Page 88 of Darkness Births the Stars #1

CHAPTER

THE GOLDEN DAYS OF LYRHEIM

Noctis

T he Human is back.”

Masir’s smooth voice distracted me just enough that I reacted too late.

The war hammer struck, knocking my sword from my hand and crashing into my arm with a sickening crunch.

Bone shattered. I slammed into the ground, the cold, unforgiving floor of the training hall sending a jolt of agony through my body.

Fuck. I lay on the icy black stone, struggling to breathe through the excruciating pain as the edges of my vision darkened. Strands of Air and Water magic flowed into me, numbing my injured limb. Though I lacked true healing abilities, I could at least dull the pain.

A broad face loomed over me, square teeth bared in unconcealed glee. “No use trying to heal that, Master,” Galator said, his voice a rumbling growl. “You’ll have to remake that arm.”

I cursed, my stomach churning at the sight of mangled flesh and glistening bone shards protruding from my arm. Blood oozed from the wound, pooling beneath me. Galator was right; the arm was beyond saving .

The giant Anima’s massive frame cast a shadow over me. “It will be easier if you—”

“I know,” I snapped, more annoyed at myself than at him.

Training with Galator without relying on my powers had given me an edge on the battlefield, but it required all my skill and concentration.

Physical bodies were an odd thing; we could remake them in any way we wanted, gifting ourselves the strength of impressive muscles.

Yet without regular use, building endurance and reflexes, they were merely a facade.

“Get my sword,” I commanded, bracing for the drain on my magic remaking my arm would cost.

Galator’s heavy steps returned swiftly. He brought down my sword with unrelenting force, severing my crushed limb in one brutal stroke.

My body convulsed, a groan escaping me as sharp agony pierced through the numbing magic.

My surviving hand shifted into claws, leaving furrows in the ground.

Eyes closed, I reached deep into the well of my power, summoning strands of Darkness that merged into a new arm, indistinguishable from the one I had lost. A flash of dark fire incinerated the gruesome remains, the smell of burning flesh filling the air.

After a few deep breaths, I sat up and flexed my fingers, the feeling in them returning with an uncomfortable prickle. Curse it! This would set me back moons in my training.

“At least it was your arm and not your head,” Masir commented from the door. I rose, my face twisted in a grimace. Not a welcome thought. While it wouldn’t kill me, it would force me into my spirit form, and I didn’t want to imagine the pain.

“Forgive me, I didn’t mean to distract you,” Masir added quickly, wilting under the dark force of my gaze.

“He’s been distracted all morning, even before you arrived,” Galator interjected. “For days, to be honest. ”

Knowing the giant was right, I didn’t reprimand him for his bluntness. I had always allowed him the freedom to criticize me, at least in private. Without his help, managing my more unruly servants would be impossible.

The Anima chose themselves which Aurea to follow, so those in my service were the more unconventional ones.

Rebels. Troublemakers. Those whose powers or personalities didn’t fit into Lyrheim’s flawless light.

Forging them into the form I envisioned required relentless will and a touch of ruthlessness.

That was why I had made Galator, who had no qualms about being brutal, my second-in-command.

He thrived in the harsh north, finding purpose in the strength I demanded.

I knew the fierce Anima resented sharing the position with Masir, but to achieve my goals, I needed both their unique traits. Masir’s sharp mind rivaled my own.

“Anything we should know?” he asked now, his gaze curious as I picked up my sword and joined him. He had noticed my deepened melancholy over the past few days, ever since the news of my brother and Baradaz’s upcoming nuptials had reached our remote stronghold.

I shook my head, unwilling to discuss this even with my most trusted servants. Not when the mere thought of her filled me with so much anger and self-disgust. Thankfully, they were too clever to pry.

“No, nothing that concerns our plans,” I said, cleaning my blade with a surge of magic before sheathing it. I considered changing my clothes, but decided the dark leather armor I wore for training was fine, only closing the tears left by Galator’s attack. “Now, tell me what the Human wants.”

Masir’s mouth twisted into a sarcastic smile, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “What do they always want? More power. More lyr -stones. ”

Galator groaned. “If you don’t need me, I’ll leave you to it. I can’t stand the stench of Humans.”

