Fennrin is a shadowforger, a type of az-ari who have mastery over shadows. But all it's ever brought him is misery. People are afraid of the power that he himself barely understands, seeing his shadows as omens of bad luck and death.
Forced to bare...
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Fennrin frowned in concentration, shrinking the shadow of the pencil on the table in front of him, watching it lift off the wooden surface slowly, flying up further as he made the shadow smaller and smaller until it was levitating right in front of his face before he started making the shadow gradually bigger, letting it gently settle on the table again.
He'd been training how to modify shadows for a week now, among other things. He had wanted to start training sword fighting with Ainreth, but the man had assured him that there would be plenty of time for that, still, and that he should be focusing on putting on some weight.
Fennrin refused to just sit around and let himself be spoiled by whatever delicious food Ainreth brought to him, though, so instead he focused on learning to control his powers, figuring out what limitations he had, and so on.
So far he had learned that while turning into a shadow wasn't too taxing, though it did exhaust him when he did it several times in a short amount of time, modifying shadows was a different matter. It took him far too much concentration to move things, which was why he was training with the pencil right now.
Destroying things was a different matter, though. The ease with which he had managed to destroy things from a stick to a rock was a little concerning, but Ainreth had assured him that this would just make it easier for him to protect him. And Fennrin supposed he agreed, even if he was still a little worried about it.
Though perhaps he was less worried about the ability, and more about how powerful it made him feel. But he pushed those feelings aside. As long as he didn't lose sight of things, it would be fine.
Suddenly hearing a knock on the door, Fennrin rose to his feet, only then pausing. Should he even open the door? This was Ainreth's house, and he wasn't sure if there were boundaries to be overstepped since the man wasn't home right now.
Hearing another knock, though, Fennrin shook his head. He was being silly. A lot of people knew he was staying at Ainreth's house by now, not to mention that he knew where the lightweaver was right now, so he could direct whoever was at the door to him.
Walking to the door, he swung it open, only to find Petre standing there in their usual military uniform robes, now looking up at him. Fennrin immediately felt himself relax a little. Good, he liked Petre. Their calm nature was a nice contrast to Ainreth's somewhat manic, chaotic one. Fennrin wondered if that was why Petre was Ainreth's second because they looked far too young to be the lieutenant of a general.
He would have to ask about that later.
"Fennrin," they greeted him in their usual dry manner.
"Hello." Fennrin wondered if he should invite Petre inside, but they didn't seem very interested in that, simply staying where they were standing. "Um, Ainreth is—"
"Yes, I know. I'm here for you. The Herald wants to talk to you."
