The camp lay quiet under the shroud of midnight. Torches burned low, their flames licking lazily at the night air. Soldiers slept sprawled across the ground, armor stacked neatly at their sides, their snores mixing with the distant cries of owls.
But Victoria could not sleep.
The iron chains bit into her wrists, the cold of the earth seeped into her skin, and her mind raced with the memory of Damien's hand closing around hers, forcing her power into silence. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw his face—changed, hardened, cruel.
And yet… still him.
Her stomach twisted.
She was staring into the fire pit, lost in the flames, when she heard his footsteps.
Slow. Heavy. Certain.
Her pulse jumped.
Damien emerged from the darkness, his armor gone, replaced with a black tunic. His sword still hung at his hip, but without the gleaming plates of steel, he looked less like a warlord and more like—no. She cut the thought off. That boy was gone.
He stopped a few paces from her, arms crossed. The torchlight threw sharp shadows across his face, highlighting the hard lines of his jaw, the sharp glint of his eyes.
Neither spoke.
Finally, he broke the silence. "You haven't changed."
Victoria flinched at the sound of his voice, low and roughened by years of command. "You… you have."
A humorless smirk tugged at his lips. "So I've heard."
She looked away, forcing strength into her tone. "Why are you here, Damien? Why hunt me like some animal?"
He moved closer, crouching so his eyes met hers. The iron of his presence pressed against her like a blade.
"Because you ran."
Her breath hitched.
"Eight years," he continued, his voice dropping softer but no less dangerous. "Eight years, I searched. Eight years, I fought kingdoms, toppled barons, cut down anyone who dared to whisper your name. And all that time, you lived in the woods, farming, hiding, as if you could erase me."
His hand lifted suddenly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. The touch was shockingly gentle, at odds with his words. Victoria stiffened, every muscle tense, but she didn't pull away. She couldn't.
"You could have stayed," he whispered. "You could have been at my side. But instead, you abandoned me."
Tears burned in her eyes, but anger flared hotter. "I wasn't yours to keep."
His eyes darkened. "You were mine the moment they put chains on you. And when I freed you, I thought—" He stopped, his jaw clenching, his gaze dropping briefly to the ground. "I thought you'd understand. That you'd choose me."
Her heart twisted painfully. The boy she remembered flickered there for an instant, hidden beneath the tyrant's armor.
But only for an instant.
"I did choose," she said, her voice trembling but firm. "I chose freedom. I chose a life without chains, without collars, without… you."
The last word was barely a whisper.
Damien's hand fell away from her hair. His expression shuttered, cold steel replacing the flicker of warmth.
"You think you can survive without me? You think anyone will let you live freely when they know what you are?" He leaned closer, his breath hot against her ear. "You can't control your power, Victoria. You're dangerous. To them. To yourself."
She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting the sting of his words. Because deep down, she knew he was right. The memory of her burned farm, of light spilling out of her in violent waves, still haunted her.
But she forced herself to whisper back, "Better dangerous and free than safe and chained."
His hand shot forward, gripping her chin, forcing her to look at him. His eyes blazed, not with rage, but with something worse—something desperate.
"Don't lie to yourself," he growled. "You were happiest when you were with me."
Her tears finally fell. She shook her head, voice breaking. "I was happiest when you were still the boy I knew. The boy who protected me. Not this… monster."
For the first time, Damien flinched.
The word struck him like a blade, and for a heartbeat, she saw it—the wound beneath the armor, the hollow carved in him when she left.
But then it was gone. His mask snapped back into place.
He released her abruptly, standing tall once more, his voice cold and final. "You'll see the truth soon enough. You can fight me, you can hate me, but you'll never escape me again."
He turned sharply, his cape brushing against the dirt as he strode back toward his tent.
Victoria sagged against the stake, her chest heaving, chains rattling as her hands shook.
Her tears blurred the firelight until it became nothing but gold streaks in the dark.
Eight years ago, she had loved him like a brother. Eight years ago, she had trusted him with her life.
Now… she didn't know what he was.
But she knew one thing:
If she didn't master her power—if she didn't learn to break these chains—Damien would keep her until there was nothing left of Victoria, nothing left of the girl who had dreamed of freedom.
Only a shadow.