stubborn resolve drowned out the warning signs.

  “Just… a little longer!” he grunted, his teeth grinding as his jaw clenched painfully tight.

  “Stop this madness!” Isonorai’s voice cracked with desperation now. “You’re going to destroy yourself!”

  But Sam didn’t hear her. Or rather, he refused to. His vision swam as he poured the last vestiges of his mana into the flame. Tears streamed down his cheeks, evaporating into steam the moment they fell. His arms trembled violently, his knees buckled, and his breaths became shallow gasps.

  It felt like the fire wasn’t in his palm anymore—it was inside him, coursing through his veins like molten metal, burning him from the inside out.

  And then it hit.

  The pain wasn’t just pain—it was annihilation. His lungs seized as though his chest was being crushed under an invisible weight. The fire tore through his muscles, his nerves, his very core, turning him into a living furnace. Every fiber of his being was alight with agony, and yet he couldn’t let go. His mind screamed at him, begged him, pleaded: Stop, stop, STOP!

  “Too… much…” he rasped, barely forming the words. His vision blurred to the point of blindness, and his body gave out.

  His arms buckled, and he collapsed forward onto the scorched dirt. The flame, still raging wildly, surged one last time—a violent, defiant roar—before sputtering out with a sinister hiss.

  And then the world collapsed.

  Sam’s body felt wrong.

  He wasn’t on the training ground anymore. He wasn’t in the real world. There was no earth beneath him, no sky above, no sense of direction or grounding. He was floating in a void—a black, suffocating emptiness that stretched endlessly in every direction.

  Where am I?

  His voice didn’t exist here. His thoughts felt muted, like they were swallowed the moment they formed. He tried to move, to reach for something—anything—but his limbs weren’t there. He wasn’t there.

  And then the pain returned.

  It started as a dull, creeping ache, but it grew with horrifying speed. It wasn’t just physical—it was existential, as if the very essence of his being was being unraveled thread by thread. The fire gnawed at him mercilessly, shredding his nerves, his flesh, his bones. His chest felt like it was caving in, his lungs clawing desperately for air that didn’t exist.

  The worst part was the awareness.

  He could feel everything. The pain was vivid, sharp, inescapable. There was no reprieve, no fading into unconsciousness, no surrender to the sweet oblivion of death. His mind remained intact, forced to endure every excruciating moment.

  Is this what it feels like to die?

  The thought was laced with a terror unlike anything he’d ever known. Back in his old world, he had imagined death as a kind of peace—a release from all burdens. But this? This wasn’t peace. This was hell.

  Please… he begged silently, his thoughts trembling as though they might shatter. Make it stop. Please, just let it end.

  The pain surged again, a fresh wave of agony that tore through him like claws of molten steel. His body—or whatever was left of it—convulsed in the void, writhing in a torment that felt eternal. His mind clawed for escape, for some kind of release, but there was none.

  The emptiness around him pressed closer, suffocating him, crushing him under its weight.

  I can’t take this! Sam’s thoughts roared, his panic spiraling out of control. Let me die! Let me die already!

  But the void wasn’t merciful. It held him in its unrelenting grip, forcing him to endure every second. The fire raged on, consuming him, piece by piece, and yet he didn’t fade. He didn’t crumble. He just… existed, trapped in the endless cycle of suffering.

  It felt like his very soul was being torn apart, unraveling into nothingness. And yet he remained aware. Conscious. Screaming silently into the abyss.

  Tears, he thought bitterly, if they could exist here, would never stop falling.

  The darkness seemed to mock him, its silence louder than any scream. He was alone, utterly alone, with nothing but the relentless agony and the echoes of his own despair.

  Why won’t it end? he thought, his mind teetering on the edge of madness. Why am I still here?

  He tried to scream again, but he had no mouth, no voice, no form. Just a hollow, broken echo of himself, lost in the void.

  Through the crushing blackness, one final thought clawed its way to the surface of his mind—a desperate, defiant whisper.

  I wanted to be a Shadow God.