Chapter 32 #3
"No one will mourn you," her mother's voice said. "They'll be relieved."
"The world will be better without you," Allegra's voice agreed.
"You're just another mistake that needs correcting," Eliam's voice added, cold and dismissive.
Briar's eyes closed, the tension eased from her muscles.
“That’s it…” she felt the clawed fingers biting into her flesh. “It will all be over soon.”
Then the warmth in her chest pulsed.
Not the sick golden glow that Shadow-Briar showed, but real warmth. And with it came a different memory.
Eliam's hand in her hair while she slept. Gentle, careful, like she was something precious.
Another pulse, another memory.
Arion's voice through the wall: "Everything matters now."
Sian teaching her how to help the water sprites migrate.
Thaine’s expression when he caught her and Eliam throwing snowballs.
Karse, carrying her through the forest on his back when she couldn't walk.
Briar’s eyes fluttered open. “No… you’re wrong…”
"You’re lying to yourself," Shadow-Briar hissed. "The magic making them care. Without it—"
"Without it, Thaine still helped me," Briar said, her voice rough. "Without it, Sian still befriended me. Without it, Halian was still kind."
"Stop—"
"My mother was ill." The words came stronger now and Briar began to push herself upright. "Sadness made her distant. That wasn't about me. That was about her pain."
"You're worthless!"
"I saved my sister's life." Briar raised her head, meeting Shadow-Briar's dead eyes. "I worked three jobs to keep my family fed. I survived everything the fae courts threw at me."
"You're a killer!"
Shadow-Briar sounded desperate now and for some reason that gave Briar strength. She got to her hands and knees, muscles trembling from exertion.
"Yes." The admission came easily. "I killed Ferria. I'd probably kill again. But I killed to survive, to protect, not for pleasure."
"You enjoyed—"
"I was surviving." Briar pushed herself up from the floor. "I enjoyed not being helpless. That's human, not monstrous."
Shadow-Briar's face contorted with rage. "You're nothing without the magic—"
"Maybe." Briar stood fully now, facing her shadow self straight on. "But with it? With it, I'm connected to something larger than myself."
"That's not you, that's the power—"
"The power is part of me now." Briar pressed her hand to her chest, feeling the warmth pulse in response. "Twenty-five years, it's been part of me. Changing me, yes. But I'm changing it too. Making it mine."
"You're becoming a monster—"
"No. I'm becoming something new." She took a step toward Shadow-Briar, who actually backed away. "Something that hasn't existed before. Human and fae and something else entirely. And that terrifies you."
"I am you—"
"Yes." Briar saw it clearly now. "You're my fear. My doubt. Everything I'm afraid of becoming. But fear isn't truth. It's just fear."
Shadow-Briar's form flickered, wavered.
"You're losing yourself," she tried one more time. "Everything human about you is dying."
"Everything human about me is transforming." Briar reached out, grabbed Shadow-Briar's wrist. It was solid, cold, real. "And I choose what I become. Not the magic. Not Eliam. Not Malus. Me."
"You can't—"
"I can." She pulled Shadow-Briar closer, until they were face to face. "You're right about one thing. I am becoming something else. But you're wrong about what that means."
"You'll lose everything!"
"I've already lost everything. Multiple times. And I survived." She looked into those dead eyes, saw her own fear reflected back. "I survived my father's death. My mother's illness. Giving up my freedom for my sister. Being hunted. Being marked. Being claimed."
"And it broke you—"
"And I'm still here." Briar's voice was steady now. "Broken or not, I'm still standing. Still fighting. Still choosing."
Shadow-Briar's form was definitely wavering now, edges becoming indistinct.
"You don't love them," she said desperately. "It's just the magic—"
"Maybe it started as magic." Briar didn't let go of the shadow's wrist. "But I choose to let it become real. I choose to love them, all of them. I choose to believe they could love me back, magic or not."
"That's delusion—"
"That's hope." Briar pulled the shadow even closer, until there was no space between them. "And hope is the one thing you can't understand. Because shadows don't hope. They just fear."
"I am you—"
"You're part of me," Briar corrected. "The scared part. The doubtful part. The part that believes every cruel thing ever said to me. But you're not all of me."
She wrapped her arms around Shadow-Briar, embracing her shadow self fully.
"And I'm not going to be afraid of you anymore."
Shadow-Briar screamed, thrashed, tried to pull away. But Briar held on, held tight, accepting this dark part of herself instead of fighting it. The shadow's form began to dissolve, melting into black smoke that smelled of copper and dying flowers.
"You can't…" Shadow-Briar said weakly.
"I can and I do. I accept you," Briar said simply. "I accept that I have these fears. These doubts. This darkness. It's part of me. But it doesn't control me and it won’t define me."
The shadow dissolved completely, black smoke swirling around her, through her. For a moment, Briar felt it all—every fear, every doubt, every cruel thought she'd ever had about herself. The weight of it was crushing.
Then it settled into her chest, alongside the warmth. Not gone, but integrated. Part of her, but not controlling her.
The chamber changed. The phosphorescent light shifted from sickly green to softer white, less oppressive. She could move now without the weight of surrender pressing down on her.
She looked at the Drak warriors scattered throughout the chamber. They'd died here facing their own shadows, unable to accept what they saw. Their families would never know what happened to them, would never have closure.
Unless.
Briar moved to the nearest body, an older warrior whose scales had gone grey at the edges. Around his neck hung a pendant, carved bone with symbols she couldn't read. His family would want this. She took the pendant carefully, tucking it into her belt.
The next warrior wore a ring of twisted metal. She took that too. Another had a braided cord around his wrist with beads woven through it. A younger warrior had a small knife with an ornate handle, more ceremonial than practical.
