Because this conversation, this truth, is already more than I meant to give her.
So when she turns and walks away, I don’t stop her.
I only watch her go.
Because I don’t deserve to follow.
Chapter 17
Kaia
Kaia
Morning comes too quickly, sunlight slicing through unfamiliar windows. My shadows stir restlessly at my feet, their movements sharper than usual. Bob takes up a defensive position while I dress, his inky form rippling with tension. Patricia hovers nearby, cataloging every corner of my new quarters with suspicious efficiency.
The sanctuary feels different in daylight—less oppressive, but no less alien. I don’t remember anything before waking in the healing chamber, so every corridor we pass feels like treading between worlds. Ancient magic hums against my skin, making my shadows twist and coil with recognition even as I struggle to understand why. Steve and Carl dart between my ankles inerratic patterns, their excitement betraying my own carefully masked curiosity.
The low buzz of conversation reaches me before I see the dining hall. Heavy oak doors stand open, releasing the scent of fresh bread and something spiced and unfamiliar. My stomach clenches with hunger, but when I step into the doorway, silence falls like the blade of an executioner.
Dozens of unfamiliar faces turn toward me. Battle-hardened warriors with scars like roadmaps across their skin, weapons propped against chairs like casual extensions of themselves. Some wear practical leathers studded with metal; others bear formal robes with sigils I don’t recognize. Morning light streams through stained glass, fracturing across the room in jewel-toned patterns. But it’s their expressions that make my throat tighten, a mixture of awe and something that looks unsettlingly like expectation.
My shadows coil tighter against my ankles. Mouse presses against my calf, his warmth a silent reassurance.
“Little star.” Kieran appears beside me, his movement so fluid it seems he’s stepped directly from the air itself. That strange ache flares beneath my ribs at his proximity, the same inexplicable pull I’ve felt since waking in this place. His offered arm hangs between us, an invitation wrapped in ancient power. “Let me introduce you to everyone.”
“I’ve got her,” Finn interrupts, materializing on my other side with his trademark grin plastered across his face. But his eyes carry an unmistakable edge as they meet Kieran’s. “Unless you think formal introductions should come before caffeine?”
The room’s tension shifts, electric and dangerous. My shadows freeze, waiting. Older warriors exchange glances while others grip their weapons tighter, reading the power dynamics with practiced ease. Bob shifts into what I recognize as battle-readyformation, while Patricia’s frantic notation speeds up. Even Mouse’s tail stiffens against my leg.
“She should sit with us,” a voice calls from somewhere in the back, formal and weighted with authority. “The balance clearly requires—”
“Balance can wait until after breakfast,” Finn interrupts, his cheerful tone slicing through the tension like a blade wrapped in silk. His fingers find mine, warm and steady. “Come on, Trouble. We saved you a seat.”
The silence feels heavier with each step across the stone floor. Every eye follows our movement—some curious, others calculating, a few openly hostile. The dining hall smells of woodsmoke and metal polish and that underlying current of ancient magic that seems woven into the very stones. Bob tracks every face we pass, while Patricia’s shadowy form darts between warriors as if taking inventory of potential threats.
“Don’t mind them,” Finn murmurs, leading me past a table where scarred hands pause mid-reach for bread. “They’re just excited to meet their mystical savior.” His voice drops lower, with a hint of wickedness that tugs at something in my chest. “Though I bet none of them expected said savior to travel with an army of dramatic shadows and a judgmental cat.” Mouse rumbles something that might be agreement.
A few gasps ripple through the room at his casual tone. I bite my lip to keep from smiling, grateful for his defiant normalcy in this sea of reverence and suspicion.
Our table comes into view, and my heart stutters at the sight. A space has been preserved between Malrik and where Finn was clearly sitting before, as if they’ve been holding my place all along. But something’s definitely shifted since yesterday. Aspen’s gaze skitters away from mine, his fingers tracing patterns of frost against his mug. Torric watches me with anintensity that makes my skin prickle, heat radiating from him in almost visible waves.
The ache in my chest sharpens suddenly, a strange pressure that makes me press my hand against my sternum. I’ve felt this ever since stepping into this realm, but it’s stronger now, with all of them so close, like my body is trying to tell me something my mind can’t grasp.
“You feel it too,” Torric says quietly, his golden eyes fixed on my hand against my chest.
I frown, confused by his certainty. “Feel what?”
Before he can answer, someone calls from near the front: “She belongs at the high table with the Guardians.”
I glance toward where Kieran stands with others who radiate the same ancient power he does. Their table sits on a raised platform, clearly designed to separate them from everyone else. Morning light catches on the silver and gold threads woven through their formal attire, making them shimmer like living constellations against the practical leathers and battle-worn armor surrounding them.
“She sits with us,” Malrik says quietly, but his voice carries like shadow given sound. The darkness around him deepens slightly, and the authority in his tone brooks no argument. My shadows respond instantly, stretching toward him like they recognize something in his power that speaks to their own nature.
A man rises from near the high table, his weathered face twisting with disdain. The decorative sword at his hip suggests ceremony rather than combat, despite the jagged scar bisecting his jaw. “And who are you to decide where she belongs?” His voice drips with contempt as his gaze dismisses Malrik entirely. “Some academy shadow-wielder playing at power?”
The temperature in the room drops so suddenly my breath fogs. Malrik’s expression remains unchanged, but the shadows around him sharpen like living blades. Several nearby warriorssubtly shift their chairs back, recognizing the gathering storm. Finn’s hand tightens around mine, a warning or reassurance—I’m not sure which.
“Mind your tongue, Callum.” Kieran’s voice slices through the tension. He steps forward, his presence commanding immediate attention. Light seems to bend around him, drawn to the ancient power coursing beneath his skin. “You stand before Malrik Duskbane, rightful heir to the throne of Absentia. The last true prince of the shadow realm.”
