The calls of the nightbirds over the ruins have died out, the songs of the crickets—muted. My hurried steps thunder down the desolate streets and draw the attention of the demons. The weight of my magical blade, its iridescent dark surface, and the pure arcane energy leashed inside it calm me.
Shadowfeeders don’t like my sword. They’ve attacked me reluctantly before, just to test out its power, but quickly gave up after I’ve wounded one of them. The creatures are smart and self-aware. They value their lives or whatever twisted form of existence they have and prefer to exhaust Shadowblade wielders with hordes of Tainted Ones. I bet their thralls will show up at any minute.
The city is big, and the ruins offer many hideouts, even from demons spawned by the night.
By Heroy’s spear! What was that? Have they taken to the skies now?
Something massive obscures the moon disc for a brief moment. It casts a winged shadow on the pavement, gone in the blink of an eye. Is it some new monstrosity sent by the Elders to torment us? Or some forgotten creature we’ve just awakened from its slumber?
This city seems to hide more dangers than a handful of Shadowfeeders.
The breeze carries the stench of Tainted Ones. They’re near. The creatures are mindless and easy to trick, but once they catch the scent of a living thing, they don’t give up the chase. They don’t tire; they don’t stop until they get whatever poor creature they’re after. I’ve seen what Tainted Ones do to their victims: the trails of blood and intestines stretch more than a mile sometimes.
Is the human with the Seelie bracelet safe?
There she is, slipping uninvited into my thoughts once again.
Just like the city around me, she’s a mystery. The woman gave me the impression of someone who can manage a tough situation, and here it is—another question to ask her next time we cross paths. Who or what taught her to be like this?
The humming of the ancient wards ahead interrupts those distractive thoughts. The white building ahead vibrates so intensely it would attract all remaining contestants sooner or later.
Smells linger in the night air, untainted by the stench of the horde. At least three passed here.
It’s her.
I halt in the narrow street, crowded with debris, and sniff the air like a beast.
She’s alive.
She does not smell like stables and manure like the jealous blonde female at the feast has accused her. Her scent is that of a hyacinth early in the morning—when the warmth of the day still hasn’t lured out its full aroma. But there’s something else. I throw my head to the side, take deep breaths, and frown. The human is not alone. Another far more intense smell swirls around her. A male. What does he want from her?
I let out a low growl and hasten my step.
It seems that these Trials just got a lot more entertaining than I have thought.
But the real fun will begin after. When I appear before my parents and the court, victorious and ready to take what is mine.
Long and patiently, I’ve been waiting and preparing for this opportunity.
We were so young when I first doubted if my brother would be a good king.
We were playing in Viridis’s gardens. Just like all kids, we were fascinated by all the colors and scents and by the way living things grow. Fencing with our wooden swords, we soon got bored and wandered off into the tunnels of lush foliage, exploring this little world. While I helped bees out of the stream, my brother was busy killing the blue caterpillars hiding under the thick leaves.
“Why are you killing them?” I asked, watching him turn them into blue stains with his wooden blade.
“They eat the pretty flowers!” he answered without interrupting his sinister work.
“But they turn into beautiful butterflies!” I countered, angered for reasons beyond my young mind. My brother didn’t listen to me. Only when I swung my wooden sword at him did he fight back.
It started with caterpillars, but his dark obsession with death grew over time. I knew it was the gloom inside him, the one everyone in my bloodline shares. Our burden since the Hex had been unleashed onto this tormented world. The void in his heart was simply too big, expanding and eating up the remnants of the joyful, smart boy he was.
“All living beings matter. Everyone, big or small, serves a purpose. You cannot discard some just because they appear too insignificant for you. You don’t see the whole picture. None of us does. To the Elders, they are all musicians in the orchestra of life.”
The songs of the crickets around me return as if to confirm Viridis’s words.
The tender hyacinth scent guides me to the wards-protected one-story house I’ve noticed before.
It’s surrounded by an overgrown garden. The crushed bluebells and stomped grass indicate they are headed to the black door of the abandoned mansion.
