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The darkness pressed harder on my shield, cracks appearing in the golden light. I gathered my remaining strength, preparing for one final explosion of power that would give the child her chance to escape.

“Now!” I shouted, releasing a blast of light that momentarily blinded everyone in the chamber. I set the child down, pushed her toward the door. “Run!”

She bolted, quick as a shadow herself. Two of the hooded figures moved to pursue her, but I sent spears of light to block their path.

“Your fight is with me,” I taunted, though my strength was fading rapidly.

Their combined attack drove me to my knees.

Darkness closed around me, suffocating, consuming.

I fought to maintain consciousness, to keep my light burning, but it was dimming, flickering as a candle in a storm.

When my vision darkened, the air suddenly changed—pressure building as if before a storm, followed by a dramatic drop in temperature that sent the cultists' chanting faltering.

Frost crystallized across the ancient stones in delicate, deadly patterns.

The darkness shifted, no longer the chaotic shadows of the cultists but something deeper, more controlled—ancient shadow magic wielded with precision.

The door exploded inward with such force that stone fragments embedded themselves in the far wall.

Through the dust and debris stepped a figure wreathed in shadows so deep they seemed to devour light.

“What,” said a coldly familiar voice, “do you think you’re doing?”

Hakan. The recognition came with a rush of conflicting emotions—relief, anger, confusion. Behind him stood Sarp, and behind them both, palace guards with weapons drawn, their faces grim.

The cultists froze, their attack faltering.

“My lord,” their leader began, “we were merely?—”

“Attempting unauthorized blood magic in my city,” Hakan finished, his voice deadly quiet. “With a child. Against my explicit orders.”

I managed to see Hakan standing in the doorway, Sarp a step behind him, all traces of his usual humor gone, hand on the hilt of a blade that glowed with strange blue light.

Shadows writhed around Hakan in serpentine coils.

His eyes burned blue-white with cold fire, his expression a mask of controlled fury.

“The old ways—” one cultist began.

“Are forbidden,” Hakan cut him off. “As you well know.”

His gaze found me then, kneeling on the stone floor, light magic still flickering weakly around me. Something flashed across his face—concern? Fear? It was gone too quickly to identify.

With a gesture that seemed almost casual, Hakan’s shadows lashed out, encircling each cultist in bonds of darkness that drew screams of agony from their throats.

“Take them to the dungeons,” he ordered. The guards appeared behind him. “I’ll deal with them later.”

“The eastern cells?” Sarp asked, voice tight with controlled anger. “The ones warded specifically for blood magic practitioners?”

“Yes,” Hakan confirmed. “And post our most loyal guards. No one speaks to them without my authorization.”

When the cultists were dragged away, Hakan crossed to where I still knelt, unable to find the strength to stand. He reached for me, then hesitated, his hand hovering inches from my shoulder.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, voice unexpectedly gentle.

“The child,” I managed. “Is she?—?”

“Safe,” he assured me. “I found her in the street. She led me here.”

Relief washed through me, followed immediately by exhaustion. My light flickered once more and then faded entirely, plunging us into darkness broken only by the ambient glow of Hakan’s shadows.

Without warning, he lifted me into his arms. I should have protested, should have pushed him away, but my body refused to cooperate. Instead, I found myself sagging into his chest, my head resting on his shoulder.

"Why?" I murmured while he carried me from the tower. "Why did you come?"

His arms tightened around me. "I felt your absence through the binding," he said after a moment. "It woke me. Then I felt your distress."

"And I was already awake researching alternatives to the solstice ritual," Sarp added, and followed behind us. "And we've found promising leads in the ancient texts."

"Enough, Sarp," Hakan said quietly, but not unkindly.

"The ritual," I persisted. I fought to stay conscious. "They were going to kill that child. They said it was necessary…for the Shadow Realm's strength." I forced myself to look up at him. "Is that true? Do you allow such things?"

His jaw tightened. "No," he said with conviction. "Child sacrifice was banned when I took power. These were remnants of my father's court, clinging to old ways."

"But similar rituals happen," I pressed. "You can't deny it."

He was silent while we moved through the dark streets of the shadow city, palace-bound. When he spoke, his voice was measured. "The Shadow Realm requires power to maintain its boundaries, its existence. Sacrifices of energy must be made. But never children. Not anymore. Not while I rule."

