Page 19

Kaia

Morning comes too quickly, sunlight slicing through unfamiliar windows.

My shadows stir restlessly at my feet, their movements sharper than usual.

Bob takes up a defensive position while I dress, his inky form rippling with tension.

Patricia hovers nearby, cataloging every corner of my new quarters with suspicious efficiency.

The sanctuary feels different in daylight—less oppressive, but no less alien.

I don’t remember anything before waking in the healing chamber, so every corridor we pass feels like treading between worlds.

Ancient magic hums against my skin, making my shadows twist and coil with recognition even as I struggle to understand why.

Steve and Carl dart between my ankles in erratic patterns, their excitement betraying my own carefully masked curiosity.

The low buzz of conversation reaches me before I see the dining hall. Heavy oak doors stand open, releasing the scent of fresh bread and something spiced and unfamiliar. My stomach clenches with hunger, but when I step into the doorway, silence falls like the blade of an executioner .

Dozens of unfamiliar faces turn toward me.

Battle-hardened warriors with scars like roadmaps across their skin, weapons propped against chairs like casual extensions of themselves.

Some wear practical leathers studded with metal; others bear formal robes with sigils I don’t recognize.

Morning light streams through stained glass, fracturing across the room in jewel-toned patterns.

But it’s their expressions that make my throat tighten, a mixture of awe and something that looks unsettlingly like expectation.

My shadows coil tighter against my ankles. Mouse presses against my calf, his warmth a silent reassurance.

“Little star.” Kieran appears beside me, his movement so fluid it seems he’s stepped directly from the air itself.

That strange ache flares beneath my ribs at his proximity, the same inexplicable pull I’ve felt since waking in this place.

His offered arm hangs between us, an invitation wrapped in ancient power. “Let me introduce you to everyone.”

“I’ve got her,” Finn interrupts, materializing on my other side with his trademark grin plastered across his face. But his eyes carry an unmistakable edge as they meet Kieran’s. “Unless you think formal introductions should come before caffeine?”

The room’s tension shifts, electric and dangerous.

My shadows freeze, waiting. Older warriors exchange glances while others grip their weapons tighter, reading the power dynamics with practiced ease.

Bob shifts into what I recognize as battle-ready formation, while Patricia’s frantic notation speeds up.

Even Mouse’s tail stiffens against my leg.

“She should sit with us,” a voice calls from somewhere in the back, formal and weighted with authority. “The balance clearly requires—”

“Balance can wait until after breakfast,” Finn interrupts, his cheerful tone slicing through the tension like a blade wrapped in silk. His fingers find mine, warm and steady. “Come on, Trouble. We saved you a seat.”

The silence feels heavier with each step across the stone floor.

Every eye follows our movement—some curious, others calculating, a few openly hostile.

The dining hall smells of woodsmoke and metal polish and that underlying current of ancient magic that seems woven into the very stones.

Bob tracks every face we pass, while Patricia’s shadowy form darts between warriors as if taking inventory of potential threats.

“Don’t mind them,” Finn murmurs, leading me past a table where scarred hands pause mid-reach for bread.

“They’re just excited to meet their mystical savior.

” His voice drops lower, with a hint of wickedness that tugs at something in my chest. “Though I bet none of them expected said savior to travel with an army of dramatic shadows and a judgmental cat.” Mouse rumbles something that might be agreement.

A few gasps ripple through the room at his casual tone. I bite my lip to keep from smiling, grateful for his defiant normalcy in this sea of reverence and suspicion.

Our table comes into view, and my heart stutters at the sight.

A space has been preserved between Malrik and where Finn was clearly sitting before, as if they’ve been holding my place all along.

But something’s definitely shifted since yesterday.

Aspen’s gaze skitters away from mine, his fingers tracing patterns of frost against his mug.

Torric watches me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle, heat radiating from him in almost visible waves.

The ache in my chest sharpens suddenly, a strange pressure that makes me press my hand against my sternum. I’ve felt this ever since stepping into this realm, but it’s stronger now, with all of them so close, like my body is trying to tell me something my mind can’t grasp.

“You feel it too,” Torric says quietly, his golden eyes fixed on my hand against my chest.

I frown, confused by his certainty. “Feel what?”

Before he can answer, someone calls from near the front: “She belongs at the high table with the Guardians.”

I glance toward where Kieran stands with others who radiate the same ancient power he does.

Their table sits on a raised platform, clearly designed to separate them from everyone else.

Morning light catches on the silver and gold threads woven through their formal attire, making them shimmer like living constellations against the practical leathers and battle-worn armor surrounding them.

“She sits with us,” Malrik says quietly, but his voice carries like shadow given sound.

