Chapter 21 Wren #2
He isn’t the only one who can break through your defenses. The voice flooded her mind once more, burrowing deeper into her skull like a ravenous parasite. He isn’t the only one who knows your soul.
Wren shuddered.
The Soulless One.
A deep, terrible laughter rumbled in Wren’s mind, thunderous and menacing.
My dear, I do wish you wouldn’t call me that anymore.
Wren jolted onto her feet, chest heaving.
She was going to be sick. Her vision blurred, warping at the edges.
No, no, no. Not here. Not now. Around her, a few curious Demiens looked up, faces muddled in Wren’s vision by her terror-induced haze.
Quinn reached out, grabbing Wren firmly by the wrist, though her expression didn’t match the intensity of her grip.
Her eyes were wide and riddled with concern, mouth parted in surprise.
“Are you okay?” Quinn asked under her breath, eyes darting to August, who had seemingly frozen in place, unsure what to do. “What’s wrong?”
“I—” Wren winced as a shooting pain erupted in the back of her skull, the voice dripping into her mind once again.
You can’t run from me, my sweet catalyst. Our connection grows stronger. You can feel it, can’t you?
Wren staggered backward, bumping into the desk behind her. Journals clattered to the floor, a cacophony of startled gasps and fluttering pages. She needed to get out, to get some air, to distance herself—
“Loughty.” August’s voice echoed, his expression lethal. When he spoke, his words were harsh, though Wren could see the terror in his eyes. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”
Wren shook her head, backing away from her desk, retreating toward the tent’s entrance.
“I…I have to go. I have to get some air.”
Go on. Run, my catalyst. Run.
That was all it took for Wren’s legs to move beneath her as she scrambled out of the tent, staggering into the bustling cavern.
Everywhere she looked there were too many bodies, too much noise and color.
Panic twined around her chest like barbed wire.
A crawling heat at the nape of her neck. It was too much. Too much. Too—
“Wren?”
A strong pair of hands gripped her shoulders. Wren swiveled on her heels, coming face to face with Arthur and Quinn. They were standing behind her, both slightly out of breath.
“What the hell was that all about?” Quinn asked. Despite the slight annoyance in her tone, her eyes remained soft, marred with worry. “You can’t just run out like that. Are you trying to get yourself thrown into isolation?”
Wren’s chest heaved as she fought to steady her breaths. She waited, bracing for the Soulless One’s voice to flood her mind, but there were only silence and the feeling of Quinn’s and Arthur’s patience thinning.
“I’m…I’m sorry.” Wren rubbed at her temples. “I got a headache.”
Arthur’s brows knit together in confusion. “Has that been happening to you often?”
Wren shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s not a big deal.”
Quinn scoffed, crossing her arms. “Well, running out on the High General’s brother is a pretty big fucking deal.”
“I know,” Wren muttered back. “I just…I wasn’t thinking.”
Quinn’s eyes darted to Arthur, the two of them sharing a silent communication.
“What?” Wren asked through an exasperated sigh.
“Come with us.” Quinn grabbed Wren by the wrist and pulled her forward. “There’s something we need to show you.”
“We’re actually going outside?”
Wren struggled to keep up with Quinn and Arthur as they scurried forward, beelining toward the entrance of the encampment. They passed hordes of Demiens, all of whom stared curiously at the trio as they made their way through the crowded cavern.
“Don’t get too excited,” Arthur chuckled.
“We’re just barely entering Widow’s Forest. And there are plenty of protective wards in the forest that keep people out—and us in.
” Wren shivered at the mention of the infamous forest that loomed around the Demien Order’s encampment.
She’d heard whispers of it, though she had yet to see it with her own eyes.
“Oh, don’t look so sad.” Quinn’s lips lifted into a teasing grin. “At least you’re getting some fresh air.”
As much as Wren wanted to smack the smirk off her face—Quinn was right. She was desperate for fresh air, for the chance to escape the encampment, even if it was just as far as her security cuff would let her go.
An unwanted swell of emotions rose up inside Wren as they approached the main entrance.
It had only been a few weeks since she’d last been outside the cavern walls of the encampment, but somehow, it had felt like an eternity.
And as they exited the encampment, stepping out into the cool night air, the expanse of purgatory stretching out before them, Wren had to do her best not to let her emotions get the better of her.
The woods surrounding the Demien Order’s encampment smelled of earthy pine and damp moss.
Widow’s Forest. Thin rays of pale pink light flitted through the tangled branches of the trees, though the rest of the woods remained bathed in shadows, nestled under the cover of dark, drooping leaves.
They were a deep shade of purple, almost black, as if the leaves themselves had been infused with shadows.
There was something strange about the forest…
as if the trees were watching her—daring her to make one wrong move.
They walked a straight path into the forest, a strange chill digging deeper into Wren’s bones the farther they ventured.
It was perhaps only a minute or two into their journey when Wren began to notice a faint burning sensation under her skin, right where the security cuff was touching her.
But before she could mention it to Quinn and Arthur, the duo came to an abrupt halt.
They were looking at something, eyes focused straight ahead.
Wren followed their line of sight.
Up ahead, tucked between two pine trees, stood a figure. A billowing darkness. Pointed wings and razor-sharp talons.
The shadow creature.
It looked just like the one that had attacked Wren in the Ether all those weeks ago, though now…there were dozens. They drifted between the trees, floating aimlessly, their shadowy forms flickering in and out of vision.
Wren gasped. She staggered backward, but Quinn gripped her firmly by the shoulders, holding her in place.
“Don’t move,” Quinn whispered, voice stern and level, though Wren could sense the apprehension and panic simmering beneath. “If you’re calm, they won’t attack you. They don’t want to hurt you, but they’re programmed to hunger for fear.”
Wren shook her head, terror clutching her chest.
“One of them did attack me. In the Ether. It chased me into the Shadow Lands and then followed me back to Blackwood.”
“It was only following orders,” Arthur explained with a grimace.
There was a deep line embedded between his brows, a palpable look of anguish muddling his usual sardonic demeanor.
He swallowed, hands trembling as he turned to face Wren.
“Sometimes…Demiens don’t acclimate. Despite removing their humanity.
Despite joining the Order. They either fail the Reaper’s Kiss, or flat-out refuse to perform the spell.
And when that happens…those Demiens are marked as defected. ”
A sudden jolt of understanding shot through Wren.
“You’re not saying…” She trailed off, nausea twisting her insides. But the somber look in Arthur’s eyes only confirmed her fears.
“These are the defected students,” he confessed. “The ones who refused to succumb to the shadows. They’re forged into weapons. Brainless shadow creatures who protect the encampment’s perimeter. We call them Aberrations.”
Wren’s head spun. She fought the urge to be sick.
“Why are you showing me this?” she asked, voice thick.
“You need to understand the finality of what it means to become a Demien,” Quinn replied, his expression grave.
“When we became Demiens, we made a vow. A covenant. We remove our humanity, we use shadow magic…and we succumb to it. There are always consequences when vows are broken. The darkest vows, most of all. And this is our eternal punishment if we do not bend to the Soulless One’s wish. ”
There are always consequences when vows are broken.
Wren’s mind wandered to August. To the covenant now binding him to the Demien Order…the unbreakable connection linking him to the Soulless One. If they discovered his betrayal, would he meet the same fate?