The battlefield smelled of iron and ash. The Shades had melted into smoke where they fell, leaving nothing but the faint shimmer of unnatural residue clinging to the ground. The resistance camp was shaken, but still standing. For now.
Aric stood among the wreckage, his blade heavy in his hand. He could still feel the sorrow coursing through him, like a poison he couldn't expel. His breaths came sharp, ragged. Too many had seen.
Lyra's hand touched his arm lightly. "You saved me." Her voice was steady, but her eyes searched his face—like she'd glimpsed something she couldn't name.
Before Aric could respond, Commander Darius strode forward. His men parted around him, some still staring at Aric as though unsure whether to cheer or fear him.
"You fought well," Darius said. His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it, a blade hidden in the words. "Too well."
Aric held his gaze. "Would you rather I hadn't fought?"
The silence that followed was heavy. Soldiers shifted uneasily, torn between gratitude and unease.
Darius's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing more. Instead, he barked orders to his people. "Double the watch. Seal the western tunnel. If there are Shades once, there'll be Shades again."
The camp scattered into motion.
Hours later, Aric sat by the dim glow of the campfire, watching the flames devour splintered wood. Lyra leaned against a nearby wall, eyes half-shut, though he knew she wasn't asleep.
The whispers carried easily in the cavern.
"That wasn't human speed…""Did you see how the thing dissolved when he cut it?""He's hiding something. I swear it."
Aric clenched his fists, staring deeper into the fire. The Sorrow System pulsed faintly inside him, as if mocking him for trying to blend in.
Lyra finally spoke, her voice low. "They're afraid. But they'd be dead without you."
"That doesn't matter," Aric muttered. "Fear outweighs gratitude. Always."
She tilted her head. "You don't trust them either."
"No." He glanced around at the soldiers, their tired faces lit by the firelight. "But I need them. And they…" He exhaled sharply. "…they need me."
Later that night, when the camp had quieted, Aric slipped away toward the outer tunnels. The watcher hadn't left his mind since the battle. He could feel it even now, lingering in the shadows beyond sight.
The tunnel stretched long and dark, the air colder the deeper he walked. His footsteps echoed softly against stone.
Then, faintly, he heard it—breathing. Not human. Not demon. Something in between.
Aric drew his blade, the sorrow stirring inside him. His voice was low, steady.
"Show yourself."
For a long moment, nothing. Then from the darkness, two faintly glowing eyes blinked open. A figure stepped forward, half-wreathed in smoke, its face hidden by a hood of shifting shadows.
"You're not like the others," it whispered. Its voice was a rasp, like two tones speaking at once. "You carry sorrow. It feeds you."
Aric's grip tightened. "What are you?"
The figure tilted its head, the glowing eyes unblinking. "A reflection. Of what you will become."
Before Aric could move, the figure dissolved into smoke, vanishing down the tunnel.
His heart hammered in his chest, the words echoing inside his skull.
A reflection… of what you will become.