Page 8 of Shadebound (Dark Fantasy #1)

S ix doors loomed in front of us in the stark grey welcome area.

All identical, towering from the curved wall of the candle-lit atrium, like they had been carved into the stone.

They had no signs, no markings, nothing to hint at what might lie behind each one.

Just six perfect slabs of blackened iron.

They practically screamed Welcome to hell’s wardrobe—pick wisely .

I wanted to touch all of them. Perhaps run around in a circle and see how fast I could go. But that went against the point of paying attention and protecting my brother.

Or pretending I was more mature than him. And not dripping blood down my spine.

So instead, I wandered with my eyes as I caught a soft intake of breath from Draven beside me. His shoulders hitched as he glanced around, and I slipped my hand to rest reassuringly on his arm.

The whole place was full of gothic archways curling up into shadows, chandeliers flickering with pale flame, and a pressure in the air like the bones of the building were watching me. Breathing me in. Judging . My own shadows curled protectively around my ankles, twitchy and agitated.

There were statues of dead men in armour, women holding swords, and a long-forgotten home that we all pretended we had a chance of saving. But none of it was as impressive as the silver-streaked podium in the centre of the space, holding up a marble-cut statue of Death.

Scythe in hand, hood obscuring his face. Nothing but tendrils of shadow and despair woven into the folds of his cloak. Surrounding the base were offerings: fruit, wines, meats. Prayer candles, magic stones in various hideous colours. And even some piles of money. Both gold and human currency.

The oddest offering was a porcelain doll.

It was boy-shaped, limbs jointed and perfect, as if made for movement it would never have.

It wore miniature black combat trousers and a loose shirt, leather boots laced with care, the scuffed toes dusted white from the altar’s stone.

Its hair was painted in a deep, midnight blue, the strands swept forward to shadow a face of pale ceramic.

The eyes—glass, bright, and the exact shade of neon that burned on old signs—seemed too alive, staring at nothing and everything.

Around its neck hung a seashell on a frayed cord, the faint shimmer of salt still clinging to its curve.

A siren, I thought, or at least made to look like one.

But why in the abyss would anyone leave a siren on Death’s altar? Least of all, a doll.

Do you enjoy your offerings, or do you think it pointless seeing as you cannot eat human food or play with toys? I wondered to the ever-present voice, knowing better than most just how... wrong the meats and things offered were.

Pointless.Your souvenirs are always so... perishable. Came the reply, burned into my bones with a delicious shiver.

As the wounds on my spine knitted themselves back together, I couldn’t stop myself from smiling. Even if I didn’t mind the pain, I rather enjoyed the icy-cold touch of Death-stained magic tracing along my skin.

I enjoyed the fact that he cared enough about one of his shadow minions to take their pain away.

Thank you. I thought, as Hightower finally stopped walking, and waited for us by the middle door. I’ll bring you a real offering at my earliest convenience.

Paying attention to the real world, I locked eyes with my brother.

Draven stood beside me, stiff as the statue, his eyes wide behind the mop of black-and-red streaked hair I’d trimmed just the week before.

He didn’t sign anything, but I saw his fingers twitch against his thigh.

He could feel it too. The wrongness. The quiet hum of magic in the walls that didn’t belong to us.

I wondered if he could feel Death’s presence, too. Or if it was just the regular gothic horror that bothered him?

Just ahead of us, the click of heels echoed against the polished stone. Hightower stood smiling at us. With feathered wings folded neatly against her back, and a clipboard tucked beneath one arm like she was checking us in for a doctor’s appointment instead of prison.

Her smile was the kind that made my skin itch with its emptiness. Like she could have sold you heaven and delivered hell instead and still grinned about it.

All it did was remind me why I rarely smiled when it looked so disgusting.

“Door three will take you to your initiation, and in the future also take you to all physical lessons like combat,” she said, gesturing toward it with two fingers. “Do try not to disappoint. I’ve been very eager to see you in action, Miss Draconis.”

That was it. No instructions. No briefing. Just a condescending smile and a flick of her wrist. My back still throbbed from where she’d burned me with that sickly angel fire, even as Death’s magic got to work.

