"No!" Thorne's face contorts. "They belong to me!"
"Shadows don't belong to anyone," I say as understanding flows through me. "They choose. They always have."
One by one, the corrupted shadows break free. Patricia and Linda weave between them, easing their pain, while Finnick disrupts the last of Thorne's hold with Steve and Carl's help. Even the newest shadows join in, offering strength to their wounded kin.
The freed shadows gather around me, their gratitude and growing anger palpable. Each pulse of the Heart strengthens our connection. "Together?" I ask softly, feeling their unanimous response ripple through the air.
Every shadow moves at once, their combined power surging through the arena like a tide of liquid night. Thorne staggers back, his control shattered. Then his expression twists into something desperate and cruel.
"This little victory means nothing!" Dark energy crackles around him, tainted and wrong. "I think it's time you meet some very old friends."
The temperature plummets as darkness pools at his feet—not shadows, but something that fills me with dread. "You and your precious shadows," his voice sounds unnatural. "I wonder how they'll fare against creatures that feed on shadow itself."
Skeletal figures form in the writhing darkness, their hollow eyes burning with pale, hungry light. My shadows press closer, their movements uncertain. Even Bob ripples with unease.
"Kaia," Malrik's voice is tight with alarm. "He's drawing power from somewhere else. Something ancient."
The memories rise unbidden—of the night I first met Thorne, and that night so long ago, filled with shadows and screams and my parents' final sacrifice.
"Nightwraiths."
Chapter 69
Kaia
"Nightwraiths," I whisper, the word falling from my lips like a curse. Around me, my shadows tremble with remembered terror. These are the creatures that forced their sacrifice, that made them bind their souls to the Heart of Eternity to protect me. And now, they face that same threat again.
Mouse's growl deepens into something ancient and deadly, a sound that carries centuries of remembered battle.
"Those are—" Finn's voice cracks. "Those are the things that nearly killed us last time? The ones that literally feed on shadows?"
"Those ones," Malrik confirms grimly, his power coiling tighter around him like a shield of silver light. "But these aren't just shadow-eaters now. They're executioners, coming to finish what they started centuries ago.”
The arena darkens as the torches along the walls sputter and die. But this isn't the comfortable darkness my shadows thrive in—this is something older, something wrong. The air grows and each breath becomes a struggle against invisible weight. Atwisted chorus of whispers fills the space, like voices speaking in a language made of nightmares.
My shadows press closer, their movements carrying the weight of the ancient memory. Bob stands like a general preparing for a last stand. Patricia's methodical movements become sharp, precise—a warrior remembering her final battle. Even Finnick's chaos takes on a deadly purpose.
The Nightwraiths fully take shape in the corrupted darkness, their skeletal forms more solid than I remember. Hollow eyes burn with pale, hungry light as they encircle us, their movements liquid and predatory. Each one filled with Thorne's tainted magic, bound to his will in a way that makes my guardians recoil with grief and fury.
Thorne's laughter echoes unnaturally through the arena. "You thought freeing a few shadows made you powerful?" His voice drips with cruel delight. "This should be fun."
The words hit hard. My shadows move forward in protective fury, but the Nightwraiths are faster. Their claws tear through our defenses like paper, and each strike does more than drain power—it threatens to unravel the very bonds that hold their souls to mine.
"Finn!" I shout over the chaos, struggling to maintain the defensive barrier as they reform around me, refusing to yield. "We need a plan!"
"Working on it!" He hurls bursts of chaos magic at the advancing wraiths, the explosions of light creating brief gaps in their ranks. But more pour in to fill the spaces, their hunger insatiable. "But I'm pretty sure this isn't a fix-it-with-sparkles situation!"
Malrik snarls beside me, his own shadow magic surging forward to reinforce our faltering defenses. His silver eyes blaze with barely contained fury. "Focus, Kaia! They trust you—they chose you!"
"I'm trying!" Sweat beads on my forehead as I push harder, feeling the toll of each attack not just in my magic but in my soul. The Heart of Eternity hums weakly against my skin, its warmth flickering like a candle in a storm. Each time the wraiths' claws tear through my shadow’s forms, I feel their pain, their determination not to fail me.
Mouse launches himself into the fray, his form growing larger with each bound. His claws tear through wraith-smoke, scattering their essence, but they reform almost instantly. Their hollow eyes fix on him with ancient malice, recognizing a guardian of shadow.
"Your shadows can't save you this time," Thorne calls, his voice thick with triumph."
The wraiths surge forward as one, a wave of hungry darkness that threatens to devour everything in its path. My shadows rise desperately to meet them, but they're overwhelmed in seconds. Bob tries to coordinate a defense while Patricia attempts to analyze their patterns, but the wraiths are too many, too strong.
I push harder, drawing deep on the Heart's power, but something's different. Instead of giving me strength, each pulse feels weaker, the wraiths are draining not just my magic but the very bonds that hold my shadows' souls.
