The fire crackled quietly between them, throwing gold and orange hues across the mossy cave walls. Outside, the lake still shimmered with faint traces of magic, as if the water spirit's meddling hadn't quite dissipated. Chris sat cross-legged near the flames, arms folded, eyes fixed on Damian, who hadn't spoken in a while.
For once, Chris was the one keeping quiet.
They'd made it out of Laughing Lake alive—drenched, embarrassed, and weirdly emotionally tangled. That kiss, while magical and forced, had stirred something between them neither of them had the courage to talk about yet. But Chris had noticed the shift. Damian hadn't snapped at him once during the journey back. He'd laughed—laughed—when Chris nearly fell into the mud trying to catch a rabbit for dinner.
Now, Damian sat across the fire, knees drawn up, his cloak drawn tight around him like he was cold. He wasn't looking at Chris. Instead, he stared at a flickering point in the flames like it might swallow him whole.
Chris waited.
And waited.
And finally asked, quietly, "You going to tell me why you've been brooding since we left the lake?"
Damian flinched—barely, but Chris caught it. The shadow mage sighed, dragging a hand through his unruly hair. "You remember that night in the town of ghosts?" he asked, voice low.
Chris nodded. "Hard to forget being nearly strangled by a banshee."
"You said you weren't afraid of my magic after that," Damian said slowly. "But I need you to know something, Chris. I wasn't just born with shadow magic. I was trained to kill with it."
Chris frowned, leaning forward a little. "Yeah, well, I figured that out when you melted that bandit's sword into his pants."
"I was trained by Umbraxis."
Silence dropped like a sword between them.
Chris blinked. "Umbraxis," he echoed. "As in the people currently hunting both our asses?"
"As in the people I once worked for," Damian said bitterly.
Chris stood up. "You're joking. This is one of those twisted pranks, right?"
"I wish it was." Damian didn't stand. He didn't raise his voice. That scared Chris more than yelling would have. "I was taken in when I was young. No family. No name. They gave me a roof, food, training. In exchange, I became a weapon."
Chris stared at him, throat tight. "And how many people did you kill?"
Damian looked up then. There was something raw and haunted in his eyes. "Too many."
Chris staggered back a step like he'd been struck. He couldn't look away. Couldn't breathe.
"There was one mission," Damian continued, his voice barely audible now. "They told me I had to assassinate a royal child. An heir to the throne of Solaria. Said it would tip the balance of power."
Chris felt the air leave his lungs. "What… what did you say?"
"I didn't do it," Damian said quickly, hands raised. "I couldn't."
"Who?" Chris whispered. "Who was the target?"
Damian reached into his pack and slowly pulled out something small, wrapped in an old piece of cloth. He unraveled it and held it out.
A silver pendant glinted in the firelight, marked with a crest Chris hadn't seen in years.
His stomach dropped.
"That's Elia's family crest," Chris said hoarsely. "She was… she is my childhood friend. My only friend before the academy. I gave her that pendant after she passed the royal entrance exams."
"I was sent to kill her," Damian said, voice cracking. "But I saw her reading a letter… it was from you. Signed 'Sir Giggles of Treefort.' She laughed. And for a moment, I remembered what it felt like to be human."
Chris sat down hard, the weight of it too much.
"I ran," Damian whispered. "I couldn't do it. I couldn't kill someone who still believed in good people. I couldn't kill a girl who still laughed at stupid nicknames. That's when Umbraxis marked me a traitor."
Chris stared at the fire. "You saved Elia."
Damian nodded. "I didn't think you'd believe me if I told you earlier."
"You were right," Chris muttered. "I don't know if I do."
They sat in silence again, broken only by the soft popping of the firewood.
Finally, Chris spoke.
"You know what the worst part is?"
Damian looked up, tense.
"I believe you," Chris said quietly. "That's the worst part."
Damian's breath hitched. "Why?"
"Because I've seen the way you hesitate before using your magic. I've seen you flinch when you hurt people, even when they deserve it. You're not who you were when they trained you."
"I'm still dangerous."
"So am I," Chris snapped. "I nearly got my entire patrol killed back in Aetheris because I charged in like a damn hero. We've all got blood on our hands, Damian. The question is: what do we do with it?"
Damian stared at him like he didn't know whether to punch him or kiss him.
Chris rolled his eyes and flopped backward onto his bedroll. "Look, I'm still mad at you. I probably will be for a while. But… you saved Elia. You saved me. That's worth something."
Damian whispered, "Thank you."
Chris stared up at the cave ceiling. "Don't thank me.
Silence fell again, but this time, it was less sharp.
Chris yawned. "If you tell me you're actually a prince next, I'm throwing you in the lake."
Damian huffed a soft laugh. "Definitely not royalty."
"Good. One of us being annoyingly noble is enough."
For a moment, everything felt… okay. Not fixed, but steady. And maybe that was enough for now.
Outside, the magic in the lake rippled once more—softly. Like laughter fading into the distance.
End of Chapter 9