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Chapter Twenty-Three

ELLIE

“Control must be absolute to be effective. Doubt is a contagion.”

Authority Codex

The passage swallows us whole. After the bright mountain sunlight, the stronghold's entrance plunges us into near darkness.

The air changes, becomes cooler, damper, carrying unfamiliar scents of smoke and oil.

Scattered torches cast long, dancing shadows across rough-hewn walls. Shadows that now make me flinch.

But I can't stop what Sacha did from playing out on repeat inside my head.

He moved through those soldiers like a living nightmare.

Darkness not just flowing but pouring from his skin, an extension of himself.

The absolute silence of their deaths. No screams, no chance to fight back, just bodies collapsing in his wake.

My stomach threatens to rebel again, bile rising in my throat for the third time since it happened. I swallow it back, tasting acid.

This is the man I’ve been traveling with.

The man I released from a tower .

A killer who doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t blink, doesn’t feel.

The guard inside tenses at our approach. I hang back, keeping distance between myself and Sacha, my body still remembering the horror on the mountainside. Then Sacha pulls back his hood, and I stumble backward.

It's as if someone has peeled away a mask I never knew was there.

The man I thought I knew dissolves before my eyes.

Where his skin had been normal, human , now darkness seeps out like living ink, creating strange, flowing patterns that remind me of ancient tribal markings.

His eyes change too, deepening until they seem bottomless, reflecting nothing, absorbing everything.

The transformation isn't just physical, it's like watching someone shed a disguise they've worn for so long even they forgot it wasn't real. It’s similar to what happened after he said he reconnected with his familiar, and then again during our argument, but not quite.

Not to this extent.

The guard's reaction is visceral. A sound escapes him that makes the hair rise on my arms—not quite terror, not quite awe, but something caught between both.

His weapon hand freezes mid-movement, his body caught in the limbo between combat readiness and surrender.

Then something shifts in his expression, recognition dawning.

" Shadowverin ," he whispers.

I don't need someone to translate for me to understand the reverence in his tone.

He drops to his knee, not the reluctant bend of obligation but the immediate collapse of someone encountering something beyond their comprehension.

His fist presses against his heart with such force I can see the tendons straining in his wrist.

Sacha touches his shoulder, and says something. It seems to settle the man a little, and he gets back to his feet. They talk for a second or two longer, with Tisera adding a few words, and then the guard seems to recover enough to lead us deeper into the mountain.

The narrow passageway gradually widens, opening into a vast chamber carved directly from rock. Torches illuminate a space buzzing with activity. People training with weapons, studying maps, preparing equipment.

A fighter stops mid-swing, her practice blade hanging forgotten in the air. A man drops a stack of maps, the parchment scattering across stone unnoticed. Conversations die mid-word. The clink of weapons ceases. The entire cavern falls under a spell of stunned silence.

First comes disbelief. Eyes widen, heads shake.

Then recognition. Mouths drop open, bodies turn rigid.

An older man presses a trembling hand to his mouth. Another backs against the wall. Some collapse to their knees without seeming aware they've moved. Others appear paralyzed, frozen between standing and kneeling, trapped in their own shock.

" Shadowverin ," someone whispers that word again, and it catches fire, passing from mouth to mouth in a building wave.

They're not just surprised. They're behaving like they’re witnessing the impossible.

I knew he was important back in Ravencross, but the reactions here … this isn’t just another man from their cause returning. This is something else. Resurrection made flesh, a revenant stepping out of legend.

The naked devotion on their faces terrifies me more than his violence did. These hardened men and women are looking at him like he’s salvation itself, while I still smell the copper tang of blood on his clothes.

A woman cuts through the chaos. Tall, imposing, with white hair pulled severely back from her face.

When she sees Sacha, she falters mid-stride.

Something flashes across her features. A thousand emotions battling for dominance in the space of a heartbeat.

Her hand twitches toward her weapon then falls away.

Her lips move, but I don’t hear what she says, only the gasp that echoes around the now completely silent chamber.

I stand frozen, caught between the monster I now know Sacha to be and these strangers who look at him with reverence and awe. Some of them are kneeling.

Actually kneeling .

