The path to the Shadow King's court was not a road of stone or dirt—it was a river of darkness itself. Seraphyne led Kaelen from her hall through corridors that twisted like veins, until they reached a great archway where the ground melted into black water that flowed upward, defying gravity.
"This is the Obsidian Current," she said, stepping onto its surface as though it were solid glass. "It leads to the court where the Shadow King waits. Do not stumble. The Current swallows those who falter."
Kaelen hesitated, staring at the impossible river, but Seraphyne's silver gaze left no room for doubt. Heart pounding, he stepped forward. His boots sank slightly, as if into tar, but then held. With each step, shadows beneath the surface stirred, stretching pale hands toward him. He forced himself not to look down.
The Current carried them upward, spiraling around the jagged towers of Umbriel. Kaelen glimpsed vast cities below, streets crawling with figures that looked human but moved stiffly, as though their bodies obeyed strings. Some bore no faces, only hollows where eyes and mouths should be. Others flickered like candle flames, vanishing and reappearing with each breath of wind. His stomach churned at the sight.
At last the Current deposited them before two colossal doors of black steel, etched with runes that seemed to squirm under Kaelen's gaze. Shadows gathered on either side, their forms tall and formless, like guardians without faces. At a gesture from Seraphyne, the doors opened.
The court was unlike anything Kaelen had imagined. It stretched endlessly, its ceiling lost in storm clouds, its walls alive with shifting shadows. Pillars of obsidian rose like broken fangs, and between them floated thrones—dozens of them, each occupied by a figure of shadow or bone. Some wore crowns of fire, others cloaks of mist. Their eyes glowed faintly, watching him as one might study an insect pinned to a board.
At the center was the greatest throne, vast and jagged, carved from a single stone of black crystal. And upon it sat the Shadow King.
He was tall, impossibly so, his form wrapped in living shadow that writhed like serpents. His face was hidden by a mask of obsidian shaped like a skull, but through its hollow sockets burned two orbs of crimson light. A crown of iron thorns encircled his head, bleeding trails of shadow that dripped into the air.
When he spoke, the court trembled. "A mortal." His voice was not a voice, but an echo that filled Kaelen's bones. "It has been long since flesh crossed Umbriel's veil. Tell me, scholar—why do you trespass in my kingdom?"
Kaelen swallowed hard, his knees threatening to give. But he forced himself to stand tall. "I seek truth, my lord. The truth of this place, of the Shadow Kingdom itself. The world has forgotten you, yet you endure. I wish to know why."
The court erupted in murmurs, voices of wind and fire hissing. The King raised one hand, and silence fell. His crimson gaze pierced Kaelen. "Truth," he rumbled. "A fragile thing. Mortals break beneath it. Why should I grant it to you?"
Before Kaelen could answer, Seraphyne stepped forward. "My king, he has already proven himself. He braved the Echo Well and returned with the Whisper Stone." She held it aloft. Its whispers filled the court, making lesser shades recoil.
The King's gaze lingered on the stone, then returned to Kaelen. "So the scholar has bled for knowledge. Perhaps he is worthy of seeing more."
He rose from his throne, and the shadows shuddered as though in fear. Stepping forward, the King extended a hand, fingers long and clawed. "Come, mortal. Walk with me."
Kaelen obeyed, though every instinct screamed to flee. Together they walked through the court, the watching eyes of shadow-lords following their steps. The King led him to a great window of black glass that overlooked Umbriel.
"Behold," said the King. "The Shadow Kingdom."
Kaelen peered out and saw the land in its entirety. Valleys of stone stretched endlessly, rivers of ink cutting through fields where twisted trees grew without leaves. Cities sprawled like spiderwebs, filled with beings that flickered between human and shadow. Above, the black sun bled twilight across a sky without stars.
"This place," the King said, "was not always shadow. Once, it was a kingdom of light, brightest of all realms. My people thrived in wisdom and power. But light breeds envy, and envy breeds war. The gods themselves turned against us. They cast their judgment upon Umbriel, tearing it from the world of men and sealing it in eternal twilight. They named us cursed. They called me monster. And so we became what they decreed."
His crimson eyes blazed brighter. "But we endure. We are not forgotten. And one day, when the veil weakens, Umbriel shall return—and all will kneel in the shadow."
Kaelen's mind reeled. The Shadow Kingdom was not born of evil, but of exile. A whole realm punished and cast away, surviving in eternal dusk. "If what you say is true," he whispered, "then the world above has lived in ignorance for centuries. They know nothing of your suffering."
The King turned to him, his presence suffocating. "Would you tell them, scholar? Would you carry Umbriel's truth into the light?"
Kaelen's heart raced. This was what he had sought: the truth hidden in myth. But already he felt the weight of it pressing down on him. To speak it would change everything—histories, faiths, kingdoms. "Yes," he said, though his voice trembled. "I would."
The King studied him for a long, silent moment. Then he extended his clawed hand once more. "Then you shall. But truth is not given freely. To carry it, you must bear its price."
Kaelen hesitated. "What price?"
The King's mask tilted slightly, as though amused. "Your shadow."
Kaelen blinked. "My… shadow?"
"Your shadow binds you to the mortal world," the King said. "Give it to me, and you will walk between realms. Without it, you will never again be whole. But you will see what mortals cannot. You will know truth as it is, not as men shape it."
The court stirred, whispers rising like a storm. Seraphyne's silver eyes met his, unreadable.
Kaelen felt his breath catch. To lose his shadow—what would that mean? Would he still be himself? Or would he become something less? Yet part of him, the scholar's hunger, burned with desire. To walk between worlds. To know truth untainted.
He raised his eyes to the King. "If I give it, what then?"
"Then," the King said, crimson gaze flaring, "you will become my herald."
The words struck him like a blade. A herald of the Shadow Kingdom—a messenger of twilight. The thought both terrified and thrilled him.
Slowly, Kaelen extended his hand.
The King's claws closed around it, cold as death. Darkness surged through him, tearing at his chest, ripping something vital away. He screamed as his shadow writhed on the floor, pulled from him like living flesh. It twisted, shrieked in silence, then was devoured into the King's form.
When it was done, Kaelen collapsed, gasping. He looked to the floor—there was no shadow beneath him. He felt lighter, emptier, as though a piece of his soul had been carved away.
The King loomed above. "It is done. You are bound to Umbriel now, shadowless one. You shall walk as my herald, bearing the truth of the forgotten kingdom. But beware—truth devours as surely as shadow. The world above will not thank you for it."
Kaelen clutched his chest, shivering at the hollow ache within. He had taken the step he could never undo.
And deep within him, a whisper stirred—not his own voice, but the voice of his lost shadow.
We are not alone anymore.