Chapter 14
The night streets of Viele are quiet, distant laughter spilling from taverns like an afterthought. I shiver as the night air bites into my skin, my tunic’s thin fabric offering little protection.
I glance at Kaelzar, his presence looming like a shadow at my side.
“Not going to offer a lady your cloak?” I ask, teeth chattering slightly.
“No,” comes the curt reply, his tone cold enough to match the chill in the air.
A flicker of annoyance sparks within me, but before I can retort, warmth envelops me.
I glance down at my arms, where darkness wraps around me like a comforting blanket. It moves, liquid and weightless, curling around my body before settling.
“Why is this shadow warm?” I ask, cautious curiosity threading through my voice. I run my fingers through the darkness at my elbows, half-expecting it to dissipate. It doesn’t.
Kaelzar doesn’t answer at first. Instead, he raises a hand, fingers barely twitching. The warmth at my shoulders flares briefly, as if obeying some invisible command, then settles again.
“This is a shadow of a fireplace,” he says finally.
I look at him, waiting for more, but the silence stretches. I frown, tilt my head, and jab a finger toward my boot.
“And that,” I say with mock solemnity, “is the foot you’ll taste if I have to keep prying words out of your secretive mouth.”
The corners of Kaelzar’s mouth twitch. “Then I insist it be washed first, before your command forces me into the noble servitude of tasting your foot.” His voice dips lower, amusement threading through each word.
“Servitude?” I scoff, a smile tugging at my mouth. “I was thinking a polite kick to the jaw.”
His brow arches, teasing me with that maddening calm. “Oh? It sounded like you were about to order me to participate in one of your fanta—”
“Enough,” I hiss. Every threat, every remark, turns into something absurd when Kaelzar is involved. My alcohol-dulled mind struggles to stay focused.
I eye him carefully, weighing my next words. “So, you do have to follow my orders then,” I say. “Good. I order you to explain what you mean by ‘a shadow of a fireplace’.”
For a moment, the warmth around me flares again, then dulls. Like a living thing resisting before relenting.
Instead of answering, he shifts. Shadows spill from his hands, running down like liquid before hardening into shape. Two black swords, long and slightly curved, their edges jagged and uneven. They look brutal, built to maim.
But I feel no fear. Only the strange, magnetic urge to reach out and touch them.
Kaelzar moves toward a nearby street lamp, its oil-fed flame casting a long shadow along the wall of the building beside it. He steps into the glow, raises one sword that looks impossibly heavy, and reaches for the shadow on the wall.
I brace for the sound of scraping stone. But instead, the serrated blade sinks into the shadow as if it were flesh. The wall remains untouched, yet the shadow yields with a strange softness.
Then, with a sudden, brutal motion, Kaelzar slices it free.
For a breathless second, I swear I see it tear—seams splitting like skin, the edges unraveling with the wet sound of meat being ripped from the spine. The light from the streetlamp flickers once then steadies again.
My jaw slackens as a ribbon of darkness crawls up the blade, then coils up his arm, slithering like something alive. The blades dissolve in an instant, bursting into a puff of shadow. Kaelzar holds out his hand, letting the dark mass writhe across his palm like a trained creature.
It moves with quiet obedience, as if it had always belonged there.
I should be focused on the unnerving show of his magic, but instead, my attention is focused on his ruined, scar-riddled palm. Kaelzar notices my stare, and closes his hand.
“My magic allows me to manipulate the shadows I take,” he says at last.
My gaze drops to my own shadow beneath the streetlamp. A creeping wrongness settles over me.
“Can you take any shadow?”
Kaelzar’s gaze flicks to the ground. “Yes.” Then he meets my eyes. “And if I want it to hurt, I rip it away with my hands in a similar way I just showed you,” he says, his voice soft but menacing, and I wonder if there is a warning in his tone.
“You don’t go around slicing shadows from every bystander or stray kitten, do you?” I ask.
His look turns sharp, his lips pulling into a thin line. “I seek things with greater utility.”
Just like the fireplace shadow I am now wrapped in. “And each shadow you take holds the properties of its owner, like this fireplace’s shadow?”
“The night owns the shadows,” he says, conviction firm in his voice, and begins walking again.
