Chapter 8 #4
They are not just black—they absorb the light, their bodies wrapped in something more sinister than shadow. Their muscles are thick, their forms built for power.
I see their faces.
Sharp. Angular. Predatory.
Their long, tapered snouts are lined with rows of jagged, serrated teeth, gleaming in the sunlight. When they snarl, their mouths stretch too wide—splitting open to reveal a second row of smaller, needle-like fangs.
Their eyes glow a reddish hue. Flickering.
Aware.
Hunting.
They dive, dropping fast and hard, wings tucking in tight, their monstrous bodies hurtling toward the village like falling stars. The wind shifts as they move, a sharp, slicing current that cuts through the wheat, bending the stalks flat beneath its force.
Then the sound reaches me. A shriek. High. Keening.
Wrong.
It rips through the sky, vibrating through my chest, scraping across the inside of my skull. A sound meant to freeze you where you stand.
The first one hits the village.
And the world I know begins to die.
I jolt upright, my breath ragged, my body drenched in sweat. My chest heaves, my heart pounding like it’s trying to escape my ribcage.
The barracks are silent, the light of the moon casting shadows across the floor. I press my palms to my eyes, grounding myself in the stillness.
In the reality that I am here.
Not in the fields. Not in the village. Not watching them die all over again.
I drag a shaking hand through my damp hair. At least I didn’t scream this time. Everyone around me is still asleep.
It was just a dream. No—a nightmare. The same one. Or maybe not the same. Because this time, I saw them.
The creatures.
The way their wings cut through the sky, their eyes burning as they descended. I saw the first one hit the village. Before the screams. Before everything ended.
I swallow hard, forcing myself to breathe, to unclench my fists. It wasn’t real. But I can still hear the shriek. I can still feel the wind.
The morning air is crisp, the last traces of night still clinging to the outpost as I make my way to Valen’s study.
The path is quiet, the usual hum of soldiers preparing for the day still distant.
The sky is just beginning to shift from deep blue to the first hints of gold, the promise of sunrise creeping over the horizon.
I step inside without knocking. The room is dimly lit, the only source of illumination coming from the tall, narrow windows along the far wall.
Golden streaks spill over shelves stacked with books and scrolls.
The scent of parchment lingers in the air, mixed with something earthy, strong, unfamiliar.
Valen stands near the heavy wooden table in the center of the room, a pot of tea steaming beside him. He doesn’t look up as he pours a second cup and pushes it toward me. I blink at him, then at the cup.
“It’s strong,” he says. “Looks like you need it.”
I arch a brow, stepping forward and wrapping my fingers around the warm ceramic. The steam rises, carrying a scent richer than the tea I’m used to—sharp, almost bitter. I take a sip. It burns.
I cough, my throat tightening at the intensity of it, my face twisting before I can stop myself. “What is this?”
“Something that will keep your mind sharp.” Valen barely hides his smirk as he takes a sip from his own cup, unfazed.
I swallow hard, blinking away the lingering heat. “What’s in it?”
He tilts his head slightly, watching me. “Would it change anything if you knew?”
I scowl, setting the cup down. Of course, he wouldn’t give me a straight answer.
“You didn’t call me here for tea,” I say, rubbing my fingers along the rim of the cup.
Valen folds his arms, studying me as if I’m a puzzle missing pieces. “You are learning to fight,” he says finally. “You are learning to wield the elements. But do you understand why?”
I stiffen slightly. “I know why.”
Valen doesn’t blink. “Do you?”
There’s something in his voice—too calm to be casual—and it unsettles me.
I shift my weight in the chair, lips pursing. “Because the realm needs me.”
His eyes sharpen. “And what does that mean to you?”
I exhale slowly, the heat of the tea still burning on my tongue, but it’s nothing compared to the question sitting between us now. Valen studies me, waiting for something—maybe for me to realize that I don’t actually know what I think I do. When I don’t answer, he exhales and sets his cup down.
“The Shadow Wars,” he begins, tone flat, deliberate—like he’s reciting something carved into stone. “A war unlike any before. A war that nearly ended the realm.”
I shift again, fingers tightening around my cup.
“The Forsaken Lands were not always what they are now, barren and desolate,” he continues. “Once, they were thriving—fertile, green, filled with life. But something changed. Something corrupted the land, twisting it into the wasteland it is today. And from that corruption came the Shadow Forces.”
