Dawn never came.
The sky was a sheet of dull iron, as if the sun had decided the ashes weren't worth touching.
Kael stood at the edge of the square.
The chapel behind him looked smaller now, as if it had already forgotten him.
The book was warm in his hand.
The mark in his palm still throbbed, each pulse a quiet reminder of what he had done.
He kept seeing the shadows in his mind—
The way they had moved.
The way they had obeyed without hesitation.
It hadn't been skill.
It had been instinct.
Borrowed instinct.
That made him uneasy.
He turned his back on the ruins and started walking.
The land beyond the village was a patchwork of dry grass and blackened trees.
Wind whispered through the scorched branches.
Every few steps, his bare foot landed on something sharp—a nail, a splintered bone, the brittle shard of someone's life.
He didn't look back.
If he did, the weight of it all might crush him.
His breath misted faintly in the cold air.
The sun should have risen by now, yet the light was thin, weak… as if the world itself was holding back.
An hour passed.
The hunger in his stomach gnawed at him.
The hunger in his chest—different, colder—stirred whenever his eyes lingered on a shadow too long.
It wasn't natural.
It was waiting.
The book's voice returned, quiet as breath.
"You should know the first rule."
Kael slowed his pace.
"Rule?"
"The shadow is not yours. It is borrowed."
He frowned.
"I used it. I controlled it."
"No. You guided it. It obeyed because you let it feed."
The wind seemed to fade, as if the trees were listening.
"Feed on what?"
The voice was patient.
"On fear. Yours… or theirs."
Kael stopped walking.
He replayed the fight in his mind—
The fear that had locked his chest like a vise.
The terror in the men's eyes before the shadows struck.
That was why it had felt stronger.
"And if there's no fear?"
"Then the shadow sleeps. You will find it harder to wake."
The words sank into him like cold water.
So the power wasn't his. Not really.
It needed something—an emotion sharp enough to bleed into the dark.
He hated that.
He hated needing anything but himself.
A branch cracked somewhere to his left.
Kael froze.
He crouched low, scanning the blackened grove.
Another sound—closer now.
A dragging step.
A faint clink of metal.
A figure emerged from the trees.
It was tall, wrapped in scraps of leather and chainmail.
Its head was wrong—too narrow, too long.
The face was hidden beneath a mask of scorched iron.
Its shoulders rose and fell in slow, deliberate breaths.
In its hands was a spear, the blade glinting faintly blue even in the dull light.
Kael's mark burned.
The shadow at his feet shivered, as if sensing prey.
Fear was already in him.
The shadow responded, curling up his calves like smoke.
The voice returned, sharper this time.
"Guide it. Feed it. Or die."
The figure moved with sudden speed.
Kael threw himself aside, the spear biting into the dirt where he had stood.
He rolled to his feet, heart hammering.
The shadow surged to his hands, shaping into a short blade.
It was thin, almost fragile-looking—like glass stretched too far—
But it felt solid in his grip.
He slashed at the figure's arm.
The shadow-blade cut through the leather as if it weren't there.
A black wound opened, hissing faintly, the edges curling inward like burnt paper.
The masked head turned toward him.
No sound.
No hesitation.
It charged again.
Kael's fear spiked—
And the shadow bloomed, thickening around his arms, sharpening the blade into something heavier.
The next thrust came fast.
Kael ducked under it, feeling the cold rush of metal skim the top of his head.
He drove the weapon upward, aiming for the gap beneath the mask.
The point struck home.
The figure jerked once, then collapsed without a sound.
Kael staggered back, breathing hard.
The shadow slipped away, draining into the ground like water through cracks.
The mark in his palm pulsed once, slow and steady.
"First rule: Fear is fuel. Without it, you are nothing."
The voice faded.
Kael stared at the corpse.
The spear lay beside it, the blue light fading from the blade.
He reached for it.
The leather wrapping was worn, the shaft scarred with old cuts, but it was sturdy.
He spun it once in his hands—
It felt right.
He glanced at the trees ahead.
The land sloped downward, vanishing into mist.
Somewhere beyond, there had to be people. Shelter. Food.
But also danger.
The thought should have made him nervous.
Instead, he felt the shadows shift at his feet, like they were smiling.
Kael set his jaw.
If fear was the key, he would learn to master it.
And if the shadow wanted to feed…
He would make sure it never went hungry.