The Silver Heir
Chapter Eight: Whispers in the Blood
The morning after the temple felt hollow. Pearl walked, but it was as though the world had been stripped of color, every sound muted, every step echoing too loudly in her ears. The encounter in the Temple of Shattered Light gnawed at her like worms beneath her skin. She could still feel the claws at her throat, still hear the hiss of her own reflection's laughter.
The villagers noticed. They watched her when she returned, their eyes wide, whispering behind doors. They had heard the thunder that rattled the hills last night, seen the smoke that twisted into the sky. And though no one dared ask her directly, their fear was heavy enough to suffocate.
Pearl withdrew into the barn at the edge of her family's land. She sat on the hay, head bowed, silver light faintly pulsing at her fingertips. It should have been comforting. Instead, it reminded her of the thing born from her reflection.
Her mother found her there.
"Pearl," she said softly, kneeling beside her. "Tell me."
Pearl lifted her gaze. Her mother's eyes were the same as hers—storm-gray, touched with the sadness of one who had always known more than she revealed. And for the first time, Pearl spoke the truth: about the temple, the pool, the monster that had worn her face.
When she finished, silence swallowed the barn. Her mother's lips trembled, but not with shock. With recognition.
"You've seen it," her mother whispered.
Pearl frowned. "You knew?"
Her mother closed her eyes. "We hoped you wouldn't. That perhaps the gift in your blood would outweigh the curse. But Kaelith… he has ways of waking what should have stayed buried."
Her chest tightened. "What curse?"
Her mother hesitated. Then, with a voice that cracked under the weight of its own truth, she said:
"You are not only heir to the moon, Pearl. You are heir to the darkness that sought to devour it."
The words struck like a blade. Pearl staggered back, shaking her head. "No… no, I'm not—"
But before she could speak further, the barn door slammed open.
A villager stumbled inside, his face drained of blood.
"They've come," he gasped. "The hunters."
Pearl rose sharply. "Hunters?"
The man nodded frantically. "Kaelith's hounds. They… they walk like men but smell of rot. They've been seen at the river, crossing in packs. They're searching for you."
Her mother's hand gripped her arm. "You must run."
"No," Pearl said, her voice hard, though fear twisted inside her. "I've been running since the village burned. If Kaelith sends them, then I'll end them here."
The villager's eyes widened in horror, but before another word could be spoken, a howl split the air outside. It was no wolf's call. It was a shriek of iron on bone, a sound that curdled marrow.
Shadows darted between the houses. Men, but not men—gaunt figures cloaked in black, their jaws distended with rows of fangs, their fingers hooked like blades. Their eyes glowed faintly green, and from their backs protruded spines that twitched and scraped against their cloaks.
Kaelith's hunters.
The barn door shattered inward as one hurled itself against it. Pearl leapt forward, silver energy blazing across her hands. She slammed her palm into its chest, the light burning through flesh and rib. The creature shrieked, crumpling to ash before it hit the floor.
But more came.
Dozens swarmed through the village, tearing doors from hinges, dragging screaming villagers into the street. The night filled with firelight and terror. Pearl shot skyward, wings unfurling, her silver aura painting the dark clouds above. From the air, she saw the horror unfold: her home turned battlefield.
The hunters moved with a single mind, coordinated, relentless. They did not kill outright—they seized, bound, dragged captives toward cages of bone they carried on their backs.
"They're taking them," Pearl whispered to herself. "Not slaughtering. Harvesting."
A cold thought struck her: For Kaelith.
She dived, slamming into one of the creatures, breaking its spine with her heel. Villagers fled behind her, but three more hunters took its place, their jaws gnashing, their voices hissing in unison:
"Silver Heir… Silver Heir… Silver Heir…"
Her name in their mouths was not a name but a curse.
They struck together, their claws tearing arcs through the air. Pearl barely dodged, silver light sparking as one grazed her arm. Pain burned deep, unnatural—the wound bled not red but black for a heartbeat before shifting back to crimson.
Her stomach turned. That darkness again.
She roared, unleashing a surge of moonlight that shattered all three hunters at once, reducing them to smoking husks. But her triumph vanished instantly. Across the square, she saw her mother dragged by two hunters, their claws hooked through her arms.
"NO!"
Pearl streaked across the village like a falling star. She smashed one hunter to ash, ripped the other's throat open with her bare hands. But her mother collapsed, coughing blood, her body shaking.
"Pearl," she gasped. "You must leave. He wants you, not them."
Tears burned Pearl's eyes. "I won't leave you."
Her mother's grip tightened around her wrist with unexpected strength. Her eyes blazed—not gray, not silver, but something older, something hidden.
"Then listen carefully," she hissed. "Your father and I were not just farmers. We came here to hide you, to hide what you carry. The blood of the moon, yes—but also the shadow Kaelith seeks. That is why he will never stop. Because you are both his doom… and his heir."
The words cut deeper than any wound.
Pearl tried to speak, but before she could, a spear of shadow tore across the square and pierced her mother's chest.
Pearl screamed, catching her as she fell. The hunters hissed in triumph, retreating into the darkness, leaving chaos in their wake.
On the far edge of the village, a shape loomed. Cloaked in black, tall and lean, its presence stifled all sound. Not Kaelith himself, but something nearly as terrible—one of his generals. Its face was hidden behind a mask of bone, its hands dripping with shadow that coiled like serpents.
The general raised its head toward Pearl, and though it said no words, she heard its command like thunder in her mind:
Run, little heir. Run, and let the darkness ripen within you.
Pearl clutched her mother's body as the village burned around her. Grief crashed over her like a tide, but beneath it simmered rage—hot, merciless, ready to break.
She looked at the general, her silver aura flaring, her voice low and venomous.
"I will not run."
The air trembled. The battle was not over.
It was only beginning.