Page 57

Hakan

P ain. It greeted me with familiar cruelty when consciousness returned, radiating from wounds that should have killed me.

I lay motionless, assessing my surroundings through barely opened eyes.

Unfamiliar ceiling. Scents of healing herbs and light magic.

The soft predawn glow filtering through shuttered windows.

I was surprised to feel good in this unfamiliar space.

Across the room, I spotted Sarp in another bed, bandages covering half his face and wrapping around his torso. He was deep in healing sleep, his breathing steady but labored, clearly still recovering from whatever injuries he'd sustained.

Not the shadow realm. Not anywhere I recognized. Had Ada brought me here after the battle? The last thing I remembered was taking Midas's golden blades meant for her, the searing pain when they'd pierced my body, and then her light enveloping me while darkness claimed my vision.

How had I not seen the trap? I, the Shadow Lord, master strategist, had walked us straight into Midas's ambush.

The realization burned almost worse than my wounds.

And yet, when that deadly golden bolt had sped toward Ada's unprotected back, I hadn't hesitated.

No tactical calculation, no weighing of options—just a bone-deep certainty that I couldn't let her die.

This whole thing was a total clusterfuck.

I pushed myself upright, biting back a groan while half-healed wounds protested. My shadows were weak, coiling sluggishly beneath my skin in faded wisps rather than the living darkness they should be. Vulnerable. Exposed.

The small cottage was silent and empty, but I sensed Ada's scent.

She was here, her light still lingering in the air and something else that I couldn't place—another source of power, very similar to mine.

Whoever had been tending me was gone, at least for the moment.

I rose carefully, testing my limbs. Functional, if barely.

My clothes had been replaced with simple linen garments—plain and sturdy, nothing like the ornate attire befitting the Shadow Lord.

Good. Anonymity would serve me better than title in what was clearly light territory.

I slipped outside, drawing my depleted shadows closer, their dark tendrils barely responsive.

I masked their signature. Dawn was just breaking, painting the unfamiliar village in soft gold.

Whitewashed stone buildings clustered around a central square, where early risers were already setting up market stalls.

Some kind of temple stood at the northern edge, marked with symbols I didn't immediately recognize.

I was glad when no one paid me particular attention—to the outsiders I was just another wounded man in a village that apparently specialized in treating them.

I kept my posture deliberately hunched, head slightly bowed, moving with the deliberate care of the recently injured rather than my natural predatory grace.

The village was waking now, smoke curling from chimneys while the market square filled with voices. I drifted between stalls, listening for information, for any hint of where, exactly, we were and how precarious our position might be.

"…messengers from the capital say Midas himself vanished in the border skirmish…" "…shadow forces retreated, but there are rumors…" "…princess of light, some say she was there when…"

The rumors had spread fast, way too fast. I filed away each fragment, constructing a picture of the aftermath. Midas was presumably dead, but I needed proof before drowning in any more conclusion. The shadow forces—my forces—in disarray. And rumors of Ada's presence, though no one seemed certain.

Lost in thought, I failed to notice the small form darting between market stalls until we collided. The impact was negligible to me, but it sent the child—a girl of perhaps five—tumbling backward onto the dusty ground.

"Watch where you're going, little serpent," I growled, instinctively annoyed at the interruption of my thoughts.

She glared up at me, utterly unfazed by my tone.

Something in her gaze caught me off guard—a fierce intelligence, an absolute lack of fear.

Dark hair framed a face that struck me as oddly familiar, though I couldn't place why.

There was something in the set of her jaw, the arch of her eyebrow that stirred a strange recognition.

"No, you watch where you're going," she retorted, and picked herself up with dignity that bordered on comical in one so small. "You're too tall to see what's down here."

I blinked, momentarily stunned by her audacity. Children typically fled from me, sensing the predator beneath the human veneer. This one stood her ground, hands on hips, chin tilted defiantly. I was instantly annoyed.

Something inexplicable tugged at me—a strange sense of connection I couldn't explain or justify. My shadows stirred restlessly beneath my skin, reaching toward her of their own accord when I forced them back.

