Revan could hear faint shuffling as his senses slowly returned. His eyes fluttered open to the soft yellow flicker of candlelight.
He reached out instinctively with his mana, searching for his shadow.
It was there—in the corner, facing the wall like a sulking child. Damn thing, he thought bitterly.
Then he noticed the tension in his limbs. His arms were raised above his head, wrists bound tightly with rope and hooked to a ceiling anchor. His ankles were tied together as well, the coarse rope biting into his skin.
He groaned. "Ugh... I feel like shit."
Out of nowhere, a shadow darted forward—fast, silent, brutal.
A solid blow slammed into his solar plexus, and the air rushed out of him in a sharp, choking gasp.
Coughing and gasping for breath, Revan hung limp in his bindings, the pain in his chest still burning.
From the shadows, a voice emerged—low, gruff, and cold.
"Now, boy... I'm interested in knowing a few things," the figure said. "And you're going to give me that information."
The candlelight flickered as the speaker stepped closer.
"Depending on your answers," he continued, "I'll decide whether or not you leave this room alive."
Revan's head pounded. His wrists and ankles burned from the ropes. Still, he managed to summon his trademark sarcasm, his voice dry and cracked.
"How may I help you, my lord?" he muttered, dragging out the last words like a bitter joke.
The gruff voice replied with quiet menace. "Look at me, boy."
Revan lifted his head, vision still blurry. A man stood before him, clad in dark leather armor, hood pulled back. His hair was long, streaked with gray and brown, and his eyes—jet black—seemed to drink in the candlelight.
But what caught Revan's eye was the pendant hanging from the man's chestplate.
Two twin shadow snakes, coiled around each other in an endless knot.
His blood went cold.
"I've been looking for someone," the man said, his voice calm but laced with threat. "Someone in possession of a very particular stolen book."
He took a slow step forward, the leather of his armor creaking.
"And wouldn't you know it—while I'm walking behind a pack of drunk sailors, they lead me right to you… using shadow magic straight from that book."
Revan's stomach twisted, but he kept his face blank.
The man crouched slightly, lowering his voice to a gravelly whisper.
"So now you're going to tell me: who gave you that book… and why they gave it to you."
"Look, look," Revan gasped, trying to sound more pitiful than smug for once. "I spend my time crawling through sewers—looking for ways into shops, places where me and my sister can, you know, find things. Magic books, tools... anything to help us survive. We've got no one but each other."
He took a breath, wincing. "One day, I was exploring and stumbled into a vault—some kind of old ruin. There was a skeleton down there, hands wrapped around the book. That's where I found it. I swear, that's all I know."
Mix a little truth in with the lies, he thought. Always works better that way.
But before he could even read the man's face—
Another lightning-fast strike slammed into his ribs. Revan doubled over, the air tearing from his lungs once again.
Coughing hard, he wheezed, "I told you everything... I swear..."
The man leaned in, face hard as stone, eyes black and unblinking.
"You lie, boy."
And that's when Revan saw it—what he hadn't noticed before.
The candlelight flickered across the floor, casting shadows in every direction.
Except one.
The man had no shadow.