When the Abyss Breathes

The candle on Shin’s desk burned low, its wax pooling in a warped dish like a miniature landscape-ridges, valleys, and a motion lake at its center. The tomes lay closed now, their worn covers hiding the weight of everything inside, though their presence pressed against him as if they were still speaking in a language his waking mind couldn’t quite catch. The air in the small room felt dense, heavy with the memory of last night’s study. The faint scent of old paper mingled with the lingering smoke from the candle wick, a quiet reminder of time spent chasing mysteries that slipped through his fingers.

Outside, Nevernight was quieter than usual-no drunks stumbling past, no laughter spilling from the taverns, no late night quarrels echoing between narrow alleys. The silence felt intentional, as if the whole town knew he was sitting here, waiting for dawn. The usual hum of nocturnal life was muted, as if the shadows themselves were holding their breath. 

When sleep finally claimed him, it came shallow and uneasy. He drifted in and out, dreaming not of places but of textures￾cold stone under his bare hands, the metallic taste of air before lightning strikes, the feeling of standing at the edge of something enormous and alive. The dreams held a strange weight, pressing down on his chest like the very air had thickened. Once, he thought he saw an eye in the dark. Not a human eye, but something older, patient, and endlessly deep. It lingered there, unblinking and unyielding, before vanishing into the blackness. He woke with his pulse still hammering in his throat, fingers twitching as if grasping at the vanished gaze.

He rose before the sun.

The sky was still heavy with pre-dawn grey, the horizon barely a shade lighter than the black rooftops. His breath misted in the chill as he dressed quickly, strapping his sword into place more out of habit than immediate need. The leather straps felt reassuring under his fingers-an anchor against the strange sense of weight the dreams had left him with. The cold air seeped beneath his cloak, biting at his skin, but he welcomed it, grounding him in the present.

Today, he wasn’t going to the guild.

The forest swallowed him within minutes, its narrow trail fading underfoot as if the woods wanted him to lose his way. 

Mist hung low between the trunks, curling lazily around the roots like living things reluctant to disperse. Damp earth muffled his steps, and every so often, a crow’s caw cut through the stillness before fading into the grey. The scent of pine and moss filled his nostrils, earthly and raw. Somewhere deeper in the forest, water trickled softly, a hidden stream whispering secrets.

The moss-stone clearing was just as he’d left it-chalk circles faded but still visible, the sigils from yesterday etched faintly into the surface. They looked less like markings and more like scars, the stone remembering what had been attempted here. The air seemed thicker in the clearing, as if the forest itself was holding a secret breath.

He sat the Abyss tome on the stone, flipping it opens to the page he’d studied last night. The diagrams here were denser more angular, less flowing than the earlier sections. Forms of manifestation, the heading read in the ancient script. The lines of text beneath seemed to hum in his mind as he read, each symbol tugging faintly at his thoughts:

> “When the vessel is prepared, the Abyss will answer. But beware-the Abyss does nit distinguish between shield and blade. In its hunger, all is the same.”

His breath fogged in front of him. “Let’s try again.”

Placing both palms on the cold stone, he began the incantation that had nearly worked the day before. His voice was steady, though the words came slower than normal, each syllable tasting faintly of iron.

> “Karyū no Honō… Me o samase. Kokoro o fusegu. Mi o moyasu.” Flame of the Burning Dragon… Awaken. Guard the heart. Burn the body.

The air seemed to thicken, the space between the trees bending ever so slightly toward him. Shadows along the edge of the clearing lengthened unnaturally, curling inward like smoke drawn to a flame. His chest tightened-something impossibly old pressing in. his heartbeat echoed in his ears, steady but distant, as if he was listening to the rhythm of another world.

A flicker appeared in his palm-indigo fire, small at first, then stretching higher, the color deepening to black. It pulsed twice, slow and deliberate, like a heartbeat that wasn’t his own.

The moment his focus wavered, the flame dissolved into the air, leaving nothing but the faint smell of rain on stone.

“That’s… progress.”

He moved to a different page; one marked with sharp triangular sigils that seemed to catch light even in the shadow of the mist. 

