The light in the room shifts as my Godbeast seems to grasp my meaning. Shadows gather, seeping down from the corners, crawling toward Kaelzar like a nest of dark serpents. He doesn’t move, doesn’t even blink, just watches me with a terrible stillness, every muscle coiled. It feels as though one wrong breath could shatter the cabin walls under the weight of his rage.
Watching my Godbeast so suddenly still and so utterly murderous, my own anger cools, replaced by a sharper worry: what wouldhe do to the man who wronged me in such a vile way?
No one wants to hurt Mael more than I do, but Kaelzar’s anger terrifies me. What would happen to him if he did? Would the Sphere punish him? Would it take him from me?
And what about Ryker? So oblivious. So trusting. He would crumble if Mael got hurt.
So instead of letting rage drive me, I let cold reason take hold.
“He didn’t go too far,” I say evenly. “That’s the only reason we let it go for now. We need to focus on what his actions mean, not?—”
“I willnotlet it go.” Kaelzar’s voice cuts clean through mine. “He violated you. Hetouchedyou.” His jaw locks, the shadows at his feet surge and flare, like molten lava.
I let out a harsh breath. “Thanks for putting that image into words,” I snap. “As if it’s not already burned into my head.”
He opens his mouth, but I lift a bandaged hand. “No. We’re not doing anything about it right now. What wearegoing to do,” I continue, steadying my voice, “is let me wash, eat, and get some fresh air.”
I list the tasks deliberately, something to occupy those dangerous hands before they decide on vengeance. Because reasoning through Mael’s motives clearly isn’t something Kaelzar is ready to do yet. To make the point, I swing my legs over the bed and wince, perhaps more dramatically than necessary.
It works. In an instant, the terrifying Godbeast vanishes, replaced by the overbearing caretaker I’ve come to know. Muttering under his breath, Kaelzar helps me down, sees me washed up and dressed in clean clothes—a loose shirt and soft trousers he must have found or stolen while I slept—then feeds me at the dining table in the next room.
After that, we walk outside around the cabin. Through it all, our conversations falter. Every topic I try to start somehow circles back to him urging me to use my magic to heal faster. I roll my eyes, snap at him, refuse, none of it seems to deter him.
“I’m fine,” I insist for the third time as we walk beneath the trees, my hand rests on his arm for balance. The vein pulsing at his temple betrays his irritation.
“You aren’t healing fast enough,” he says through clenched teeth. “You have power. Why are you wasting what was given to you? We have less than two weeks until the ball and after that, who knows when the third Challenge begins. We can’t afford to wait.”
“I’m not taking an innocent life to heal myself,” I snap back.
If I do that, then what have I been fighting for? If saving lives only matters when it’s easy or convenient, then it means nothing. And if it means nothing, then neither do I.
For a moment, he looks like he might argue again, but something in my expression stops him.
I study his face, still strange to see without the hood. A man as harsh as him should be indifferent to pain, his own or anyone else’s. He’s said as much, loudly and often. Yet his brow furrows, his jaw tightens, revealing a concern for my pain that I still can’t reconcile.
His scent reaches me next, dark storm and leather. When he steps closer, the air between us seems to thin, and I can’t stop myself from breathing him in. I want him to speak again, to hear that low, rumbling voice.
“How does it work,” I ask, “when you melt into the shadows? Where do you go?”
He glances down at me, perfectly aware that I’m talking only to avoid the real conversation about my magic. Still, he humors me.
“The shadows you see here, in this world,” he says as he looks ahead, “are only the surface, a thin veil stretched over the true depth of darkness. Beyond it, the shadows deepen, weaving together like a hidden web, spreading unseen. The realm of shadows connects everything: places, worlds… all that the light cannot reach.”
He pauses, his gaze shifting, as if uncertain whether to continue. “It’s limitless,” he adds quietly. “Though I haven’t mastered it deeply enough to cross into another world. The God of Night and Stars could. He could walk those depths and emerge anywhere—across cities, continents, even other realms. I can only return to the same world I entered from.”
His voice softens, quieter now. “When I was there, it was my escape,” he admits. “It seemed that no other Shadebloods knew how to enter it, and I never told Calista that I could. It was the one place noone could follow.”
A small sound of awe escapes me and his storm-gray eyes flick toward mine, as if searching my face for pain. Or maybe I only imagine it.
“I’m glad you had that sanctuary,” I say, though I know too well that I’m the one who took it from him when I bound him to this mess.
Kaelzar seems to have forgotten that small fact, or simply no longer cares, because, instead of pointing it out, his gaze lingers too long, stalling on my mouth.
My teeth catch my lower lip, and for a breath his chest halts midrise. The silence stretches between us until I release my lip and clear my throat, desperate to speak before the quiet starts saying too much.
“That sounds a little like Seraphina’s spacestep magic,” I murmur, lowering my gaze.
Kaelzar huffs dismissively. “Seraphina carves shortcuts through space, like slicing fabric with a blade. What I do is different. Shadow-walking means slipping between the threads that bind the worlds together. It isn’t just stepping into shadows, it’s surrendering to them. But the deeper you go…” He pauses, his eyes meeting mine. “The harder it is to come back. Years ago, I swore I’d master it or die trying.”
