"That what?" I demand quietly, never taking my eyes off Yasar.
"That only those with direct blood ties to the demon realm's founding can speak fluently," she finishes. "Not just any demon. Not even Shadow Lords, unless they carry the original bloodline." Her gaze shifts to me, calculating. "You can't speak it, can you? Not like he can."
I hate that she's right. Hate that Yasar possesses something I don't, despite my greater raw power. TheKara Dilrequires more than strength—it requires a specific kind of heritage, a direct connection to the ancient demon kings who first carved Kara Cehennem from primordial darkness.
Which means Yasar's bloodline is purer than mine. More direct. Perhaps even older.
The crystalline bars begin to resonate with the chant, humming at frequencies that shouldn't exist in normal space. Memories flicker faster across their surface now—not just Banu's first flight and her friendship with Nesilhan, but deeper things. I see the moment she learned about her family's death, the day she decided to stop running and start fighting back, the countless times she chose loyalty over safety.
Yasar's voice rises, layering multiple phrases over each other until it sounds like he's speaking three languages simultaneously. The ancientKara Dilprovides structure, but I catch fragments of something else woven through it—old fae binding words, and underneath it all, a third language I don't recognize at all. Something that might predate even the demon tongue, from before the division that created the courts, perhaps before the realms themselves took shape.
The prison shudders. One of the crystalline bars develops a hairline fracture, and silver light bleeds from the crack like luminescent blood.
And watching Yasar work this ancient magic with such mastery, I can't help but think about what Elçin said. TheKara Dilmarks those who can wield it as something special. Something dangerous. In the old stories, the greatest demon lords used the Black Tongue to forge unbreakable contracts, to bind souls across time and space, to speak prophecies into being.
I glance at Elçin, and something passes between us—an unspoken understanding. If Yasar can speakKara Dilthisfluently, if he carries that ancient bloodline, then whatever he does with this language becomes law. Becomes fate. Becomes inevitable.
Which means when he and the binding work together to free Banu, they're not just breaking a prison. They're writing something new into reality's fabric. Something that can't be easily undone.
"Again," Nesilhan gasps, blood trickling from her nose but her eyes burning with determination. "I can hold it."
The binding draws more from her with each word Yasar speaks, the silver-gold light intensifying until it's nearly blinding. I watch the chains tighten around her ribs through her leathers, see the pain cross her face as phantom hooks dig deeper into her essence.
"Keep going!" Elçin shouts, positioning herself defensively between us and the bubble's edge. Outside our protective barrier, shadow creatures have started gathering, drawn by the magical discharge. They press against the bubble's surface, testing its strength, hungry for the power being unleashed inside.
Yasar's voice rises, and now there's strain in it. Speaking demon-tongue isn't like normal language—each word costs something. I can see sweat beading on his forehead, see the way his hands shake slightly as he maintains the spell structure. The binding is channeling massive amounts of power through him, using him as a conduit between Nesilhan and the prison, and even his considerable strength has limits.
The second bar cracks. Then a third. The prison's foundation begins to destabilize, its structure compromised by the reversed flow of magic. Where it was designed to drain and contain, now it's being forced to release and return.
Banu slumps forward in her cage, but she's still conscious, still aware. Her eyes track our movements with desperate hope.
"Karesh ma'beleth vor'natum," Yasar intones, and this phrase I recognize. It's the final binding—the word that seals a spell, makes it irreversible, commits it to completion no matter the cost.
The moment the words leave his lips, every remaining bar in the prison fractures simultaneously.
The sound is like the world cracking open. The crystalline structure doesn't just break—it shatters into countless fragments that dissolve into silver mist before touching the ground. The memories stored in the bars explode outward in a wave of images and emotions and stolen moments, all rushing back toward their source.
Banu screams as centuries of stolen memories slam back into her consciousness all at once. It's not a sound of pain, exactly—it's too complex for that. Joy and agony mixed together, recognition and loss, every moment she's lived being returned to her in the space between heartbeats.
The binding flares one final time, so bright I have to look away. When the light fades, Nesilhan staggers, blood streaming from her nose and ears, her skin pale as death. I catch her before she hits the ground, my shadows pooling around her in protective layers.
"Did it work?" she whispers, barely conscious.
Inside the shattered remains of the prison, Banu slowly pushes herself upright. Her wings are still bent at wrong angles, her face is still numb with exhaustion, but there's life in her eyes now. Not just survival—actual life. The gray pallor is already fading from her skin as her own magic begins to reassert itself, no longer being constantly drained by the prison.
"Well," she says, her voice still like broken wind chimes but stronger than before, "that was significantly less pleasant than my usual Tuesday evening entertainment. Though I'll admit, the accommodations have improved somewhat."
She tries to take a step forward and immediately collapses.
I'm moving before thought catches up, my shadows catching her before she hits the ground. Up close, she weighs almost nothing—months of imprisonment have left her body wasted, her bones too prominent beneath skin that's paper-thin.
"Steady," I murmur, adjusting my grip so I'm carrying both her and keeping Nesilhan upright. My shadows form a makeshift stretcher for Banu while I focus on keeping my wife conscious. "Don't try to move yet. Your body needs time to remember how to work."
"How... considerate," Banu manages, her lavender eyes finding mine. "The terrifying Shadow Lord, playing nursemaid. Should I be touched or concerned?"
"Both, probably," I reply, earning a weak laugh that turns into a coughing fit. Silver blood specks her lips, and I feel her magic flickering like a candle in high wind. The prison may be broken, but months of torture have taken their toll. She's dying, just more slowly than before.
"Kaan," Elçin's voice cuts through my assessment. She's staring past us, toward the bubble's edge. "We have a problem."