She moved through the chamber methodically, taking something from each body. A pendant here, a weapon there, pouches with personal items—a child's drawing on scraped hide, a lock of hair, a small carved figure.
The items grew heavy quickly. Her pockets bulged, her belt sagged with the weight, she had to carry some in her arms. Each stop cost her energy she didn't have, her body already exhausted from the confrontation with her shadow self.
She made her way back through the tunnel, the phosphorescent light dimming as she moved away from the chamber. The bodies she'd passed on the way in were still there, and she stopped at each one, taking tokens. More pendants, more weapons, more personal effects.
By the time she reached the first warrior she'd seen, the one slumped peacefully against the wall near the entrance, her arms were full. The weight made walking difficult, each step requiring conscious effort. Her muscles shook with exhaustion.
But she couldn't leave them. These warriors had died for their people, and their families deserved something back.
The cave mouth appeared ahead, actual sunlight filtering through. Late afternoon light, gold and red. Had it been hours? It felt like days, but the sun suggested otherwise.
She stumbled out of the cave, arms full of tokens, legs barely holding her.
The crowd that had gathered fell silent.
She stood there, swaying, clutching the belongings of the dead, blinking in sunlight that seemed too bright after the cave's phosphorescent glow. The tokens clinked softly as her arms trembled from the weight.
Then recognition rippled through the crowd as they saw what she carried. Someone made a wounded sound—a parent recognizing a pendant, a spouse seeing a familiar weapon.
Mor'va stepped forward, her ancient eyes taking in the burden Briar carried.
"You honored them," she said quietly.
"They deserved to be remembered," Briar managed, her voice rough.
One by one, Drak began coming forward. An elderly female took a pendant with shaking hands, pressing it to her chest. A young warrior retrieved his brother's knife, tears running silently down his scaled face. Each token found its way to family, to friends, to those who'd been waiting.
Through it all, Briar stood there, gradually emptying her arms, watching grief and gratitude play across faces. When the last token had been claimed, her legs finally gave out.
Eliam caught her before she hit the ground, pulling her against him, holding her upright. She sank into his warmth, savoring the feeling of his arms around her. She wanted nothing more than to live in that moment forever.
"The trial is complete," Mor'va announced. "She survived the cave. She honored our dead. The crimes are forgiven."
The crowd erupted in sound—roars, clicks, and calls in the Drak language that Briar couldn't understand.
Karse appeared in front of her, his expression a mixture of shame and relief.
"The debt—" he started.
"Is paid," Briar cut him off, too exhausted for a longer discussion. "We're even."
He stared at her for a long moment, then nodded slowly. The tension he'd been carrying since she'd invoked the life debt seemed to drain from his shoulders.
Arion pushed through the crowd to reach them, his hand finding her shoulder, gentle but needing the contact, needing to confirm she was real and standing.
"What happened in there?" he asked quietly.
"Later," she managed. "Too tired now."
"The human needs rest," Veroc said, appearing at Mor'va's side. "And food."
"She'll have all of it," Mor'va said. She raised her voice to address the crowd. "Tonight, we celebrate."
"We need to leave now," Thaine protested. "The seal—"
"Will still be a threat tomorrow," Mor'va cut him off. "The Shadow Walker can barely stand. She faced something in that cave that Drak twice her size failed. She needs rest, or she won't survive the journey to the seal."
Shadow Walker. The title rippled through the crowd, and Briar wondered what it meant to them.
"Prepare the celebration," Mor'va commanded, and Drak began scattering to follow her orders.
She turned back to the group. "Take them to their quarters, bring food, drink, whatever they need.
" Her ancient eyes settled on Briar. "You did something I didn't think possible, human.
You survived what shouldn't be survivable.
And you honored our dead while doing it. "
Briar wanted to respond, but exhaustion was pulling at her, making everything feel distant and unreal. She felt Eliam shift his hold on her, preparing to carry her if necessary.
"Can you walk?" he asked quietly.
She nodded, though she wasn't sure it was true. But she wanted to leave this place on her feet, not in someone's arms. She'd earned that much.
They were led through the settlement to a large tree-dwelling, carved with symbols that probably marked it as important. Inside were separate rooms with real beds, fresh water, and broad windows that looked out over the settlement.
The moment they were alone, Briar's legs gave out completely. Eliam caught her, lifting her easily, carrying her to the bed.
"Are you going to tell me what happened?" he asked, his voice rough with suppressed emotion. "We heard you scream. Once. Then nothing for over an hour."
"I faced myself," she said simply. "The worst parts. The fears, the doubts. Everything I hated about what I'm becoming."
His hands stilled where they'd been checking her for injuries. "And?"
"And I accepted it. All of it. The darkness and the light." She pressed her hand to her chest, feeling both the warmth and the shadow resting there. "I’ve accepted that it’s part of me now. That it doesn’t dictate who I am."
He was quiet for a long moment, his hand covering hers over her chest.
"You're changing," he said finally.
"Yes."
"Into what?"
"I don't know yet." She met his dark eyes. "Does it matter?"
His hand moved to cup her face, thumb tracing her cheekbone. "No. You could become anything, and I would still—" He stopped, jaw clenching.
"Still what?" she asked, though exhaustion was making everything hazy.
"Rest," he said instead of answering. "The celebration starts at dusk and the Drak will be offended if their Shadow Walker doesn't attend."
She wanted to push, to make him finish what he'd been about to say. But sleep was already pulling her under, her body finally able to release the tension it had been holding.
The last thing she felt was his lips against her forehead, and words whispered too quietly for her to hear.