Six
His?
The word curdles something inside me. How dare he speak as though I am something that can be claimed, possessed—a prize dragged from the jaws of this place before the Blood Rites have even begun.
Around us, the Dome has gone quieter. Not silent—never silent. The Overseers still hum their endless litany beneath everything else, low and droning like insects trapped inside the walls.
Bright Mother, save us. Let the Veins be fed.
But the attention shifts all the same. I feel it moving through the Dome like smoke.
The Fireborn laughs first.
“Spoken like a true Shadowborn,” Atheron says, his voice rich with amusement. “Claiming ownership where there is none to be had.” His eyes drift lazily between us. “Do you not know where you are, boy?”
Kael finally looks away from me. The shift in his attention should feel like relief, but, somehow, it doesn’t.
“I know exactly where I am,” he replies coolly. “And I know exactly who I’m dealing with.” His gaze sharpens. “Atheron Visconti.”
The name lands heavily across the Dome, and the reaction ripples outwards almost instantly. Conversations falter. Several Offerings subtly retreat towards the edges of the chamber as tension tightens in the air between the two.
Visconti.
The name is infamous even within the Light Dominion. It belongs to the ruling bloodline of the Fire Dominion—ruthless, powerful, and whispered about whenever the Blood Rites are discussed. Somehow, a Fireborn victor almost always emerges from the carnage.
I study Atheron again, unease tightening my chest.
If he truly is one of them, then perhaps those stories were not exaggerated after all.
The thought of willingly choosing to come here staggers me.
Atheron smiles slowly, clearly enjoying the effect his name has had.
“I see my reputation precedes me.” His attention returns to Kael. “But your identity has hardly gone unnoticed either. Kael Noctaryn.” His mouth curls faintly. “Son of the Shadow Crown himself.”
A prince. The revelation strikes me harder than it should.
I look at Kael differently then. The confidence. The command in his voice. The way the other Shadowborn instinctively defer to him.
Of course.
Atheron takes another step forward, all easy confidence and sharpened cruelty. “Tell me, Prince,” he drawls, “did your father send you here to die, or did you volunteer?”
Something flashes behind Kael’s expression so quickly I nearly miss it. “You know nothing about me, Fireborn.”
“Oh, I think I know enough, Prince.” Atheron’s smile widens, teeth glinting beneath the lights. “This is not my first dance with the Mother Shard. I’ve seen stronger men than you crumble here.” His voice lowers. “You’ll fall like the rest.”
The Fireborn standing behind him snicker softly.
I can’t understand how any of them can laugh here. We stand inside the Mother Shard itself, surrounded by Overseers murmuring prayers about sacrifice like death has already made its choice.
Bright Mother, see us. Bright Mother, claim us.
The sound crawls beneath my skin.
Atheron’s gaze slides towards me again, dismissive and cold.
“But by all means,” he says to Kael, “claim yourself an easy target.” His lip curls faintly. “Have your little rabbit.”
Heat floods my face instantly.
“You’ll all die in the end anyway.”
Then he turns and walks away, the other Fireborn trailing after him without hesitation.
The tension in the Dome eases slightly once he leaves, though it never fully disappears. Kael barely reacts at all.
“Come,” he says to the other Shadowborn. “Nyxen. Vaelis.”
As though none of this mattered. As though he did not just announce ownership over me in front of half the Dome. The irritation finally wins.
“What did you mean?” I ask before I can stop myself.
Kael glances back. Those dark eyes settle on me fully again, and my pulse immediately betrays me.
“When you said I was yours.”
A faint smirk touches the corner of his mouth.
“Exactly what I said, little rabbit.”
“Don’t call me that.”
The sharpness in my voice surprises even me.
Mana stirs beneath my skin in immediate response, restless and hot, pressing against the restraints I keep wrapped tightly around it at all times. I force myself to breathe before it can rise any further.
“That Fireborn already called me that once,” I say, struggling to keep my composure. “I don’t need another arrogant bastard repeating it.”
Something unreadable flickers across Kael’s face. Gone almost as quickly as it appeared.
“Men,” I mutter bitterly. “Boys. You’re all the same.”
“Monsters?” he asks dryly.
Then he steps closer, unhurried and deliberate enough that I have time to step back if I want to. I don’t.
