Silverdenn felt like a place that did not want witnesses.
Felllight pressed down onto the village, leaving it in a heavy silence. It was the quietest hours in the Shadow Realm when the Veil's grip had thinned to a near transparency. Most of the Nightbeasts had been lulled into a restless slumber. The village seemed to be suspended in time with its crooked rooftops and the winding paths that were swallowed up by the suffocating darkness. The only illumination came from the Lux Stones that were embedded along the streets. The pale violet orbs pulsed faintly. Their glow barely pushed past the oppressive shadows that seemed to cling to every surface here. The ancient stones always grew weaker during these hours. Almost as if even the spirits of the long dead mages that inhabited them grew tired.
I stood frozen in the suffocating stillness, my boots sinking slightly into the damp earth. My gaze swept over the darkened row of cottages. The air was thick here with the smell of damp stone and that faint metallic tang of the Veil's thinning presence that had always left a bad taste in my mouth. It was a bitter and salty sort of tang, almost like the taste of old blood in the mouth. The skeletal branches of the ashen trees above my head creaked, their black leaves trembling in the faint, chilly breeze. The lanterns hanging from the doorways swung on their rusty chains, their glass panes empty.
Even with its presence thinning, I could still feel the Veil. It was always there, pressing in the back of my mind. I could feel it pressing against me like unseen hands, always eager to pull me under and smother any warmth or tiny strand of hope that I might have. It slipped in between my fingers, coiled around my ankles, tightened its way around my body.
And the more it pressed, the more my power responded.
I could feel it stirring beneath my skin. It was a low, restless ache that casting spread throughout my limbs, pulsing in time with my heartbeat. My power responded to the Veil's pull with an eagerness that scared me more than I would like to admit. Especially now.
A sharp caw cut through the silence, causing my pulse to quicken momentarily before I recognized the noise. I didn't need to look up to know that Noctis was circling overhead. His presence was familiar and lifted some of the weight that I could feel pressing against my chest. He was extra restless tonight, and that was saying something for him. I couldn't blame him, really. He had tried to talk me out of this suicide mission that I seemed to be on.
The raven's wings sliced through the heavy Shadow Realm air as he continuously circled overhead, his silent alarm ringing through my mind. The words were not spoken aloud but they resonated throughout my bones nevertheless.
Danger lingers. Danger here. Close. Closer than you think.
I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to focus and push past that dread that kept creeping its way up and rooting me into place.
I had come to Silverdenn for one reason: Mira Hawthorne.
The thought of Nex's sister sent a pang through my chest. Nex and Mira had always been more than just mentors to me growing up. They had been the only family that I had ever truly known. My father – Alec – had always been a tyrant for as long as I remembered. And Ryker… he hadn't started out being our father's hound and executioner but that all changed the moment that our mother had died.
A death that I had caused.
I swallowed hard as a lump appeared in my throat at that memory. My fingers brushed absently against the black ring on my finger. The memory was like a wound that would never heal no matter how many years had passed.
"You killed her!" Alec had snarled. His voice was cold and had been laced with a thicker venom than I had ever heard him speak before. His fingers had dug into my small shoulders, leaving bruises that had lasted for days after. "Your power tore her apart."
I had only been three years old.
Too young to even remember properly. Too young to even understand the ramifications of what had just happened. But I had been old enough to carry that guilt.
And of course my family… my brother… my father… they had never let me forget the monster that I was for killing my own mother.
Nex had crafted the ring after that. The black metal was etched with rose gold inscriptions that I never did fully understand to read. Its magic was the only thing standing between me and the chaos that was inside of my skull. Without it, my shadow powers would rise, unbidden, and I would lose myself entirely.
Just like the day that I had killed my mother.
I turned my hand slightly, catching the faint glow of the Lux Stones against the surface of the ring. Hairline fractures spiderwebbed across the metal, and the once deep carvings of the ancient scripture Nex had woven into the ring had now dulled. The symbols seemed to fade more every day, ticking away like a count down for a disaster. I could already feel the pressure building beneath my skin, the shadows writhing there like a caged beast.
I have to find Mira. Before I truly become the monster that my father has made me out to be.
My throat constricted, that tight knot appearing in my throat. It was never too far away anymore. I had never asked to be born like this. You wouldn't see me filling out a request form to become a walking omen full of unstable shadow magic and haunting visions and dreams. Yet here I was.
Lucky me, I guess.
The Veil picks whoever it wants to pick and tends to drop an eternity of pain and suffering on you with no return address. It doesn't ask if you have plans and it doesn't care how much it shatters you in the process.
As if being a Shadowbeing wasn't a problem enough on its own. It is our nature to be born volatile. Our magic often reacts before we can even think. Any strong emotion can set it off but when it comes to the negative ones…
Fear…
Anger…
Grief…
It bleeds into us, pulling on the fraying threads of our consciousness. Control is often something that we spend our whole lives chasing.
But adding the pull of the Veil along with it?
