Think, Kael.Think.
At that moment, the mark on my wrist burns with white-hot agony.I roll up my sleeve.The edges are angry, the darkness stretching along my forearm as if it’s stitched itself to the very fibres of my skin.
The roar in my ears begins to subside, replaced by an urge that isn’t mine:Draw from the mark, Lightborne.You know you want to.
Nyx’s voice slithers across my mind, sending prickles along my skin.The choice sits in my gut like a lead weight, dense and cold.It’s a fundamental failing of what Ishoulddo versus what Imustdo.A necessary evil with a price tag I can’t see, but know I will have to pay.
I can’t carry on like this, I need power.By Solan’s grace, I’ll face his wrath when I’m out of this mess, but I can’t have history repeat itself.
I place my palm over the mark, stroking the broken skin.It’s chilled to the bone.I close my eyes, reaching for something that resembles my ember.
Something answers—and it’s hungry.Not light.Not warmth.A pull, like the mark is drinking from me to feed itself.The cold starts at my fingertips, tiny fingers of frost creeping inward.An icy hand wraps around my spine, squeezing until the light within shrinks to a ghost.
The iciness is an inkblot on parchment, spreading through my veins.I draw a breath that washes over my senses in an unstoppable, frozen flood.
My eyes snap open.The world is silent, and razor-clear.Heat has vanished.I see only contrast—light as splintered glass, shadows as roads.Every dark corner suddenly feels…usable.
I shove my spectacles higher, blinking until the new sharpness tastes of salt.Seren walks ahead, her silhouette a hollow thrum against the rocks waiting in the dark.The light from my palm barely reaches her.
I’ve kept my distance since she killed Daren.Every time I draw close, the air pales and thins, creating a pull so heavy it bruises the silence, making the mark burn like a shrill, crimson ache.
The ground slopes as the rock gives way to a cavern the size of the Lampas Cathedral.Stalactites hang like inky spears; a vein of obsidian water cuts through the floor, catching the shattered pulse of light above.
A thousand veins of violet light web the rock face like winding roads, all making their way back to the heart’s pool.Their lustre thrums, a low-frequency glow that makes the cavern feel like a giant, breathing lung.
Footsteps echo—then stop—though Seren and I haven’t moved.From behind the black teeth of rocks, ragged figures emerge in ebony robes.A single lantern cuts the dark, its blue flame steady in the still air.
A hunched figure stands beside it.
Seren drops.“Yara.”
The woman turns, lifting the lantern to expose her features.Age has carved deep lines into her face, but her eyes burn with a sharp familiarity I’ve felt before.
“You found me, child,” she says, her voice roughened by years underground.“And the Light didn’t stop you.”
Shadows detach from the walls as more figures circle, their movements a soft, velvet rustle.They drop to their knees, bowing before Seren.The sight makes my chest tighten like a knot of cold iron.
“It tried,” Seren answers.
I follow her, my boots scraping the grit blanketing the floor.The woman’s gaze finds me and lingers.“So this is the Lightborne scholar touched by shadow,” she murmurs.“We’ve been expecting you.”
I freeze.“We’ve met.”
Then it hits me—the scent.Dried sage and lavender ground into wool.The voice.The Hollow.The woman who thrust a book in my injured arms.All of the pieces clicking together in my mind to form a cohesive thought.
“Indeed, a long time ago.”She smiles, her features cracking like old parchment.
“Why have you been expectingme?”
“You should know, Shadow-scholar.You’ve read the prophecy.”
“It doesn’t—” Thoughts scramble in my mind; information that used to be so easy to recall, now feels like grasping at smoke.“I’ve studied the text for years.There’s nothing mentioning a Lightborne touched by shadow.”
Her mouth twists.“Clearly your gods have been untruthful.”
The blasphemy should stoke the fire within, but it doesn’t.It’s smothered by the chill now coursing through my veins.My eyes stare through her, my face devoid of emotion.
She rises, stepping closer until she reaches for my branded arm.Her grip is a gentle, warm weight against the cold of my skin.“Light’s own child carrying a shadow brand, shall bridge the worlds by unwilling hand.”