I had to bite my tongue to stop myself from saying a bitchy remark as she vanished through the door first, not bothering to hold it open for us.

Draven glanced at me, and I caught the slight movement of his hands: Okay?

I nodded once. I wasn’t. But I’d fake it for him.

The moment we stepped through door three, the chill intensified, and Draven’s hand tightened on my arm.

The corridor was long and narrow, carved from seamless grey stone.

The only thing at the end of it was a single lift made of iron and bone.

Literally, with vertebrae forming the arch of the gate and what looked very much like sharpened ribs for the cage.

When we walked closer, I could see how the walls shimmered faintly, runes embedded deep in the stone like veins of magic.

The runes are the same ones carved into hell’s walls. Designed to dampen magic. The darkness whispered in my mind. You’re stronger than they are, but don’t linger for too long. They need time or blood to take effect.

I nodded my head in silent response, not wanting to lose focus on my brother.

The brother, who was indeed lingering, perused the carvings with that sweet sparkle of awe back in his eyes.

As we stepped into the lift, two silver metal cuffs snapped around our wrists, materialising midair with a crackle of energy that raised the hairs along my arms. Mine was snug and cold, covered in runes I didn’t recognise. Draven flinched as his clicked shut, but his was only plain.

More magic-dampening runes, I presumed. When I tried to call my power, it pushed back against me—my magic was still inside, but muted and slow to respond, as though buried beneath layers of stone.

That sudden resistance stripped away my nonchalance and left me genuinely unsettled for the first time.

Perhaps my bravado was... urgh , was not all true.

Perhaps I was feeling nervous .

Hightower’s voice floated in from nowhere, crisp and clinical enough to make me scowl.

“These will grant you access to the doors within the foyer, your dorm and the bathrooms. Any other door in the academy is currently locked and you are not permitted access. The cuffs also track your location, health, and energy levels, among other things. You’ll also use them to make purchases of supplies, or whatever else you might earn in the future.

And yes, we’ll know if you try to tamper with them. ”

She didn’t wait for questions or explain the other things . And it was with much effort that I tried to pretend I wasn’t curious.

The lift dropped before we could even steady ourselves, sinking fast and silently through solid stone. The air grew heavier. Thicker with cold. My shadows bled upward like smoke curling from my fingers, restless again. Strong enough, even with the runes clearly trying to quiet them down.

I think you were right, my brother signed . This place is a little creepy and... dangerous. It feels dangerous. Like how people say you feel, but worse.

My cheeks warmed at his description—not offended exactly, but stung all the same. Something about this place did feel... off. Not in the usual everything-here-screams-danger way, but deeper. The way the real shadows felt. Like they were dampened, but not weak. Perhaps like they were listening.

Or watching .

My brother was right. They felt like my magic, only... not. More wicked in ways that I didn’t want him to find out.

After a moment’s silence, we came to a stop. As I swallowed the lump of curiosity in my throat, the doors hissed open, and the world exploded.

It wasn’t a hallway. Or a classroom. Or even a prison block.

It was an arena .

A massive underground dome carved from obsidian and bone, ringed with high stone seats packed full of students—no, not just students.

Monsters . All kinds. Some wore the black combats, boots, and shirts that I knew were the Mors uniforms, thanks to their propaganda-like recruitment videos on the TV.

Some wore nothing but grime. Others had human clothes and wicked smirks on their tiny faces. No doubt just attendees for the fight.

Evil here to watch the fun play out.

At a single glance, I could sense them all. Shifters, elemental wielders, sirens, vampires and worse. All of them monsters brought from the darkest of tales—if anyone here was normal, they weren’t obvious.

There were no humans. Still nobody mortal like the man in town, with his odd softness and weak flesh suit.

My brother followed me out of the lift, and the noise grew worse. The crowd roared like a beast, stomping and shouting and laughing as they saw their two tiny prey animals on a slaughter stage.

The floor beneath us was cracked, uneven stone that was stained in places.

Covered with a layer of dirt and sand. The scent of sweat and scorched magic hung thick in the air.

Torches burned in floating sconces high above, casting jagged shadows that danced on the walls.

Strange glyphs pulsed in the stone at the arena’s edge, glowing faintly with a silver and lilac hue.