The darkness on his skin moves differently now, arranging itself into patterns. He stands taller, his posture shifting subtly into something regal and commanding.

She speaks rapidly, words flowing too quickly for my limited vocabulary to catch. I recognize fragments, ‘ Varam ,’ and ‘ meresh ’, which means days I think. ‘Kavir’ is something about coming or arrival.

The rest washes over me, meaningless sounds that still carry intensity and weight for everyone else in the chamber. Then she pauses, her gaze turning to me, assessing and dismissive in a single glance, seeing a frightened outsider who doesn't belong.

She’s right. I don't belong here, in this underground fortress with these warriors who worship the shadows that killed six men in front of me.

I don't belong with a man who can speak words I don't understand and turn people inside out. My hands won’t stop shaking, no matter how tightly I clench them.

“ Navirak et kavir selurin? ” I’m fairly sure she wants to know who I am, but the tone suggests something more.

Sacha replies with something short and dismissive. The woman’s eyes widen slightly, and I catch a flicker of anger, before she schools her features.

“Lisandra was one of my lieutenants before my capture. She leads Stonehaven now. She’s taking us to somewhere more private where we can … clean up.” The pause tells me he’s not just talking about washing away dirt and sweat, but the blood, the evidence of what he did to those men.

I nod, not trusting my voice to cooperate.

The soldier’s blood is still visible on Sacha’s cheek and sleeve, a dark stain.

He killed six men in under two minutes. Slaughtered them with the black blade that seems to be made of the same darkness that poured from his skin.

And he did it without hesitation, without emotion, with an expertise that speaks of extensive practice.

Lisandra turns, leading us deeper into the stronghold. I follow, because what choice do I have? The crowd parts before us, their whispers trailing like a physical touch against my skin. I recognize one word repeated over and over .

Shadowverin.

I try to ignore it and focus on the stronghold. It’s almost exactly as I saw in my dream. Natural caves expanded and shaped into living quarters, training areas, storage rooms. People stare openly, some pressing fists to hearts in what must be a salute.

The reverence in their voices creates a dissonance that makes my skin crawl. They worship him for what I just saw him do, for the darkness that consumes life without hesitation. What kind of world am I in, where such efficient killing earns not horror but respect?

The deeper passages are lit by strange glowing stones set into wall niches rather than torches. Their soft amber light casts fewer shadows, illuminating the remarkable workmanship of these chambers.

I trail behind the others, my footsteps echoing softly across stone smoothed by time and use. These chambers weren’t carved in haste. Centuries of hands and tools have shaped the walls into something both functional and beautiful. Arched ceilings are braced with timber.

Eventually, we reach a quieter passageway. The hum of the stronghold fades behind us. Lisandra stops and turns to Sacha, speaking quickly, then reaches out to press her palm against the stone. The wall shimmers, the stone turning translucent, and then a doorway reveals itself.

“I thought there wasn’t any magic here anymore?” I speak before thinking.

Sacha’s head turns toward me. “This was developed long before the Authority rose to power. Wards will last forever … if they’re not broken. ”

My mind immediately goes back to the tower, to how he was trapped in the room at the top, and what it took to break the binding that kept him there.

The area beyond the door is larger than I expected. A series of interconnected rooms. The main area contains a large table surrounded by chairs, shelves filled with books and scrolls, and an area with maps secured to the walls.

It reminds me of the underground chambers in Ravencross. Adjoining doorways lead to what I believe are sleeping quarters, and hopefully a bathroom.

Sacha and Lisandra’s voices reach me as I look around.

“ Meresh kavir ,” Lisandra says.

“ Navirak et selurin kavir solavin?” Sacha’s tone makes it sound important.

I think it means something about arrival. Waiting. Something soon.

“She says that the rest of the Veinwardens will gather here soon.” Sacha must catch the way I’m trying to decipher the words. “They’ve been summoned here by Varam. He’ll arrive in a few days.”

Lisandra leaves, after a deep bow, leaving us alone in the chambers. The silence between us grows, deepens with everything I’m not saying.

“You’re upset.” He moves across the room to brush a finger along the spines of the books filling one of the shelves.

“You killed them.” My voice emerges smaller than I like.