“The transition from your father’s reign has not been…smooth,” Sarp offered. “Some factions resist change, especially those who benefited from the old ways.”

We reached the palace, passing through the same unguarded gate I’d escaped through earlier. Guards snapped to attention, carefully avoiding Hakan’s gaze. I suspected they would face his wrath later for their lapse in security.

He carried me to his chambers, laying me carefully on the bed. Instead of moving away, he sat beside me, his expression unreadable in the dim light.

“I’ll continue the research, Hakan,” Sarp said from the doorway. “Seven days should be enough to translate the eastern scrolls.”

“Do it,” Hakan ordered without looking away from me. “And Sarp—no interruptions tonight.”

Sarp nodded and withdrew, closing the door silently behind him.

“Why do you care?” Hakan asked suddenly. “About a shadow child? She’s not of your realm, not of your kind.”

The question took me back to Kiraz’s birth—to the moment I’d first held her, stared into her eyes that were so like her father’s. The love I’d felt then had been immediate, overwhelming, transcending any boundaries of realm or kind.

“All children deserve protection,” I said, and chose my words carefully. “Regardless of where they come from.”

He studied me, something shifting in his gaze. “There’s more to it than that,” he observed. “I’ve seen how you are with the orphans in the courtyard. This isn’t just an abstract principle for you.”

I glanced away, afraid he might read the truth in my eyes. “Perhaps I simply have a heart, unlike some.”

His fingers touched my chin gently, turning my face back to his. “Perhaps,” he conceded, “I have more heart than you believe.”

The moment stretched between us, taut with unspoken truths. I could tell him now, I realized. Tell him about Kiraz. About the daughter he’d never known. The words rose to my lips, hovered there.

But fear held them back. Fear that he wouldn’t care. Fear that he would. Fear of what it might mean for Kiraz if the shadow lord knew of her existence.

Instead, I asked the question that had been building since I’d witnessed the interrupted ritual. “How deep does the corruption go in your court? How many still follow your father’s ways in secret?”

His hand dropped from my face, his expression closing. “Too many,” he admitted. “I’ve been fighting it since I took power, but five years isn’t enough to cleanse centuries of darkness.”

“And the ritual,” I pressed. “The one scheduled for the solstice. Is it like what I saw tonight? Blood magic and pain?”

He stood abruptly, moving to the window.

“Go to sleep, Ada. You’re exhausted.”

“Answer me,” I demanded. I forced myself to sit up despite the way the room spun around me. “I deserve to know what you plan to do to me. Are they connected—their ritual and yours?”

His shoulders tensed, shadows curling around him like smoke.

“I told you,” he said without turning. “I’m searching for an alternative.”

“And if you don’t find one?” I challenged. “Will you sacrifice me like that child was meant to be sacrificed? For the ‘strength of the Shadow Realm’?”

He turned then, his face a mask of controlled emotion. “Never,” he said, with such conviction that it sent a shiver through me. “I would die first.”

The words hung between us, unexpected and profound.

I stared at him, trying to reconcile this man with the one who had abandoned me five years ago.

Who was he really? The cold, ambitious prince who had chosen power over love?

Or this complex, contradictory ruler fighting against the darkness of his own realm?

“Why?” I whispered. “Why would you die for me when you left me without a second thought five years ago?”

A bitter smile touched his lips. “Who says I left without a second thought?” he countered. “Who says I haven’t thought of you every day since?”

Before I could respond, he moved to the door. “Rest,” he said, his voice once again the restrained tone of the shadow lord. “You’re safe here. I’ll post guards to ensure no one disturbs you.”

“Hakan,” I called when he reached the threshold.

He paused but didn’t turn.

“Thank you for stopping them,” I said. “Though I know this changes nothing about what you plan to do to me.”

His shoulders stiffened momentarily.

“I wasn’t there to save you, Ada,” he said quietly, though his voice carried an odd strain. “I was there to stop Azad’s unauthorized interference.” He paused, something flickering in his expression. “Though I suppose the result was the same.”

I frowned, confused, until understanding dawned. He’d seen what my light magic had done to the cultists before he’d arrived—how I’d fought with a ferocity that surprised even me.

The binding must have shown him my rage, my determination to protect the child at any cost. He’d sensed that I would have destroyed them all if necessary. The realization was unsettling.

Had he really felt that through our bond?

How much of me could he sense?

With that puzzling declaration, he was gone, leaving me alone with my exhaustion and my confusion.