Masir laughed, the sound echoing off the stone walls as we followed the rough-hewn corridor leading into the main part of the underground fortress.

The ceiling was low here, barely higher than Galator’s head.

Flickering torches cast dancing shadows, lighting our path.

“Perhaps you should try talking to them instead of just growling. They always piss themselves in fear in your presence.”

Galator bared his teeth in a predatory grin. “But it’s so much fun to see them squirm.”

I waved him off with an eye roll. “Go. I think I can sufficiently impress one scrawny Human on my own.” The giant Anima hurried off in the opposite direction as I turned to Masir. “Which one is it?”

“Fenrik of the Frostfang tribe.”

The Anima’s answer sparked my curiosity.

Of all the Northern chieftains who had sought my favor over the years, eager for power and wealth, he was by far the most intriguing.

Wiry rather than tall and broad-shouldered like many of the Humans living in the harsh north, he had pale blue eyes that gleamed with a cunning light.

He had become the thane of his people through a mix of clever alliances and occasional backstabbing.

When he first showed up at my fortress, his audacity had impressed me, and I had given him one of the lyr -stones Masir and I had infused with Chaos magic.

It would be interesting to see how he had used it.

In unexpected ways, it seemed. I felt it the moment we entered the great hall at the heart of my northern dwelling: the distinctive whiff of Chaos, clinging to the young thane’s skin.

Fenrik’s eyes were no longer a pale blue but a glowing amber, reminding me of one of the snow-wolves hunting on the plains.

He dropped to his knees the moment he caught sight of me, lowering his head in deference. “My lord,” he exclaimed, his voice mellow. “Thank you for granting me the honor of your presence.”

My eyes met Masir’s as I stepped around Fenrik, a whisper of my shadows in the air.

The arched ceiling of the hall, built from ice and dark stone, was breathtaking.

The ice that spanned between the stone columns was so thin that it let in a bluish light, casting an ethereal glow.

Unlike the simple rooms we used for training and storage, I had sunk a lot of my power into the creation of the hall and the main corridors.

Beautiful golden veins gleamed in the stone walls and floors, leading every visitor here.

The intricate patterns pulsed with a life of their own, proof of the power I commanded.

I was the unchallenged lord of the northern domain, and I ensured my subjects knew it when they were in my presence.

I sat down on the deceptively simple stool on the raised dais at one end of the hall.

Not a throne. Not quite. Some lines I was still reluctant to cross; some bridges I had not burned yet.

Fenrik didn’t notice such subtleties. His face held a mixture of awe and apprehension as he sprang to his feet.

I frowned. Something about his movements was odd. A grace I had never noticed before, a grace definitely… not Human.

“My lord,” he said. “As you know, I am very grateful for your support. Without your generosity, neither I nor my people would be where we are. That is why I dare to ask for your help once more. I have recently become the leader of the Icewind tribe, and feeding so many has become a challenge. With another lyr -stone—”

“How did that happen?” I interrupted, idly playing with a strand of my shadows. The dark tendrils twisted and coiled around my fingers. “You becoming their leader?”

“He killed their previous thane,” Masir interjected with a laugh from his place at the foot of the dais .

“He was an incompetent fool, leading his people into a battle they could not win because they were starving.” Fenrik’s expression remained composed as he bowed again, though a flicker of pride crossed his features.

At least he was not attempting to lie to me.

“My lord, if we had another lyr -stone, we could—”

“Kill some more chieftains?” The darkness around me deepened with my annoyance, the shadows thickening and swirling like a gathering storm. “Your foolish mortal squabbles are hardly worth my time.”

While I felt a certain responsibility for the Humans who had settled in the barren plains of the north, a strange sense of kinship at the stubborn ingenuity it took to survive here, I was not one of those benevolent fools down in Lyrheim.

It would take more than a pretty plea and a few bows to secure my support.

“No. No.” Fenrik raised his hands in a placating gesture, his eyes flicking to the shadows twisting around me.

He took a deep breath and pulled something from his fur-lined tunic.

Copper-haired head bowed low, he hesitantly approached, holding up his palm.

“I needed to feed my people,” he said. “The lyr -stone helped me create this.”

I examined the heap of small grains in his hand, their smooth surface contrasting sharply with his rough, calloused skin. “What is that?” I asked, curiosity piqued.