Kael and Liora left the great hall in silence, their footsteps echoing lightly off the stone corridors. There was dust floating in the air, upset by their presence, as if the ruin itself woke grudgingly to activity. Though Kael's body still rebelled from the encounter with the throne of shadows, he forced his legs to move him forward, not wishing to appear broken before Liora.
Inside him, though, he was exposed. Bare.
He could still hear the voice out of the void. You cannot fight eternity…
"Liora," he at last was able to say, his tone harsh. "How much do you know of what I've seen?"
She did not answer immediately. Her pale eyes raked the hallway as they walked, watchful, balancing. When she did speak, she did so in a controlled voice.
"Enough to know you shouldn't have returned."
Kael's stomach twisted. "That's comforting.".
She stopped, spinning to face him. The faint torchlight gleamed off the hard planes of her face. "Do not sneer at this, Kael. I've seen men with less strength than you lose themselves entirely. Once the throne calls, there is no turning back. And yet…" Her gaze remained on him, incredulous, then questioning. "You resisted."
Kael curled his fists. "Barely."
"Barely is better than the others."
They were reassuring words, but they felt like weights on him in his chest. He could not decide whether he should be proud or scared more.
They walked on. The corridors grew narrower, colder. Broken tapestries hung on the walls, their vibrant hues now faded pastel tones of gray. On one, Kael could hardly make out the image of a crowned king, sword in hand crafted of shadow, and around him kneeling men. Their faces were smeared with reverence and fear.
Kael shivered.
"Why here, Liora?" he growled suddenly. His voice snapped a little too hard, ringing off the shattered stone. "Why bring me straight to the thing that wants to kill me?"
Her shoulders braced up. She did not answer at once.
"Because," she finished finally, "you need to know what you're fighting. If you flee blindly, the shadows will turn you to their use the first chance they get. But if you face them—" She fell silent, her voice dropping low. "—if you face them, you may just break them before they shatter you."
Kael frowned. "Bend them?"
Liora's expression turned hard, but she spoke no further. She gestured to a staircase that wound far into darkness. "Come. There is something else you must see."
⸻
The stairs continued forever. Every step groaned beneath their feet, the air growing soggy, heavy, and cold as they descended. Kael's mark throbbed once more, though less agonizingly than before. The faint light of it stained walls with bars of darkly shining light.
Finally, they emerged into a grand room. The ceiling curved high above them, supported by decaying pillars carved with old runes. Through the midst of the room was a stone dais, and upon it the sword.
Not just any sword.
Its blade was blacker than the darkest night, but picked out in ghostly pink light that throbbed like a living pulse. The air within the immediate vicinity rippled and curved in unnatural ways, as if reality itself winced away from the weapon.
Kael stopped in his tracks.
"What is that?" he whispered.
Liora's eyes flicked towards the sword, then back to his face. Her voice stayed even, but her hands fisted minutely at her hips, betraying tension.
"The Shadowbane. Hammered for the very first Heir. They say it was meant to kill the throne itself."
Kael gulped. "And why is it still here?"
"Because every Heir who touched it died."
The words hit like a blow.
Kael's mark seared hotter, as though in response to the sword's presence. He felt a shiver of attraction to it, strong and inexorable, like the hand of the void reaching out to him all over again. His breathing hitched.
"I don't want it," he muttered quickly, stepping back. "Keep it away."
Liora's face furrowed. "It doesn't work that way, Kael. The blade will call to you, whether or not you desire it."
"And if I won't have it?"
"Then it will wait. Until you're too weak to resist."
Kael clenched his teeth. The thought of keeping that accursed sword nauseated him. But he could not deny the truth in what she said. The mark burned hotter the more he looked at it, as though some hidden thread bound him to it.
"Why me?" he snarled venomously. "Why couldn't the curse kill with the others? Why must it be me?
Liora's expression eased at last because they walked into the keep. "Because fate does not take into account what you desire, Kael. Only what you are."