I swallow. I’ve heard some of this before—but not like this. Not with the weight he puts behind every word.
“No one knows exactly where they came from,” he goes on. “But when they appeared, they spread like a sickness, devouring villages, cities—entire regions. Wherever they went, nothing survived.”
I nod slowly. This is the history I know.
“The clans—Fire, Water, Earth, and Air—stood divided for too long, only thinking of themselves.” Valen shakes his head slightly. “By the time they united, the Shadow Forces had already taken half the realm. Entire bloodlines were wiped out. Kingdoms collapsed.”
I cross and uncross my feet, unable to sit still as the truth presses down. My own village had burned because of them. My own family was lost to their destruction.
“The war lasted for ten years,” he continues. “And it wasn’t a war of strategy. It was a war of survival. A war of desperation.”
I had always imagined battle lines, warriors standing against the darkness. But this? This wasn’t that. This was slaughter. A slow, unstoppable wave of annihilation.
“How did they stop it?” I ask. My voice comes quieter than before.
Valen leans back slightly, folding his arms. “They found a way to push the Shadow Forces back, to contain them within the Forsaken Lands. The war didn’t end in victory. It ended in containment.”
I frown. “Containment?”
“They were not defeated,” he repeats. “Only sealed away.”
Something cold coils through me. I sit up straighter. “Sealed,” I echo.
He nods. “With magics tied into the land itself. Old magics. Strong enough to hold for centuries.”
I swallow hard. “Then why are they coming back?”
Valen watches me carefully. “That is the question no one has been able to answer.”
The silence stretches between us, heavy with something neither of us can name. The war never truly ended. It was just waiting.
Valen’s silver-blue eyes glint in the dim light of the study, his fingers tracing the rim of his cup as he continues.
“The old magics were forged—powerful, unbreakable, meant to hold back the tide of darkness, to keep the Shadow Forces contained within the Forsaken Lands. The wards, as you know, are what these magics are called.”
I hesitate. “Who created them?”
Valen’s voice doesn’t waver. “The dragons. And the Elemental Clans.”
I blink. Dragons.
He nods, as if sensing my doubt.
“The strongest magics in the world does not come from men alone. The dragons understood the threat the Shadow Forces posed—not just to the realm, but to existence itself. And so, three of the most powerful dragons, along with three of the most powerful wielders from each Elemental Clan, came together to create the wards. Among those chosen were the leaders of each clan—the Warlord of Fire, the Water Sage, the Earth Guardian, the Air Highmaster. They were not just rulers. They were the strongest among their people, the ones who could wield their magics at its purest, its rawest.”
My fingers tighten slightly around my cup. “How long ago was this?”
“Five hundred years.”
The weight of that number settles into my bones.
“The war was long, brutal,” Valen continues. “But it was the Fire Clan who led the final stand. It was its warriors, its leadership, its relentless drive that finally pushed the Shadow Forces back. The others followed, but it was the Fire Clan who bore the heaviest burden.”
I exhale, my mind racing. “And the wards—they’ve held ever since?”
Valen tilts his head slightly. “You tell me,” he says.
My stomach tightens. We heard rumors for years. The villages bordering the Forbidden Lands have reported attacks. Travelers have passed through our village sharing stories.
And now I’ve seen the shadows stirring myself. I’ve fought them.
I swallow hard. “Then why are they failing?”
Valen is quiet for a moment. Then, finally, “That is what we need to find out.” His fingers tap once against the wooden table. “The wards were meant to last forever,” he says. “But thirty years ago, something shifted.”
I sit straighter. The words feel too calm for what they mean.
“At first, no one noticed. The change was subtle, almost imperceptible. The wards were still intact, the Shadow Forces remained contained. But as the years passed, small disturbances began to appear—shifts in energy, inconsistencies in elemental balance, forces stirring where none should have existed.”
He pauses, gaze distant.
“The first signs were ignored. No one believed the wards could fail. But when the scholars finally looked back—when they traced the records, layered the energy readings, followed the threads—”
He meets my eyes.
“They found the first cracks appeared thirty years ago.”
I inhale slowly, a knot forming in my stomach. I don’t know what’s more terrifying—that the seals are breaking. Or that they’ve been breaking.
I exhale, steadying myself. But the truth presses down anyway.
Whatever is unraveling . . . I am at the center of it.
“The wards failing isn’t a secret,” I say. “Everyone knows.”
Valen inclines his head slightly. “Yes. But few understand what it means.”