This was no longer about summoning, but shaping. The tome called it Kurayami no Tare-Shield of Darkness. He traced the diagram onto the moss-stone with fresh chalk, careful to keep each line unbroken. The ring of glyphs closed with a faint shiver in the air.

This incantation felt heavier in his mouth, the syllables dragging like stones through water:

> “Kurayami no Tate… watashi o Mamore. Kage to tomo ni.” Shield of Darkness… protect me. Stand with the shadows.

 The Abyss Flame responded almost instantly this time, swirling in front of him before flattering into a curved barrier. It shimmered like glass-but black as an oil spill, faint, star-like pinpricks swirling deep within its surface. He reached out, fingertips grazing it. The barrier rippled like water, cold but unmistakably alive.

Then it buckled-imploding on itself with a sharp hiss before vanishing. The sudden absence made him stumble forward, breath catching. A creeping numbness tingled along the edges of his fingers.

Life force cost, he reminded himself. Every Abyss spell came with one. He rested, then unsheathed his sword. The steel whispered as it left the scabbard, the sound oddly loud in the clearing. 

Today, he wanted to try something different-combining steel with flame. He’d read about it in a cramped margin note, the ink smudged like the writer’s hand had been shaking:

> “Abyss in motion is harder to control. But control in motion is mastery.”

He focused, summoning the flame once more.

> “Karyū no Honō… Muken no Ha.” Flame of the Burning Dragon… Edge without end.

Black fire climbed the blade, coiling along its length without consuming it. The weight shifted-not heavier, but denser, like the sword now cut through more than the air it passed. His first swing cleaved the damp morning fog clean in half. The sound it made was wrong, a tearing noise that seemed to echo inside his skull. 

Another swing. And another.

With each strike, the flame pulsed in time with his heartbeat￾until, on the sixth, the tip grazed the down. The earth hissed and blackened instantly, a thin crack spidering outward. He stopped, staring at it. Even without striking an enemy, the Abyss had marked the world.

A shiver crept along his spine.

As the morning passed, he rotated between summoning, shielding, and channeling the flame into his sword. Each attempt left his thoughts slower, the fatigue setting in like frost. The edges of the forest seemed wrong now-shadows pooling where they shouldn’t, tree trunks subtly bending toward him as if listening. He wondered briefly if the forest itself remembered the Abyss, if it watched his progress with something ancient and unblinking.

On his final attempt, he decided to push. 

Kneeling, he set both hands on the stone and began a longer incantation from the tome’s later pages:

> “Kuroi Honō… sono manazashi o watashi ni ataete… subete o nomikome.” Black Flame… grant me your gaze… consume all.

The temperature in the clearing plummeted. Frost crept up the moss-stone under his knees. Breath steamed from his lips. The flame that formed was nothing like before. It didn’t sit in his palm-it hovered, twisting and folding in on itself like a living knot. Its pull was real, dragging faintly at his chest like an unseen tide.

Then, without warning, it collapsed inward, gone in an instant.

The silence afterward was suffocating.

Shin staggered back, knees hitting the cold stone. His breathing was shallow; his vision blurred at the edges. But beneath the exhaustion was a certainty-he understood now the first rule of the Abyss: it did not obey because you commanded it. It obeyed because it chose to.

By the time he returned to Nevernight, the streets were alive with midday noise. Vendors called out prices, children darted between stalls, and the smell of spiced bread drifted through the air.

The guild clerk glanced up as he entered, her eyes narrowing slightly. “You again. Been out in the woods?”

“Something like that.”

“You’re burning through solo quests faster than E-rank board can fill. Might have to start sending you to D-rank soon.”

He offered a faint smile but didn’t answer. His mind was still back in the forest, feeling the pulse of the black flame in his hands-less like a weapon, more like a living a thing watching him.

That night, candlelight flickered over the pages of both tomes as he wrote one sentence in the margin of his notebook:

The Abyss doesn’t breathe because you call it.

It breathes when it decides you are worth breathing to.

He closed the book, leaned back in his chair, and let the darkness of the room settle around him.

Tomorrow, he would return to the forest. 

Because one day soon, the Abyss Flame wouldn’t just answer.

It would speak.