Chapter 5 — The Golden Shadow
The figure who had spoken stepped out of the darkness, and Solvane's heart nearly froze. Recognition struck him instantly. He stumbled back, his instincts screaming at him to retreat.
The other Yellow Aspers did not share his reaction. Though they did not know the man personally—he was a rare sight—every one of them bowed instinctively. His presence alone announced what he was.
A Golden Asper.
Even Master Fog was about to bow when the man laid a hand gently on his shoulder and smiled.
"Not necessary," he said calmly. "Be at ease."
Solvane, however, could not be at ease. Fear burned in his chest, unlike anything he had ever felt. For he knew this man. Among all the Aspers he had ever encountered, none were more terrifying.
His name was Morvain.
And his power was Tenebrin.
The ability to bind with shadows—to control them, understand them, move through them, and even become one with them. By fusing with his shadow, Morvain could amplify his strength beyond measure. But there was a limitation: he could use only his own shadow, never another's.
Still, that restriction hardly dulled the horror of his power.
Morvain's sharp golden eyes dropped onto Solvane, his lips curving into a smile. Then he turned his gaze to Master Fog.
"Isn't it time for the little prince to rest? He'll need his strength… don't you think?"
Fog barked out a loud laugh. "Indeed! Indeed, you are right."
He called for Solvane, his voice firm.
"Do you remember what you once told me? You said: How can I protect the people I love when I am weak?"
Solvane's fists clenched, the memory cutting deep.
"The truth," Fog continued, "is that there is no shame in being weak. The only shame is in staying weak. Don't slack off. Work harder than the rest. Don't think you're better than anyone. And when you've trained until your body is broken—train harder. Don't just be stronger than everyone. Make them lose all hope of catching up."
The words thundered through Solvane's chest like war drums.
Then, with a sharp wave of his hand, Master Fog turned and strode away with two royal guards. Morvain led at the forefront, his figure vanishing slowly into the shadows of the corridor.
Left alone, Solvane dragged himself back to his quarters. He sat on the edge of his bed, but unease gnawed at him relentlessly.
His master had spoken far more than usual. Fog was a man of silence, sharp as a blade and sparing with words. Solvane could only recall one other time he had spoken at length. It was three months into his sword training, when Solvane still hadn't mastered the basics.
That day, Fog's words had been colder than ice:
"If you're not going to put in your best, leave. I'm not here to babysit a spoiled brat."
Tonight's lecture felt… different. He sensed something behind the words.
Driven by unease, Solvane rose from his bed and wandered the silent halls of the castle. His steps carried him deeper and deeper, until he stopped before a door he had sworn never to approach again.
The Vogue.
A forbidden gate buried in the castle's depths. It was said that any who dared approach it died where they stood, their last moments filled with their own screams.
Solvane remembered the one time his curiosity had carried him too close. His father's fury that day had been the first—and only—time Solvane had ever felt the full weight of his bloodlust.
And yet, here he was again.
He looked around. The corridor was empty. Silence pressed in.
Heart pounding, he reached out. His hand brushed the cold surface of the door, and he pushed it slightly ajar.
Instantly, a lance of light pierced his palm. Pain shot through him. Solvane staggered back, clutching his hand, before panic took hold and he turned and fled.
As he disappeared into the dark corridors, another figure emerged silently from the shadows near the Vogue.
A man covered with golden fur,in a white tunic stood with his hands calmly folded behind his back. His gaze lingered on the fleeing boy, unreadable.
And then he smiled.