The men on the ridge laughed.
Their voices resounded down the ravine, harsh and rasping, off the rock walls. One of them struck at the ground and another spat, their curses drifting away on the morning wind. Kael did not quite catch each sentence, but he did not need to. He knew the strain. Men who lived on viciousness. Men who had known too much blood to ever turn a blind eye to it.
Liora crouched close beside him, her white-knuckled grip on the stick she used to walk. She leaned forward, her voice barely audible. "If we leave them, they'll find us. They'll call the others."
Kael's face grew hard. He already knew that. He already understood what that meant. Killing monsters was one thing. But killing men—men who laughed and cursed and bled—was something else.
The shadows within him stirred, restless. They enjoyed this. They craved this.
Take them.
Slit their throats. Silence them.
Blood is the only answer.
Kael shut his eyes for a moment, forcing the words down. He thought of his village, of the night the fire ate everything, of soldiers with laughs in their throats as they killed mothers and children. Mercy had no place here.
He opened his eyes. They burned with calm determination.
"We go first," Kael said.
Liora nodded. She didn't smile. She didn't cheer. She just adjusted her grip on the stick and whispered, "I'll follow your lead."
⸻
They crept along the ravine wall, keeping to the shadows of the stone. The Serpents above had grown careless, their attention fixed on a skin of wine passed between them.
Kael found a steep incline that led up to the ridge. He signaled for Liora to stay low. Then he moved, each step silent, each muscle tensed tight.
The first Serpent never saw him.
Kael's broken sword slipped down his throat before the man had a chance to gasp. The hiltux along the blade drowned out the sound of his gagging breath. Kael released the corpse to the ground, his pulse pounding, bile creeping up his throat.
The other spun at the soft thud. His eyes widened, his jaw opening to scream—
Liora hit.
Her stick snapped on the man's temple with a sickening crack. He hit the ground, writhing, then was still. She stared at the ribbon of blood on the wood, her hands quivering, her breathing ragged. But she did not release.
The third Serpent drew his sword, yelling, "Ambush!"
Kael attacked. Blades clashed, sparks flashing. The man was heavy-handed, expertly trained, his punches crushing. But the broken sword Kael wielded wasn't made of steel only. Shadows danced along the serrated blade, each strike something less than human.
The Serpent's eyes widened as the darkness crept up his sword, eating away at the steel, devouring the metal as if it were meat.
"What are you—
Kael silenced him with a sweep of the chest. The dark pierced deep, forking veins of darkness into the armor of the man. He screamed once and then crashed to the ground, his body spasming as the corruption asserted its hold.
There was silence.
Kael loomed over the dead, chest heaving. His hands shook, not in fear but in the reverberations of the shadows inside. They sang their hymn, gentle and close.
Yes. Stronger. Faster. You need us. We will protect you.
Liora crept forward, her cane still coated with blood. Her skin was white, her eyes icy.
"You killed them," she said.
"You helped," Kael replied. His voice was cold, bitter-sounding.
She flinched, but didn't look away. "I did what I had to. Like you."
Kael swept his sword through the grass, but most of the blood had already been taken by the shadows. He looked upon the men, the twisted faces frozen in perpetuity in shock. One part of him wanted to be ill. Another part—the darker half of him—felt relief.
Liora bent down, digging through the dead men's bags. She pulled out a pouch of coins, a half-loaf of bread, and a map. She held it out to the others. "They weren't lost. They were tracking."
Kael unfolded the map. His stomach fell.
The parchment was ringed, each one focused on a village or settlement. Lines connected them, a haphazard web that covered half the kingdom. At its heart was a mark Kael knew all too well—the mark of the Serpent.
"They're following," Kael growled.
"Following what?"
He hesitated. His gaze dropped to the crystal in his satchel. It glowed faintly, as if in answer.
"They're following me," Kael whispered.
⸻
The rest of the day they passed in tense silence. They pushed hastily along, leaving bodies behind but taking map and supplies. The trail ahead of them wound between rocks, cliffs looming on both sides, wind stinging their faces.
Liora lagged a few paces behind Kael, her eyes on the trail. She had killed today. She could not deny that. But she did not hear the whispers. She did not feel the darkness building within her veins. She wondered if he even noticed the way his eyes darkened when he fought, his movements stripping them of their humanity, becoming more. destined.
When the sun dipped low, they found shelter in a shallow cave. Kael sat near the mouth, sharpening the broken sword with slow, deliberate strokes. Liora crouched by the small fire she'd coaxed to life, her face lit by its flicker.
Finally, she broke the silence.
"You think you're cursed, don't you?"
Kael froze. The sound of stone against steel stopped. Slowly, he looked at her.
"I saw it," Liora continued. "The shadows dance for you. They protect you. They feast on what you kill. And the more you employ them, the more it eats away at you."
Kael's voice was deep and gruff. "Do I look like I want this?"
"I think it has nothing to do with what you want," she said. "What it has to do with is what you'll do with it.".
Kael turned away, his gaze drifting to the horizon beyond the cave. The stars were beginning to emerge, cold and distant. He thought of his mother's scrolls, of prophecies whispered in the smoke of burning homes.
"What if what I'll do… is end everything?" Kael murmured.
Liora's expression softened, but only slightly. "Then I'll stop you."
For a long time, Kael said nothing. Then, slowly, he nodded. "Good."
⸻
That night, Kael dreamed.
He stood in a hall of darkness, a great and empty space, the shattered sword weighing in his hands. Forms loomed in the blackness—faceless, whispering, vulturing around him.
At the far end of the hall there was a throne. Black rock, jagged as teeth, hung with pennants of flame and ash. And on that throne sat a man shrouded in darkness, his face hidden, his eyes ablaze like twin suns.
You can't conceal what you are," the man stated, his voice low, rumbling, insincere. "You are the heir of the black fire. The end written in flesh."
Kael unfolded the broken sword. His hands trembled. "I'm not him."
The figure slumped forward, his voice filled with a smile. "You will be."
The shadows burst.
Kael awoke with a gasp, drenched in sweat, the crystal in his bag searing hot against his chest.