The words pierced like nails, final and eternal.
“You are a Shadow Lord now. Powerful. Untouchable. Whatever you want, you will take. Whatever you dream, you will shape. The world will bend to you, for the chains of men no longer bind you.”
I staggered upright, my chest glowing with black ringlets. My eyes burned, eclipsed in rings of obsidian flame. My body was remade, monstrous and divine.
Yet I was hollow. The warmth was gone. The love I had tasted—Amara’s kiss, Helena’s hunger, my father’s pride, Lazarus’ whisperedI love you—burned to ash inside me.
I had risen. Not as a son. Not as a brother. Not as a lover. But as theirs.
A Shadow Lord.
Chapter21
Lazarus
The shadows tore me from Salvatore’s side. One heartbeat, he was there—the next, gone—his scream shredded into the black until even the echo was devoured.
I fought the shadows. Clawed, thrashed, choked on air that wasn’t air. The dark was alive, slick and writhing, a nest of serpents winding up my limbs, sliding around my throat until my pulse stuttered. Then it dropped me—like a corpse tossed into a grave.
The ground caught me hard. It pulsed beneath my palms, warm, wet,living—like the flesh of something buried and breathing. The smell of blood and iron filled my lungs. I pushed upright, trembling, the dark pressing as close as breath against my skin.
Silence.
No Salvatore. No guards. No voices but the ones that found me.
“Lazarus James…”
The whisper came from nowhere and everywhere at once—low, venomous, a breath that grazed the inside of my skull.
“Son of Morgrath Severen. Born of his blood. Carved from his hunger. A Shadow Lord’s heir—and yet his prey. Your father will never let you ascend. He will bleed you dry, drink you hollow, and murder his own blood to remain the only one.”
Their laughter spilled through the pit—hoarse, metallic, the sound of rust being torn from bone. It scraped through the dark, then fell still, the silence coiling tight before it struck again.
“Do you know what he did to your mother?”
My chest seized. I said nothing.
“She was his sex slave. His whore. His toy in the Dreadhold. Years of it—until her body broke. Until her mind cracked beneath his touch. And when he learned she carried you, disgust took him. He never wanted a son. He never wanted you.”
The words slid under my skin like needles dipped in poison.
“So, he cast her down. Made her crawl through filth. She had to sell herself to survive. He could have spared her. But instead, he chose to ruin her. He wanted the world to see her in the dirt. He wanted you to be ashamed. To watch her crumble. To wear her shame as your inheritance.”
Their voices twisted together—part laughter, part sigh.
“He wanted you to hate her.”
Something inside me fissured. My stomach heaved; bile scorched the back of my throat. My fists clenched until nails split skin. Blood welled between my fingers, warm against the cold that seeped from the stones.
“He thought of you even then, Lazarus. He thought of how he could use you. He despised your existence, but he saw purpose in it. He would keep you alive. He would let you watch her degradation. And one day, he would harvest the rage, the shame, the emptiness inside you, and make it his. That is why he let her die as nothing—so you would carry her ruin as your legacy.”
The pit constricted around me. The air folded inward, pressing my ribs until my breath came in gasps. The shadows circled like vultures, their whispers lashing me a thousand times over.
“Severen has been shaping you since your first breath. Not to crown you. Not to stand beside him. But to mold you into the perfect offering. He wanted you starved, desperate, drowning in your own fury. He wanted you to bleed your whole life until you would crawl willingly into his jaws.”
Each word cut deeper—clean and merciless.
“Every loss carved you into the weapon he needed. Salvatore’s betrayal. Amara’s plight in this prison. Your mother’s shame. The hunger. The cold. The laughter of children spitting ‘bastard, whore’s son’ in the alleys.”
