The Silver Heir
Chapter Twelve: The Hollow Flame
The night after Kaelith's apparition felt endless.
The wind howled through the broken ribs of the Spine, carrying the scent of ash and bone. Pearl walked until her legs gave out, stumbling through the blackened forest, her veins pulsing with a sickly light that was neither silver nor shadow.
She found shelter at dawn: a ruined chapel hidden in the roots of an ancient oak. Its doors hung crooked, carved with symbols so old the wood itself seemed to flinch from them. Inside, moonlight dripped through shattered glass, pooling on a cracked altar like liquid frost.
Pearl collapsed to her knees. Her wings folded around her, trembling. She could still feel Kaelith's crown pressing on her skull, the echo of her parents' hollow faces etched into her vision. She dug her nails into her palms until blood welled up, trying to feel something real.
But all she felt was the shadow.
It whispered in her blood, urging surrender. She had burned Kaelith's form from the sky last night, but even that victory felt hollow. She hadn't destroyed him—she had only fed him.
I am not his. I will never be his, she told herself.
The whisper came back, a voice like oil: You already are.
Pearl's scream cracked the silence, but the chapel walls absorbed the sound, leaving her alone with her ragged breathing.
"Your scream is beautiful," said a voice from the shadows.
Pearl's head snapped up. A figure emerged from behind the altar—an old woman, her face a map of scars, one eye milk-white, the other glinting like a shard of obsidian. Her robes were grey and torn, marked with the faded crescent sigil of the Old Moon.
Pearl rose to her feet, aura flickering weakly. "Who are you?"
"A ghost," the woman said. "A priestess of what once was. They called me Lys before Kaelith burned my temple." She limped forward, leaning on a staff carved from bone. "And you, little heir, are what they whispered would come."
"I'm not his heir," Pearl growled.
Lys chuckled, a dry rasp. "You say it like a prayer. Prayers don't stop blood." Her good eye swept over Pearl's trembling hands, the faint black threads under her skin. "You're dying, child. Or worse—you're becoming him. Do you want to stay yourself?"
Pearl hesitated. The word yes felt like an ember on her tongue. "I do."
"Then you will suffer." Lys set her staff on the altar. "There's an old rite. Older than Kaelith. Born of the first moon. Painful, dangerous, but it might anchor you. If you survive."
Pearl's wings twitched. "And if I don't?"
"You'll burn from the inside out," Lys said simply. "And the shadow will wear your skin."
Pearl stared at the cracked altar, the moonlight spilling across it like cold fire. She thought of her mother's voice, of her father's hands, of the villagers who looked at her like a curse.
"I'll do it," she whispered.
Lys gave a slow nod. "Then kneel."
Pearl knelt.
Lys drew a dagger from her sleeve—its blade carved from something that pulsed faintly, neither metal nor bone. She cut a line across Pearl's palm. Silver blood welled up, thick as mercury. It hissed when it touched the altar, the moonlight shivering like water disturbed by a stone.
"Blood for the moon," Lys murmured. "Fire for the soul."
She scattered black salt across the floor, then began to chant in a tongue that scraped Pearl's ears like claws. The symbols on the chapel walls glowed faintly, pulsing with each word.
Pearl felt it immediately—a force inside her waking, twisting, reaching. Her silver light flared, but so did the shadow. Her veins burned like molten iron.
Lys's chanting rose, sharp as knives. "Endure it, child. Or be unmade."
Pearl doubled over, gasping. The moonlight on the altar swirled, turning black at the edges. Her own reflection appeared in it—her face pale, her eyes not silver but dark, pupils slitted like a predator's.
It smiled at her.
"Why do you fight me?" the reflection whispered. "You're tired. Let go."
Pearl clenched her fists. "You're not me."
The reflection's grin widened, cruel and beautiful. "I am the part of you that wants justice. The part that can end him. Why cling to weakness when you could rule? You saw them in the cages. They would kneel."
Pearl's breath caught. She could feel its power—raw, intoxicating, endless. She wanted to take it, just for a heartbeat, to see Kaelith crumble.
Lys's voice cut through the temptation. "Pearl! Choose!"
Pearl screamed. She plunged her bloody hand into the moonlight. The reflection's smile broke, its voice turning into a hiss of rage. The altar cracked under her touch, the silver light exploding outward.
Pain tore through her body. Shadows poured from her mouth and eyes, curling like smoke. Her wings flared wide, torn between light and darkness.
"Let… me… go!" she roared.
The chapel shook. Stained glass shattered. Moonlight seared her skin while the shadow tried to rip her apart from within. For one heartbeat, she was both of them—Pearl and the monster.
Then, silence.
When the light faded, Pearl lay sprawled on the floor. Her veins still burned, but the black threads had retreated, coiling deeper beneath her skin like snakes forced into hiding. Her aura flickered dimly, steadier but raw.
She opened her eyes. Lys stood over her, breathing hard, her staff shaking. "You anchored it," she whispered. "For now."
Pearl struggled to sit up. "For now?"
Lys's one eye met hers, full of warning. "It's still inside you. It will always be inside you. But you've drawn a line between you and it. As long as you hold that line, you're Pearl. If you falter…"
Pearl swallowed, nodding.
Lys turned away, leaning on her staff. "Rest. At dawn you leave this place. Kaelith will feel what you've done. He will not wait for you to master it."
Pearl closed her eyes, but sleep did not come. The reflection's grin haunted her. Its voice still whispered faintly in the back of her skull.
We're not finished.
She clenched her fists. "Neither are we."
At sunrise, the chapel smelled of cold ashes. Pearl rose, weak but standing. The altar was cracked, the symbols faded, Lys gone. Only her staff remained, bloodstained and leaning against the wall.
Pearl stepped outside into the pale dawn. The forest was silent, unnaturally so. She had anchored the shadow, but the cost had only begun.
Above her, the moon hung low and blood-tinged, as if watching.
Pearl gripped the staff. Her silver eyes narrowed.
"If you're coming, Kaelith," she murmured to the empty woods, "come fast."
And then she walked on, the shadows curling faintly at her heels like restless wolves.