Chapter 22
The summons came at dawn, delivered by a nervous young initiate who wouldn't meet my eyes. Aytara wanted to see me, along with Livia and Tarshi. There was something she needed to show us, something that couldn't wait.
I almost refused. After what had happened last night—after I had put my hands on Livia with violence in my heart—I didn't deserve to be in the same room as her, let alone wherever Aytara was planning to take us. But the voices in my head whispered that hiding would only prove what a coward I truly was, and for once, I found myself agreeing with them. I dragged myself out of bed, still groggy from whatever it was the healers had given me to make me sleep. I wasn’t feeling much better after washing and dressing, but the shadows in my mind were quieter than normal, which was something.
The journey began innocuously enough. Aytara led us through familiar corridors of the temple, past the healing chambers and meditation halls.
But instead of stopping at any of the places I recognized, she continued deeper, through a heavy bolted door I'd never really noticed before.
The polished stone gave way to rougher walls, then to crude tunnels carved directly from the mountain's bones.
Livia walked beside me, carrying one of the two torches that provided our only light.
She treated me exactly as she always had—no fear in her eyes, no hesitation when she brushed against my arm in the narrow passages.
It was wrong. She should be afraid of me.
She should hate me for what I'd almost done.
She's pretending, the voices whispered, their chorus growing stronger with each step we took into the depths. She's terrified of you. They all are. You saw the truth in her eyes last night when you showed her what you really are.
I wanted to argue with them, but how could I?
I had felt the darkness surge through me, had felt my hands move with intent to harm the woman I loved more than my own life.
The memory of her terrified face, of the way I had tried to hurt her, and those that came to protect her from me, played over and over in my mind like a recurring nightmare.
"Taveth?" Livia's voice was soft, concerned. "Are you all right?"
I couldn't look at her. "I'm fine."
Liar, the voices hissed. Tell her the truth. Tell her how much you enjoyed the fear in her eyes. Tell her how part of you wanted to hurt her, to make her scream.
"No," I said through gritted teeth, not caring that the others could hear me arguing with the darkness in my head.
The tunnel sloped downward, and with each step, I felt the pressure in my skull intensify.
It was like being slowly crushed by invisible hands, the weight of something vast and malevolent pressing down on my mind.
The voices grew louder, more insistent, their whispers becoming a roar that threatened to drown out my own thoughts.
You know what you are, they said. You know what you've always been. A killer. A monster. Last night was just the beginning. Soon you won't be able to stop yourself, and she'll finally see the truth.
I stumbled, catching myself against the rough stone wall. My breathing was coming in sharp gasps and sweat beaded on my forehead despite the cool air of the tunnels.
"The pressure is getting stronger," I managed to tell Aytara, my voice strained. "I don't know how much longer I can—"
"Not much further," she said without turning around. "You need to be strong, Taveth. What I'm going to show you... it's important. More important than you can imagine."
Strong. The word would have been laughable if I'd had the energy to laugh. How could I be strong when I was barely holding myself together? How could I be strong when the darkness was winning, when I was becoming everything I'd fought against?
I felt a hand settle on my shoulder—Tarshi's hand, warm and steady. Immediately, some of the crushing pressure eased, as if my twin's presence was pushing back against the weight trying to destroy my mind.
"I can feel it too," he said quietly, his voice tight with strain. "Like shadows pressing in from all sides. Like being slowly crushed by the darkness itself."
The relief of not being alone with this, of having someone who understood even a fraction of what I was experiencing, nearly brought me to my knees. But it also made the guilt worse. I was dragging my brother down with me, sharing this curse that should have been mine alone to bear.
Livia's small hand found mine, her fingers intertwining with my own despite everything. Despite what I was, what I'd done, what I might do again.
"I'm here with you," she whispered, her voice fierce and determined. "You're not alone in this. You're not going through this by yourself."
But I was alone. Even surrounded by the people who claimed to love me, I was isolated in a prison of my own making.
Because the truth that none of them wanted to acknowledge was becoming clearer with every passing moment: the voices weren't separate from me anymore.