The darkness around him deepens slightly, and the authority in his tone brooks no argument.

My shadows respond instantly, stretching toward him like they recognize something in his power that speaks to their own nature.

A man rises from near the high table, his weathered face twisting with disdain.

The decorative sword at his hip suggests ceremony rather than combat, despite the jagged scar bisecting his jaw.

“And who are you to decide where she belongs?” His voice drips with contempt as his gaze dismisses Malrik entirely.

“Some academy shadow-wielder playing at power?”

The temperature in the room drops so suddenly my breath fogs.

Malrik’s expression remains unchanged, but the shadows around him sharpen like living blades.

Several nearby warriors subtly shift their chairs back, recognizing the gathering storm.

Finn’s hand tightens around mine, a warning or reassurance—I’m not sure which.

“Mind your tongue, Callum.” Kieran’s voice slices through the tension.

He steps forward, his presence commanding immediate attention.

Light seems to bend around him, drawn to the ancient power coursing beneath his skin.

“You stand before Malrik Duskbane, rightful heir to the throne of Absentia. The last true prince of the shadow realm.”

A ripple of shocked whispers sweeps through the room.

Weapons clatter against tables as hands go slack with surprise.

Callum pales slightly, the scar along his jaw standing out stark against his skin.

I watch the revelation land, feeling a twist of satisfaction at seeing Malrik finally acknowledged for who he is, even as I wonder why he’s kept his identity so carefully guarded from everyone else here.

My shadows surge toward Malrik with protective curiosity. Walter, ever the unpredictable one, drifts closer to Malrik’s shoulder, pulsing with an odd purplish light I’ve never seen before.

“That’s impossible,” Callum stammers, his arrogance cracking like thin ice. “The royal line vanished when Absentia fell.”

“Not vanished,” Kieran corrects, his ancient eyes fixed on Malrik with something that might be respect or calculation—with him, it’s impossible to tell.

“Hidden. Protected. Waiting for the proper moment to reclaim what was taken.” His gaze shifts to me, weighted with meaning I can’t decipher.

“Some connections run deeper than even the oldest records suggest.”

Callum sinks back into his seat, thoroughly silenced.

The other Guardians watch with new interest, their expressions shifting from dismissal to careful assessment.

Warriors throughout the hall exchange meaningful looks, reevaluating everything they thought they knew about the quiet shadow-wielder in their midst.

I slide onto the bench between Malrik and Finn, feeling the weight of too many secrets pressing against my chest. The strange ache intensifies, resonating like a plucked string. I press my hand against it again, wincing slightly.

“It’s the bond,” Torric says quietly, leaning across the table. His golden eyes carry an intensity that makes my breath catch. “That feeling in your chest. It’s been there since Absentia, hasn’t it?”

I stare at him, momentarily speechless. “What bond?”

Malrik’s silver gaze meets mine. “An ancient connection. Between all of us.” His voice drops lower. “That’s what you feel, what we all feel. It’s been growing stronger since we got here.”

Finn looks between us, confusion clear on his face. “Hold up. What exactly are we talking about here?”

“The reason we can’t stay away from each other,” Aspen says softly, finally meeting my eyes. “The reason we all feel it when one of us is in danger. It’s not just coincidence, Kaia. It’s something older.”

My shadows twist anxiously, matching the knot forming in my stomach. Another revelation about myself I didn’t choose. “And when exactly were you planning to tell me about this… bond?”

“We only recently understood it ourselves,” Malrik says, his tone carefully neutral. “And we needed to be certain.”

The implications crash over me in waves. The constant ache. The way I feel drawn to each of them differently but insistently. The way my shadows react to their presence. “So what does it mean? ”

Malrik’s eyes flick to Kieran, who watches us from the high table with ancient patience. “It means we’re connected in ways even Kieran might not fully understand.”

“Great,” Finn mutters, but his usual humor sounds strained. “Magical mystery bonds on top of everything else. Just what we needed.”

My shadows curl around my ankles, uneasy and alert. Around us, warriors and Guardians observe every move I make, weighing me against expectations I don’t understand. And now this, a bond I never chose but apparently can’t escape.

I reach for the coffee, needing something, anything, to ground me in this moment. My fingers brush Malrik’s as we both reach for the same mug. The contact sends a jolt through my chest, his magic resonating with whatever this bond is in a way that makes my shadows flare.

“I think we need to talk,” I murmur, just loud enough for our table to hear. “About all of this. No more secrets.”

Four pairs of eyes meet mine—silver, green, ice blue, and molten gold—each carrying knowledge that tangles with my own growing confusion.

“Yes,” Malrik agrees quietly. “We do.”