The heat coming off him hits me first. Sweat, steel, something darker beneath it that makes my stomach tighten unexpectedly. My body reacts before my mind catches up, awareness sliding low and dangerous through me.
“Well?” he asks quietly. “What else would you have us be?”
The question settles heavily between us because we both know the answer already. This place was built for slaughter, and only one of us survives.
The thought hollows something out inside me. Fear coils tighter in my stomach, tangled with the memory of blood on a bridge and a body turning to ash before my eyes.
“I don’t want this place to change me,” I admit softly.
Kael leans slightly closer, his voice dropping lower, rough enough to send a shiver down my spine despite myself. “I didn’t hear you.”
I step back before I can think better of it. “It doesn’t matter.”
For a moment he simply watches me, his expression unreadable.
Then, quietly, “Why didn’t you protect yourself?”
Panic flashes through me so suddenly it almost shows on my face.
Because I cannot answer honestly. Because the moment anyone here learns what I truly am, whatever fragile safety I still possess will vanish.
“I don’t see how that’s any of your business, Prince.”
The title is meant to sound mocking. It comes out weaker than intended.
Kael studies me for another long moment, unsettling in his stillness.
“You’re right,” he says, walking away. “Enjoy your training, Luceris.”
The way he says my name sends heat creeping embarrassingly over my cheeks. I turn away before he can see it.
The weapon racks gleam beneath the Dome lights, rows of polished steel laid out with clinical precision. I grab the nearest dagger mostly to give my hands something to do besides shake.
Marissa appears beside me moments later.
“You’re drawing all sorts of attention,” she whispers nervously. “Are you sure that’s safe?”
None of this is safe. Not this place. Not the trials waiting ahead of us. Certainly not Kael Noctaryn looking at me like he’s already decided something about me that I don’t understand.
“None of us are safe, Marissa,” I reply too sharply.
She flinches, and guilt floods me immediately.
“I’m sorry,” I say more gently. “I’ll protect you if I can.”
“I know you will.” The certainty in her voice twists painfully inside my chest. She is far too young to be here. Too trusting. Still naive enough to believe kindness alone can save someone.
I hand her a dagger from the rack. She takes it eagerly despite the fear lingering in her eyes, testing its weight with surprising confidence.
Good. Fear keeps people alive.
I take a short sword for myself and lead her towards the far side of the Dome where the training dummies wait in neat rows. Callen joins us without speaking, already slipping naturally into formation beside us.
We practice the way I learned at the barracks: repetition until movement becomes instinct.
Strike. Recover. Pivot.
Callen fights with brutal efficiency, every swing economical and precise. Around us, the other Offerings train in scattered groups across the Dome.
The Waterborn have an eerie grace, murmuring soft prayers like they are listening to voices none of us can hear.
The Fireborn spar violently, sparks and bursts of flame flashing through the air around them as blades clash.
The Airborn barely seem tethered to the floor, their movements unnaturally quick and light.
Yet it is the Earthborn who hold my attention longest. Their movements are steady and controlled, offence and defence flowing together seamlessly as chunks of stone rise and break apart around them. All of them balanced and certain.
My grip tightens slightly around my sword. Marissa and Callen’s bands have been off for more than a day now. I wonder if they are settling into any of their power.
I still have no idea what will happen when I finally allow mine to surface.
Fear settles cold beneath my sternum. I spent years forcing my Mana into silence, years pretending weakness was safer than truth.
Recently, every time my power has slipped free of my control, it has become something dangerous.
Standing inside the Mother Shard itself, surrounded by Offerings trained to kill, I no longer know whether my Mana will answer me obediently when I finally call for it—
—or whether it will consume everything around me instead.
We break after some time, though the restless tension inside the Dome never truly settles. My attention keeps drifting back to Kael.
He spars with the other two Shadowborn at the centre of the room, though I still cannot tell which one is Nyxen and which is Vaelis.
The three of them move with an ease that borders on unsettling familiarity, circling each other in slow, fluid arcs that feel more like a dance than combat.
Every strike is met with another already waiting for it.
Every movement answered before it fully forms.
They know each other well, but even among them, Kael moves differently.
There is something almost elegant in the way he fights, despite the brutality beneath it.
He steps lightly, economical in every motion, dark clothes shifting around him like smoke as he ducks beneath a blade and counters in the same breath.
Watching him feels frightening in a way I cannot properly explain.
Like staring too long at a blade levelled at your face.