The night passed in uneasy silence after the battle. The ruins stank of burnt flesh and ash, and the ground was slick with the black blood of the thralls. They had survived, but survival brought little comfort. The four of them huddled close to a small, reluctant fire that Aryn managed to coax from damp wood. Its light was weak, its warmth fleeting.
Shadow sat apart from them, his eyes fixed on the flames. He did not shiver, though the night was cold. He barely seemed to breathe. The beast lay at his side, its head resting on its massive paws, ears twitching at every distant sound. Its loyalty to him was unquestionable, though the others did not yet trust it.
Lyra broke the silence first. Her arm was wrapped with torn cloth, blood still seeping faintly through. She glanced at Shadow, then at the beast, then back to the fire. "That wasn't luck," she said softly. "What he did. No mortal could fight like that."
Kaelen scoffed, leaning on her broken spear. "No mortal, no. But cursed things don't count as mortal. You saw what he is. Shadows obey him. Monsters bow to him. The gods themselves came for him. He's not a boy—he's a weapon."
Aryn looked between them. His face was pale with exhaustion, but his voice carried quiet conviction. "Weapon or not, he saved us. Twice now. I'd be dead without him. So would you, Kaelen."
Kaelen's jaw tightened, but she said nothing.
Lyra studied Shadow more closely. He sat motionless, but there was something in his eyes—something almost human, fragile even, beneath the darkness. "Maybe he didn't ask for this," she murmured. "Maybe the curse chose him. That doesn't mean he's our enemy."
Shadow turned his gaze toward her. Their eyes met, and for the first time, he spoke—not a word, but a sound. Low, strained, like a voice unused to forming shape. "...Lyra."
She froze. "You… you can speak?"
His lips trembled, as though the effort cost him. "Lyra," he repeated. The name seemed to anchor him, a fragile chain linking him to the world of men.
Aryn's face lit with something close to hope. "He remembers names," he said softly. "That means something."
Kaelen stood, restless, her eyes still burning with suspicion. "Names won't save us. Strength will. If he's going to stay, he needs to prove it. Every day. Or I'll end him before the gods do."
The beast growled at her threat, its golden eyes glowing. Kaelen didn't flinch. Shadow, however, raised his hand. The beast immediately stilled. For a moment, none of them spoke. Then Lyra whispered, "He understands more than we think."
The fire cracked, sending sparks into the air. Above them, the stars were hidden by heavy clouds. The night felt endless, but within that circle of fading warmth, something fragile began to form. Not trust. Not yet. But the first ember of it.
Shadow closed his eyes. For the first time since the fire rained from the heavens, he allowed himself to rest. But even in sleep, the shadow stirred, whispering in a tongue only he could hear. Promises of power. Promises of vengeance.
And though he did not yet understand it, a path was opening before him—a path none of them could turn away from.