Chapter Three #2
Ryder drops into the large burgundy chair with a weary exhale as I set the Soldark down on the desk between us. My fingers itch with the urge to touch him—to mark his skin, to pull him close and pretend the danger doesn’t exist.
But my selfish desire could be my own undoing. So I keep my hands to myself.
“This is the riddle I was telling you about.”
The words still haunt the page, stirring to life at my touch, their ink shifting and breathing.
Ryder scans it in silence. I watch him instead, hope clinging to the edges of my vision.
“Is this really the only lead you have?” he asks at last, exhaling deeply. “It could mean anything.” He lets out a bitter scoff and sets the book back on the desk. “I might as well kiss the chance of ever touching you again goodbye.”
The words hit harder than I expect.
I grit my teeth, frustration flaring hot in my chest. The thought of his hands never gracing my skin again is enough to make my knees weaken. And suddenly I hate the Soldark—the way Ryder’s fingers traced its pages without consequence. It mocked me once with riddles; now it taunts me with envy.
“For fuck’s sake!” The words rip out of me, sharper than intended.
I lock my gaze on the page, bitterness simmering beneath the surface. Drawing in a slow, steady breath, I force my mind to calm.
“You really have no clue?” I ask, clinging to hope that even a single word might spark something—anything—in his mind.
“What do I look like to you—a fucking poet?” He smirks, and my eyes narrow, blood boiling beneath my skin if only he could see it. “Sorry. No, I don’t know… but I know someone who might,” he adds, clearly aware of how his words make me tense. “But I’d have to take a visit to the Shadow Realm.”
The sentence makes me gasp, though I force it back. It’s as if a disease rides the tip of his tongue, infecting me with dread.
The Shadow Realm isn’t just a place—it’s a warning.
A curse Sun parents whisper to frighten their children into obedience.
Darkness reigns there, untouched by light.
The ground is cold, unyielding, and Moons roam by their own brutal laws.
Corruption seeps through everything, and even the air feels alive with menace.
Hearing Ryder speak of it like a joke twists my stomach. Danger drips from every syllable, and yet… he makes it sound almost tempting.
No Sun has ever dared set foot in that place.
And if they have… they never came out.
“Well, I’m coming with you.” The words slip out before reason—or fear—can intervene, before a tremble can claim my lips.
“Over my dead body.” Ryder’s voice booms across the stone walls of the archives, firm and unyeilding.
“The Shadow Realm is dangerous. I have to go with you.” I look up at him, worry threading my gaze. The thought of that place haunted my nights as a child, yet here I am, volunteering to plunge blindly into its depths. But I won’t let him go alone.
“Dangerous for people like you, maybe.” His eyes rake me from head to toe, and my worry twists into offence.
“People like me?” I narrow my eyes. Did he forget that the same shadows clinging to his palms cling to mine as well?
“Let’s face it, Asha. You may be Star, but you were raised a Sun. Out there, they’ll eat you alive.” He steps closer, hand lifting reflexively toward my cheek—but he hesitates, pulling back at the last moment. The empty space burns, and my lungs empty with frustration.
“I can handle myself,” I say firmly, feeling his breath brush mine—so close, yet painfully far.
“I know you can. But these Moons are different. They hate everything connected to the light. If they find out you have Sun in you, you’re as good as dead.
” He crosses his arms sternly, his feet firmly rooted in the ground.
I mirror him. Months of secrets have built my shoulders strong enough to carry more.
Parts of me have been buried for so long, I sometimes forget where.
“Well then, we’d better make sure they don’t find out.” I lean my back against the stone wall, defiance burning in my chest. Fear recedes, replaced with the thrill of rebellion.
“Asha. No!” His jaw tightens; his gaze looms over me, authority wrapped like armour around his words. But the harder he resists, the stronger my desire to challenge him grows.
“I didn’t want to have to do this.” I shake my head and stride to the desk. Ryder watches, confusion flickering across his features. “Soldark, erase your pages. I hope you have a good memory, because now I’m the only one with access to the riddle.”
Checkmate.
I glance at him, noting the shift from stern to frustrated. He sighs, buries his face in his hands, and finally marches toward me.
“Fine. But if we’re doing this, it’s by my rules,” he declares, brows furrowed, weight in every word. “I tell you to do something—you do it.”
“Okay,” I say simply, savouring the small victory.
But now that the petty challenge is won, the dread reclaims its title.
No one ever walks willingly into the darkness because anything could be lurking in the shadows.