Kael Draven
I woke three days later to the smell of herbs and the sound of rain.
The healer's tent was small, dim, the patter of water against canvas creating a rhythm that ought to have been soothing. Instead, it just reminded me of how weak I'd become. Three days unconscious. Again. This body was failing me at the worst possible times.
I tried to sit up, and immediately regretted it. Pain shot through my head in staccato bursts, like someone driving nails into my skull. My hands shook. My vision swam.
"Don't move yet." A female voice, calm and professional. "You've been channeling power your body can't handle. You're lucky to be alive."
I turned my head carefully and saw her. Old, maybe sixty, with white hair bound in a tight bun. Her hands were covered in faded tattoos, healing marks if I remembered correctly. She was grinding something in a mortar; the rhythmic sound joined that of the rain.
"How bad?" I asked. My voice came out as a croak.
"Bad enough that you should be dead. Good enough that you're not." She didn't look up from her work. "You burned through your reserves completely. Damaged pathways that take months to heal properly. And you did permanent damage to your connection to shadow magic. You'll never channel power the way you did before that stunt."
The words felt like a physical blow. Permanent damage. This weak body of mine already limited my connection to the shadows. If I'd damaged it further.
"How permanent?" I managed.
"Hard to say. You might recover seventy percent with time and training. Maybe eighty if you're disciplined about it." She finally looked at me, her eyes sharp. "Or you might recover nothing if you keep pushing yourself like a fool. Shadow magic isn't a tool you force into submission. It's a partnership. Push too hard, and it breaks both of you."
I wanted to argue with her, tell her I knew more about shadow magic than she'd ever learn. But she wasn't wrong. I'd been treating this body like it was my old one, capable of handling power that would have challenged me even at my peak. The result was lying in a healer's tent, broken and useless.
"I didn't have a choice," I said.
"There's always a choice. You chose victory over survival. Choose the camp over yourself." She brought over a cup filled with something that smelled terrible. "Drink. It'll help with the pain and start repairing some of the damage."
I took it and drank. It tasted worse than it smelled, bitter and thick. But almost immediately, the pounding in my head eased a little.
"Captain Dren wants to see you," the healer went on. "Been asking every day when you'd wake. I told her you might not wake at all, but she insisted I keep you informed when you did." She turned back to her workspace. "You can go when you can stand without falling. Not before."
It wasn't until an hour later that I could manage that. My legs felt like water, my balance was shot, and I had to lean on the tent pole just to stay upright. But I could stand. That would have to be enough.
I made my way slowly through the camp. Rebels watched me pass with expressions I wasn't used to seeing respect, gratitude, even something like awe. Word had spread about what I'd done. How I'd saved them all.
It made me uncomfortable. I hadn't done it for them. I'd done it for myself, to establish value, to secure a position. Their gratitude was a byproduct, not a goal.
But I nodded to them anyway, accepting their acknowledgement. Let them think about what they want.
Dren's tent was larger than those around it, housing both her quarters and command post. A makeshift table supported a number of maps. Weapons lined one wall. A woman who lived for war and little else.
She looked up at me upon my entrance, her expression unreadable. "You look like death."
"I've been told." I moved to sit in the chair across from her, trying not to show how much the walk had cost me. "You wanted to see me.
"I did." She studied me a moment. "That was either the bravest or stupidest thing I've seen in twenty years of fighting. I haven't decided which."
"Does it matter? It worked."
"It worked," she agreed. "We captured nineteen Temple soldiers. Killed or wounded maybe sixty more. The rest retreated and haven't come back. For now, we're safe." She leaned forward. "And we have you to thank for that. A sixteen-year-old mine slave who knows military tactics, shadow magic, and shadowstone crystal structure well enough to bring down a mountain."
From the way she said it, I knew she didn't believe my story. Not anymore.
"Captain…"
"I'm not going to ask who you really are," she said, cutting him off. "I don't care. What I care about is that you're useful. More than useful. You're potentially invaluable." She pulled out a map. "The Temple's been pushing us back for months. We've lost three camps, dozens of fighters. We're bleeding out slowly, and I've been watching it happen with no way to stop it."
She put several marks on the map. "But if we have someone who can think strategically, who can turn disadvantages into advantages. that changes things. That gives us a chance."
I saw where this was going. "You want me to join officially. Take a command position."