That's a special kind of curse. Sleep is dangerous. The silent hours of Nullrest are even more dangerous. The visions, the hullucinations… it starts pulling on you. Wearing you down. Most Shadowbeing Veilwalkers die young, the unlucky soul subcoming to the the madness before they even reached their fifth Nightturn.
It almost took me.
If not for Nex and the ring he crafted, I doubt I would have survived much longer after the night my mother died. The Veil was already tightening its grip. My magic was spiraling. And I was very close to becoming what everyone feared that I was. Lucky for me, Nex saw my life worth saving.
And now… the very ring that had been forged to save my life was failing.
I exhaled a sharp breath, creating a small puff from my mouth. I had to find Mira. There was no other choice. She may be the only one who might be able to help me before the ring shattered completely. Before I lost control and became that monster.
At the end of the street stood an ancient building, its two story frame looming over the surrounding cottages. The weathered boards bowed beneath years of neglect. Their ash gray planks had been darkened by rot. The tavern was built from the same wood as the rest of Silverdenn but it was clearly older and more run down. Music drifted out from the tavern. A harp sang a slow and mournful tune, accompanied by the voice of a bard singing along. I couldn't make out the lyrics over the rumble of laughter and voices, and the clinking of tankards.
Shadowrest.
The day in the Veilcycle when places like this would fill with drunken and rowdy patrons. Just what I needed. More people who might recognize me from the wanted posters that were tacked on every surface from here to Umbralis Reach. I debated on turning around and disappearing back into the darkness. Any other time I wouldn't chance walking into a place full of people who were probably bounty hunters. But the ache that I could feel in the back of my head, that pull of my power… it forced me to step forward. I didn't have time to dwell on if I would get caught.
Above the thick double doors a crooked sign swayed on rusted hinges, creaking in the breeze. Its once bold lettering had now faded to the point where it was mostly illegible and I had to squint up at the sign several moments before I was able to decipher the word words.
The Drunken Warlock.
I tugged the hood of my dark blue cloak up further over my end, ensuring that I concealed the most distinctive feature about me. My bright, shoulder length white hair. The scraped against the still sensitive skin of the deep scratch on my cheek I had received from a recent scuffle with a creature I had come across in the forests.
Recognition here would be a death sentence. I had already seen my father's influence here in the posters. Wanted: Reyna Valerius. Fugitive. Madwoman. Traitor. Murderer. All of them offered a high bounty to whoever could bring me in alive. It was enough coin to tempt even the weakest of hunters who were reluctant to hunt down Shadowbeings.
I took another steadying breath before I pushed through the heavy double doors, their hinges groaning in protest. The warmth of the tavern hit me immediately, a stark contrast to the endless chill of the forests I had been wandering through for days now. The hearth roared in the center of the room, its flames casting flickering shadows across the walls and the faces of the patrons. The fire was the primary light source of the room, though sconces lined the walls with their flickering firelight casting shadows across the floor.
My fingers flexed subconsciously, savoring the heat that seeped into my cold body. As a Shadowbeing, I may have been more to the cold in the Shadow Realm, but after nights of staying in the forests and not lighting even the smallest of fires in the fear of attracting a Nightbeast or my father's line, it was welcome.
The Drunken Warlock was alive with noise, even more so than I could hear from outside. The place echoed with the boisterous laughter and the clatter of tankards. A drunken bard sat in the corner. He was singing a song of lost kings. Even off tune, it caused my heart to ache but I steeled myself.
Now was not the time.
My gaze swept across the room, accessing my possible enemies. A group of hunters sat in the corner, their mud caked boots propped up in empty chairs. One of them was boasting about some Nightbeast that he had taken down. A Veilhound, he claimed. A group of traders was huddled in another corner, their voices low. Discussing business opportunities, I assumed. I wasn't too interested in them.
I stepped further into the room. The air was thick with the sour tang of spilled ale and the must of unwashed bodies. It was overwhelming after nights spent in the open air. It filled my nostrils and clung to the back of my throat. It took all of my willpower not to gag at the putrid smell. I opted to breathe in through my mouth as I approached the bar, my hand bushing against the sword that was hidden beneath my cloak. If anyone wanted to try something, I would be ready.
I slipped into a stool at the bar, making sure to keep my shoulders hunched and the hood pulled tightly over my head. The laughter and the clink of tankards seemed to fade into the background as the bartender lumbered over towards me. His apron was streaked with stains that might have been ale, or it might have been something far less pleasant. I wasn't going to be the person to ask. Deep blue eyes peered at me from beneath his wiry gray brows as he wiped the tankard in his hand with a rag that had seen far better days.
"What can I get ya, lassie?" His voice was rough, sounding strained from years of yelling over rowdy patrons.
I lifted by gaze just enough to meet his for a moment before dropping it back down to the table. The wood was darkened with years of spills and sported deep gashes across the surface from daggers or knives. "Whiskey," I muttered. "Strongest that you have. And a room."