Before I could formulate a response, a burly merchant lunged from his stall, meaty hand clamping around the girl's arm with bruising force.

"Caught you at last, you sneaky thief!" he snarled, and gave her a rough shake. A few small fruits tumbled from her pockets, confirming his accusation. "Time to teach you a lesson with the belt."

The child didn't cry out, didn't beg. She simply stared at the man with the same defiant dignity she'd shown me, though fear flickered behind the brave facade.

"Take your hands off her," I said quietly, the temperature around us dropping several degrees, releasing my shadows that flowed resembling midnight ink from my skin, "or I will orchestrate the symphony of your screams, conducting each note of agony while I extract your bones one by one, petals torn from a dying flower. "

The merchant looked up, perhaps truly seeing me for the first time. Whatever he found in my eyes sent him blanching, his grip loosening instinctively.

"She's a thief," he protested weakly. "Been targeting my stall for weeks."

"Consider her off-limits," I replied, and allowed just enough shadow to seep into my voice that his knees trembled. "Leave."

He released the girl as if my shadows burned him, backing away with the universal body language of prey recognizing predator. "Keep the mongrel then," he muttered, and retreated to his stall. "Not worth the trouble."

I turned to the child, expecting gratitude or at least fear now that she'd seen a glimpse of my true nature.

Instead, she regarded me critically, head tilted to one side. "You were nicer when you were sleeping," she informed me matter-of-factly.

I stared at her, caught completely off guard for the second time in as many minutes. "What?" I asked. I noticed how her eyes caught the light in a way that reminded me of someone.

"When you were asleep," she clarified, as if I were particularly slow. "Not so growly. Your shadows were softer, too."

My shadows, dark serpents beneath my skin, which I'd been carefully suppressing, stirred with interest at her words. How did this child know about my shadows? How had she seen me sleeping?

"Who are you?" I demanded, and crouched to her level despite the protest of my wounds.

She seemed to consider the question carefully before answering. "Everyone calls me Little Light," she said, her fingers fidgeting in a gesture that seemed strangely familiar.

"That's not a name," I pointed out, irritation growing at her evasiveness.

"It's what they call me." She shrugged, unconcerned with my disapproval. "What do they call you?"

"I've asked you a question first," I replied reflexively.

She rolled her eyes with theatrical exaggeration. "Then I guess we both got secrets."

"Where are your parents?" I tried instead, and looked around for whoever might be responsible for this insufferable child.

Her expression changed, a mixture of imagination and secrecy crossing her features. "My mama's busy with plants and light magic," she said, and scuffed her toe in the dirt.

Then she leaned closer, as if sharing a great secret. "But my daddy dances with shadows! Mama says he has two souls—one in dark places and one in light places. That's why I can do both! But he can only be in one place at a time, so right now he must be with the shadows."

She nodded with absolute conviction, then added: "I'm gonna meet him someday when he comes to the light side!"

I stared at her, momentarily speechless. "A shadow dancer with two souls," I repeated sarcastically. "How convenient. Next you'll tell me he rides on the dragon at night and brings you star candy."

Instead of being offended, she brightened. "Does your daddy bring you star candy?"

Something in her innocent question twisted uncomfortably in my chest. I wondered why I was even bothering interacting with her. "My father doesn't bring gifts," I said. "Only demands and disappointments."

She studied me with surprising seriousness for one so young. "That's sad. Everybody should get presents sometimes."

Before I could respond to this simplistic worldview, she darted forward, placing something in my hand. I glanced down to find a small, perfectly ripe peach—obviously stolen from the merchant she'd been targeting.

"For making your shadows better," she explained solemnly. "Aunt Iris says good food helps healing."

My head snapped up at the mention of another relative, but the girl was already backing away. "I gotta go now," she announced. "They get worried when they can't find me."

"Wait—" I started.

But she turned and disappeared into the crowd with surprising speed for one so small, leaving me crouched in the marketplace with a stolen peach in my palm and a bewildering sense of loss. What the fuck was wrong with me? I didn't like children, all of them were irritating.