They stung, but there was no malice in them. Only a weary kind of truth.
Kael twisted his eyes from the knife. "Then let us depart now before I do something foolhardy."
But Liora did not get to respond before the mood shifted.
From the far end of the chamber, the faint scratch of metal against stone. Kael didn't move. The sound came again, closer.
"Someone is present," he whispered.
Liora's hand went to the hilt of her sword. "Stay behind me."
Forms coalesced between the pillars. Black-armored soldiers, their insignia the blood-red crest of the Drakar Dominion. Their eyes glowed with a faint light, unnaturally sharp, tracking.
Kael's gut fell. He'd dealt with soldiers in the past, but these men moved differently—too quietly, too sparingly, as if controlled by something greater than human.
One stepped forward, his tone as cold as metal. "The Heir of Shadows. At last."
Kael's blood ran cold.
The soldier's gaze flicked quickly to the sword and then to Kael. "You will come with us."
Liora stiffened, her posture feral, ready. "Over my dead body."
The soldier's mouth curled into a humorless smile. "That can be arranged."
And the chamber erupted into chaos.
⸻
Steel clashed against steel, the ringing echoing off stone walls. Liora flashed like lightning, her sword a whirling blur as she cut at the first soldier. Metal screeched metal, sparks flying as the soldier backed away.
Kael, weaponless, bolted behind the pillar. His sigil flashed angrily, reacting to the soldiers' presence—or perhaps to the sword still vibrating on the dais. His shadow danced up his arm, burning to break free.
Use it, the voices implored. Slay them.
"No," Kael panted unwillingly. He slapped his hand against the cold stone, trying to find stability.
But Liora was encircled. Three men moved toward her, swords cutting in merciless sweeps. She struck back with rage, but Kael could see her faltering beneath the assault.
His chest ached. His brain screamed.
He couldn't just stay hidden.
With a shriek, Kael sprang at the dais. The sword flashed brighter as he moved closer, as though feeling him. His hand trembled above the hilt.
Take it, the voices ordered. Take what is yours.
"Kael, no!" Liora cried out, a despairing shout that came too late.
His fingers closed around the hilt.
The moment he made contact with it, a torrent of power poured into him. Shadows burst from his flesh, crashing through the room in a mad storm of night. The soldiers stumbled back, their faces white and full of instant fear.
Kael's vision blurred, his body trembling under the deluge of power. The sword pulsed with life in his hand, its beat attuned to his own. The voices tore in his mind, triumphant.
Yes… at last… our Heir.
Kael raised the blade, shadows swirling around him. For a moment, he was unstoppable. Endless.
And then, in the chaos, he saw Liora's face.
Her eyes—wide, not with awe, but with fear.
And so, suddenly, the triumph turned bitter in his mouth. The shadows repulsed, lashing out in every direction. One of the men was ripped apart where he stood, his body dissolving to ash. Another shrieked as the darkness engulfed him.
Kael dropped the blade with a cry. It rang against the stone, its red veins dissipating. The shadows howled and receded into the crevices of the room.
There was silence.
The other soldiers sprinted towards the darkness, their departure frantic and terrified.
Kael knelt, his chest heaving, his hands shaking wildly. He stared at the knife inches from his face, horrified at what he had just unleashed.
Liora proceeded at a slow pace. Her blade was stained with blood, her face pale but resolute. She looked at Kael, then the corpses once soldiers but moments ago.
Neither of them spoke for a very long time.
At last, Kael barely whispered, "I can't… I can't control it."
Liora's jaw clenched. She drew in her knife and knelt down beside him. "Then we'll learn how. Because if you don't…" Her gaze drifted to the sword, then to his shaking hands. "…the world won't make it through you."
Kael's throat constricted. He wanted to protest, to deny, to flee. But somewhere deep within him, he knew she was correct.
The Silent Keep had given him two truths that night: the throne would never stop calling to him, and the sword would never let him go.
And hanging in between them, his soul hung by a thread.