**Chapter 12: The Shadow That Smiles**
The cave's green glow pulsed like a wound, the Starvein's hum a blade in Vaelreth's skull, whispering his name with a hunger that wasn't his. The stone altar throbbed under his hand, its etched spirals and eyes staring back. The shadow—formless, born of the Starvein—loomed, its voice a cold echo of his own. Kaelith stood tense, blood dripping from her wounded arm, her dagger a flicker of defiance. Jorath pressed against the wall, his warnings swallowed by the hum. Vaelreth's grin was a spark, sharp and reckless, but the Starvein's pull was a chain he hadn't meant to wear.
"You're losing, Shadow," the shadow hissed, its form rippling like ink in water. "The Starvein claims what it calls."
Vaelreth's laugh was a shard, cutting the dark. "Claims? I don't kneel. I break."
Kaelith's voice was a growl. "Vaelreth, stop taunting it. We're trapped."
"Trapped is just another word for interesting," he said, his eyes locked on the shadow. The hum was louder now, a tide pulling at his blood, showing visions: ash skies, bone thrones, his hands unmaking the world. His scholar's mind stirred—texts of ancient wounds, magic that thought. The Starvein wasn't just alive; it was a mind, and it wanted to play.
Jorath's voice was a rasp, barely audible. "It's testing you, Shadow. The keepers serve it, but you—you could master it. Or it masters you."
Vaelreth's grin didn't waver, but his pulse kicked. "Mastery's boring. I prefer chaos."
He stepped closer to the altar, fingers tracing its veins. The hum surged, and another vision hit: a city of glass, shattered by his touch, screams echoing his name. He shook it off, his smile tight. The shadow moved, not attacking but circling, its golden eyes glinting like coins in a grave. Vaelreth's fingers twitched, seeking a rune in the altar's stone. There—faint, buried, a spark of old magic. He whispered a word, tasting blood and ash, and the altar cracked, green light spilling like a scream.
The shadow howled, its form fraying, but the hum didn't stop—it grew, a voice that laughed with him. Kaelith lunged, grabbing his cloak. "You're breaking the mountain, you fool!"
"Good," Vaelreth said, his voice wild. "Let it fall. Keeps things lively."
The cave shook, dust raining, and the shadow reformed, stronger, its voice a blade. "You cannot break what binds you, Shadow. The Starvein knows your heart."
Vaelreth's laugh was reckless, but his eyes narrowed. Knows my heart? He'd spent years hiding it, even from himself, back when he was a scholar dreaming of a world that moved. The Starvein's hum felt like a mirror, showing truths he'd buried. He hated mirrors.
"Jorath," he snapped, not turning. "What do the keepers want with me?"
Jorath's eyes were wide, feverish. "You're unbound, Shadow. The Starvein needs a will like yours—free, reckless. But it'll burn you to ash."
Kaelith's dagger flashed, pointing at Jorath. "No more riddles. What's it planning?"
Before Jorath could answer, a new sound cut through—boots, armor, voices. Not the shadow's, but Varn's men, their shouts echoing from the cave's mouth. The bridge hadn't stopped them. Vaelreth's grin returned, sharper now. Two players on the board—Varn and the Starvein. He could work with that.
He whispered another word, the rune in the altar flaring brighter. The cave groaned, a wall splitting to reveal a tunnel, dark but free of the shadow's glow. "Run," he said, shoving Jorath toward it. Kaelith hesitated, her bloodied arm trembling, but followed, her glare promising a reckoning.
The shadow's voice chased them. "You'll return, Shadow. The Starvein always calls."
Vaelreth didn't look back, but the hum stayed, a pulse in his blood. The tunnel twisted deeper, and he felt the Starvein's eyes, not just watching but smiling, like it knew the game better than he did. For the first time, his grin felt like a mask, and the thought wasn't boring—it was dangerous.
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