The darkness wasn't some external force I was fighting.
It was me. It had always been me.
And last night, when I had looked into Livia's eyes and felt nothing but rage and the desire to hurt her, I had finally seen myself clearly. Not the man I pretended to be, not the person they all believed I could become, but the monster I had always been underneath.
The tunnel stretched on ahead of us, leading deeper into the mountain's heart, and with each step, I felt myself slipping further away from the light.
We descended further for what felt like hours, though it might have been minutes—time had lost all meaning in this place where the mountain's weight pressed down like a living thing.
The torches flickered, revealing walls lined with symbols I recognized as the old script but couldn't read.
The air grew colder, heavier, and I could taste something metallic on my tongue—blood, perhaps, or the lingering essence of old magic.
The pressure in my skull was becoming unbearable. Each step felt like walking through deep water, fighting against a current that wanted to drag me under. The voices were screaming now, a cacophony of rage and hunger that made it nearly impossible to think.
They painted vivid pictures of what I could do to the people walking beside me—how easily I could wrap shadows around Livia's throat, how satisfying it would be to hear her gasp for air.
How I could crush Tarshi's bones one by one while he screamed.
How Aytara's blood would look splattered against these ancient stones.
Stop, I commanded myself, but the word felt weak, pathetic. A child's plea against forces beyond comprehension.
Why fight it? the darkness crooned. You know this is your nature. You know this is what you were born to do. Kill them all. Start with the old woman. She's the one who's been keeping secrets. Wrap your shadows around her throat and squeeze until—
"Stop," I gasped, pressing my free hand against my temple. "Please, just stop."
Livia's grip on my other hand tightened. "What are they saying?"
I couldn't tell her. Couldn't voice the increasingly violent fantasies the darkness was painting in my mind.
I squeezed Livia's hand tighter, desperate for the connection to keep me grounded.
Through our bond, I could feel her concern, her determination to somehow pull me back from the edge I was sliding toward.
But I could also feel something else—a flutter of fear she was trying to hide, the memory of my hands on her with violence burning between us like an open wound.
She was afraid. She should be afraid.
We reached a heavy iron door set deep into the stone. Ancient runes were carved into its surface, and I could feel power radiating from them—old magic, older than anything I'd encountered before. Aytara produced a key from her robes, her hands shaking slightly as she worked the lock.
"What is this place?" Tarshi asked, his voice echoing strangely in the confined space.
"The heart of our history," Aytara said, her voice heavy. "The source of our curse. And perhaps... our salvation."
The door swung open with a groan that seemed to come from the mountain itself. Beyond lay a vast chamber, far larger than should have been possible this deep in the stone. The walls curved away into darkness, and I could sense rather than see the enormous space we'd entered.
A pool of water—or what I thought was water—stretched before us, perfectly circular and black as midnight.
The surface was so still it might have been polished obsidian, reflecting nothing.
Around its edges, more of those ancient runes were carved into the stone floor, and I could feel power emanating from them like heat from a forge.
But it was what lay in the centre of the pool that made my breath catch in my throat.
A crystal sat on a simple stone plinth, perhaps the size of my closed fist. At first glance, it looked almost like iron pyrite, that fool's gold the miners sometimes found.
But where pyrite gleamed with false promise, this thing seemed to absorb light.
It was clear, yet dark grey, and as I stared at it, I could swear I saw shadows writhing within its depths.
Black fire twisted and coiled inside the crystal like living smoke, hypnotic and wrong.
Every instinct I possessed screamed at me to run.
Beautiful, the voices whispered, suddenly unified in their hunger. So beautiful. Can you feel it calling to you? Can you feel how it wants to welcome you home?
"No," I breathed, but my feet had already taken a step forward.
Livia's torch flickered as we entered the chamber, casting dancing shadows on the walls. I could see symbols carved in concentric circles around the crystal's pedestal—dozens of them, maybe hundreds, layered one atop another in a desperate spiral of magical workings.
"What is this place?" Livia asked, her voice small in the vast space.