"I want you to help us win. However that looks." She met my eyes. "I know you're not doing this out of ideology. You don't believe in our cause. You're here because it's convenient, because we offer protection and resources. Fine. I can work with that."
"What are you offering?"
"A position of tactical advisor. You'd work directly with me, planning operations, identifying opportunities. You'd have the right to give orders in combat situations. And you'd get a larger share of supplies, better quarters, and protection from anyone who might have questions about your past."
It was a good offer, better than I'd expected. It gave me influence without the burden of official leadership, resources without the scrutiny. And it positioned me perfectly to learn more about this world, about the Temple, about the forces at play.
"What about Lyra?" I asked.
"What about her?"
"She gets the same protections I do. Anyone comes after her for shadow affinity or for anything else, they go through both of us."
Dren's eyebrow arched. "You care about her."
"I care about useful allies. She's proved herself useful."
"Fair enough. Done." She extended her hand. "Do we have an agreement?"
I took her hand, feeling the strength in her grip. "We have an agreement."
"Good." She pulled out another map, this one more detailed. "Then let's start with our immediate problem. Those Temple soldiers we captured; they're from the Northern Garrison. Elite unit. The Temple's going to want them back. Which means they'll either negotiate or attack in force."
"What do you want to do?"
"I want to use them. Ransom them back for supplies we need. Medicine, weapons, food. Make the Temple pay to get their precious soldiers home safe."
I studied the map, thinking: "Bold. But risky. If they refuse, you've shown weakness. If they agree, you've established that you're willing to deal, which undermines your position as rebels.
"So what would you suggest?
An idea coalesced. Perilous, but with potential. "We don't ransom all of them. We keep one. The highest-ranking officer. And we make it plain that his safety depends on the Temple leaving this valley alone. Insurance, not ransom."
Dren considered it. "A hostage situation. They'd never stop coming after him."
"Exactly. Which means they'll have to be careful about attacking us. They can't risk killing their own man." I traced lines on the map. "And while they're being careful, while they're distracted, we use that breathing room to strengthen our position. Find new supply routes. Train more fighters. Maybe even hit some of their smaller outposts."
She smiled slowly. "You don't think small, do you?"
"Small thinking gets you killed."
"I like the way you think, Eren. Or whatever your real name is." She stood. "Rest today. Tomorrow we start implementing your plan. And tomorrow night, we have a celebration. The camp wants to honor what you did. Try not to look too uncomfortable with being a hero."
I left her tent feeling lighter despite my exhaustion. I'd secured my position, gained influence, and bought myself time to recover and plan. Not bad for someone who'd been a slave a week ago.
Lyra found me on my way back to the barracks looking tired but relieved. "You're awake. Finally."
"So I'm told. You've been checking on me?
"Every day. Someone had to make sure the healer didn't give up on you." She walked beside me. "That was insane, what you did. Brilliant, but insane."
"Story of my life."
She laughed. "I'm starting to believe that." Then her expression turned serious. "Dren told me about your new position. Tactical advisor. That's significant."
"It's practical. For both of us."
"Both of us?
"I made sure you're covered under the same protections I get. No one investigates you, no one questions your affinity. You're under my protection now."
She stopped walking. "Why would you do that?"
"Because you're useful. And because." I hesitated, then opted for the truth. "Because you didn't leave me in that ravine. You didn't leave me in the cave. You could have, and you didn't. That counts for something."
Lyra eyed me for a long time, something in her expression shifting. "You're a strange person, Eren. Cold and calculating one moment, almost kind the next. I can't figure you out."
"Good, that means I'm doing it right."
She shook her head and smiled slightly. "Come on, I'll walk you back. You look like you're about to fall over."
She wasn't wrong. By the time we reached the barracks, I was exhausted again. But it was a good exhaustion, the kind that came from progress, from building something.
As I lay down on my bedroll, I thought of what came next. I had a position now, influenced. Resources and allies. It was a start. A small start, compared to what I'd once had, but a start nonetheless.
The Void stirred. The Temple hunted. And I was still weak, still limited by this broken body and damaged connection to my power.
But I was alive. And I was learning.
The Shadow Emperor was dead, entombed for a thousand years beneath the weight of history and deceit.
But Eren; the new version of myself was just about to rise.
This time, I'd get it right.
This time, I would create something which could not be destroyed by betrayal or darkness.
Or I'd die trying.
Either way, it would be on my terms.