I quickly follow. “Not their bearer. But they— the bearers— are called an Origin. Each piece retains something of its Origin, though I can’t always tell what I’m taking.
Some shadows are more potent than others.
Some take so much that death becomes a mercy. ”
I recoil slightly at his words. A shadow should be nothing, only absence, only darkness. But in his hands, they have power.
“So that massive shadow that blocked out the sky was once alive?” I ask.
“A stray dragon of Elysium,” he replies with a nod. “Most were domesticated by the gods centuries ago. But some escaped into the wilds. Over time, they bred and changed, their old abilities to fly and spew molten death returning.”
He watches the horizon for a moment before continuing.
“They usually keep their distance, far from the Elysium territories the gods have claimed for themselves. Most just want to be left alone, forgotten. But sometimes, one goes feral and crosses the boundary.” His voice lowers.
“It was my job to deal with the ones that entered Calista’s lands. ”
My mind spins, struggling to grasp how he could face a dragon and win.
If he can kill a dragon, what chance would I have?
What could I, only human, do if he ever turned against me?
But for now, he’s bound to my will. I cling to that thought, taking comfort in the hope that his immense strength might join with whatever courage I can summon. Maybe, together, we’ll be enough to stand against the other Champions.
Fascination mingles with unease as my gaze drifts to him again, to the strange stillness in his expression.
There’s none of the hollow submission I’ve seen in the other Godbeasts—those broken, tamed dragons brought from the gods’ realm, their wings crippled in different ways which makes me wonder who breaks them, and why.
Yet Kaelzar isn’t like them. His magic is separate from the goddess he serves, his power his own.
And if one like him exists, are there others? Why was he chosen by Calista? Why would he be at her service if she rotted his mother? The questions spiral, dizzying and dangerous, until I force myself to hold on to just one.
“What are you?” I ask quietly, hesitant. When no answer comes, I turn to face him. “Please, Kaelzar. I want to understand.”
This time, I don’t command him to speak. I wait, testing whether he’ll choose to.
For a moment, my words linger in the air, with only our footsteps breaking the silence. Then, Kaelzar’s gaze snaps to mine, a cold, dangerous warning flickering in the depths of his gray eyes.
A heartbeat. Then another. His body tenses, muscles coiled as though holding back the force of a storm.
I think I see the chains across his chest shift.
So slight, so unnatural that I might have imagined it.
I hold my breath, waiting for the flood of words, for the rebuke I’m certain will follow, just for daring to ask.
But instead, Kaelzar closes his eyes, drawing in a slow, controlled breath. When he opens them again, the fire is gone.
“We’re descendants of the God of Night and Stars and his human consort,” he says, leaving me momentarily stunned. “Right before the gods sealed the portal between realms, Calista stole Azrakel’s five children from your world and brought them to Elysium with her.”
I hurry to catch up with his wide strides, my mind reeling. “You mean… kidnapped them? From their homes? Why?”
“He was her husband. He abandoned her, betrayed her,” Kaelzar says.
“In her fury, she destroyed his true body while he possessed a human host. It killed Azrakel instantly. Then she cursed your people.” He glances at me.
“But that only made things worse. Your people turned against her.
Worship stopped. Without their prayers, she grew weak, nearly powerless compared to the other gods.
“When the gods were driven from this realm and could no longer touch it,” he continues, “each carried a group of humans into their dominions in Elysium. Calista did the same. Yet rather than grant them peace, she threw them in with Azrakel’s stolen children and bound them inside an enchanted forest with no way out. ”
Shock rushes through me. The gods didn’t just end the existence of the wild dragons and abandon this realm, they stole people too. My pulse spikes.
History books never offered a single clear reason for why the wild dragons turned on the gods during the Skyburn War, why they chose to sacrifice their own existence to banish them from this realm.
The most common theory claimed they’d simply grown tired of watching the gods plunder their eggs and domesticate their offspring.
But that never felt like enough to justify a war so catastrophic.
But if this revelation is any indication of the truth, then I wholly agree with their choice.
Kidnapping people from their homes isn’t just cruel, it’s barbaric. And it should never have been allowed.
Kaelzar must see the outrage on my face, because he nods, whether in confirmation or approval of my horror, I don’t know.