The man chuckled, setting the tankard down with an audible clang. "That bad, eh?" He turned and plucked a bottle from the shelf, the dark amber liquid sloshing around inside. "How long ya stayin for?"
"Just until Gloamrise."
The bartender poured a generous measure of the dark liquid into the tankard he had just sat down, sliding it her way. The scent of oak waffed up from the glass, hard enough to make my eyes sting. "Twenty coppers. Five for the drink, fifteen for the room."
I dug into my cloak pocket, my fingers brushing against the worn leather of my coin pouch as I fished it out. I counted out the coppers before dropping them into the man's outstretched hand. His fingers closed around them with a satisfied grunt. The bartender then turned and snatched up one of the keys that was dangling from the key rack behind the bar and slid it across the table towards me. "Upstairs, last door on the right." He grumbled before turning to tend to another patron.
I slipped the key into my cloak pocket. The first sip of whiskey burned. I grimaced as the drink seared its way down my throat before settling like a stone inside of my stomach. I would never get used to the bitter taste, but the numbness that always followed soon after was always welcome. It dulled the edges of my thoughts just enough to make them bearable and allow me to focus. The bard was still singing his mournful ballet in the corner about a lost king. I traced the grain of the wooden bar as I listened, one name standing out in my mind.
Lucius.
The memory of him was like a blade twisting deep in my ribs. I could still see him standing in the Solarium of the Light Palace, the sunlight catching in the thick dark hair on his head that was always tousled no matter how much time the court hairdresser had spent on it. His steady, deep voice as he addressed the Light Council on their plans. The same plans that would later lead to his death. The way his fingers had brushed against mine underneath the table in that meeting. That tight, brief squeeze of reassurance he had given me as the Council had spoken out against my plan.
The stolen hours that we had together inside of his private study where he would trace the line of my jaw and place gentle kisses down my neck as he murmured my name like a prayer.
Not Veilwalker. Not Prophesied. Not the bringer of end times. Not even Shadow Princess.
Just Reyna.
I swallowed another mouthful of the whiskey that did nothing to wash away that lingering image of his blood spreading across the stone floor, or the sound of his breath rattling in his chest before it had stilled forever.
He wasn't supposed to die.
Lucius had been gone for six months now.
Six months of running. Six months of a grief that had carved a hole so deeply inside of me that I wondered if I would ever be able to feel anything else.
A burst of racous laughter brought me back to the present. Two men at a nearby table were deep in an argument over hunting rights. Beyond the two men were a group of merchants huddled together, their voices low enough that I only caught parts of the conversation.
"... heard that the Shadow Palace's guards were spotted near the Southern Spire Veilgate that led to the Light Realm..."
... reckon they are still hunting that runnaway princess..."
My fingers tightened around my tankard. I keep my head down as I strained to listen in. If the Shadow Guard was caught near that Veilgate that means that they were expecting me to flee that way. I knew better, however. I hadn't stepped foot in the Light Realm since Lucius's death. I wasn't sure how the new Light King would react to me now that his brother was gone. And even if I had wanted to go back, all of the gates between the two Realms had been severed by my father.
"... some say she's got a witch with her. The one they call Mira..."
My pulse quickened. Mira.
I forced myself to take another slow sip of my drink as I forced myself to relax and make it seem like I was just another patron. If they thought Mira was with me then… she couldn't be in Silverdenn, right? Unless she was here under another identity.
I cleared my throat, signalling for the bartender. "I need supplies," I said, keeping my voice as neutral and even as possible. "Food provisions. And potions. I assume I can get the food here. Where would I find the potions?"
The bartender's thick fingers curled around the tankard so hard the metal creaked, and his knuckles whitened. His dark eyes narrowed as they raked over my cloaked form. "Potions, eh?" His voice rumbled, low and barely audible over the tavern's noise. "You one of them mages? Or you just another fool looking to get themselves killed dabbling in things that they don't understand?"
I shook my head, keeping my gaze on the scarred wood of the bar rather than meeting his peircing stare. The scent of spilled ale and charred meat clung to the air between us. "Just looking to stock up," I murmured, trying to sound as indifferent as possible. "Traveling's dangerous these days."
There was a long pause. The kind that stretches just long enough to make your skin itch. The tension between us thickened until it felt almost tangible, like the air itself was waiting to see who would blink first.
Then the bartender jerked his chin toward the shadowed hallway at the back of the bar. The sconces there burned low, their light flickering weakly, casting warped shadows along the walls.
"Back room," he grunted. "We'll talk there."
I hesitated. My fingers twitched toward the sword at my belt before I forced them still. That would be too obvious. Too stupid. Drawing steel here would bring every Shadow Guard informant in the place down on my head in seconds.
"I was hoping for directions," I said carefully, keeping my voice level, "not an interrogation."
"Not how this works." His voice dropped to a gravelly whisper. "You want answers, you follow."
Before I could react, his calloused hand clamped around my wrist. The grip was brutal, tight enough that my bones creaked and ached beneath it. He yanked me forward, dragging me toward the dark hallway.