Twenty One #3
I take a quarterstaff from the rack. My hands are unsteady, my grip too tight.
I move to the centre, trying to remember some drills: wide stance, pivot, strike, reset.
Marissa was the last person I saw using one.
It’s not my favourite weapon—it doesn’t suit me, and I prefer having one hand free—but I’ll use it today.
To keep her nearby. To feel the ghost of her in the room with me.
I imagine Kael behind me, his shadow watching over me in silent judgement. I’m not graceful. Not today. I batter the target dummy, each hit wilder than the last, until the drills collapse into something ugly. I don’t care about form. I just want to break something.
The staff splinters after a while, so I toss the broken pieces to the floor, where they roll to a stop. The two halves vibrate, and for a second, I think they might knit themselves back together.
“You don’t belong here.”
I spin.
Atheron stands in the doorway, whole and unscathed, his missing leg reattached—or regrown. Who knows? He wears the same arrogant smile as always, but his eyes burn with something new. A wild joy. The certainty that I am the last mouse in a cage, and he is about to enjoy the kill.
“I long for your death,” he croons, mouth wet with it, as he draws nearer.
The feeling is mutual.
I turn back to the dummy and grab another staff. Maybe if I ignore him, he will disappear.
The world is not that kind.
He circles me, slow and predatory, hands clasped behind his back. “It’s almost sad,” he purrs. “You keep surviving, but you’ve got no one left. Well—almost no one.”
“Haven’t you done enough?” I say, trying to keep my voice steady.
Atheron’s lips curl. “I want to see the abomination up close. The one who can turn light into a weapon. The one who refuses to die.”
He steps closer, close enough for me to smell the smoke on his skin.
“Is that all I am?” I ask.
He grins, all teeth. “You’re an insult to nature. An aberration. Though I should thank you for making this interesting.”
I try to get around him, but he blocks me.
His hand flashes out. A whip of fire wraps around my wrist, and pain snaps through me, searing and immediate.
A sound tears out of me as I pull away, but the fire holds, eating through skin.
The Mother Shard’s healing magic traps me there, flesh burning and healing on a loop.
I grit my teeth and throw the strongest right hook I can muster. It glances off his jaw as he twists away.
Atheron’s face softens, almost gentle. He licks the blood from the corner of his mouth where I caught him. “So much bite for one so soft,” he says. His eyes glint with something wicked. “I want to know what you taste like.”
The fire drags my wrist to his mouth, his lips barely grazing the burn. The flames give way to revulsion.
He lets me go, and I stumble back. The blistering, burnt flesh begins to renew itself, fresh layers growing back like a painting burning in reverse. Red, white and yellow are replaced by dark honey brown.
“I’d love to see what you could become,” Atheron says. He almost sounds mournful. “Unfortunately, you will have to die. I have a legacy to continue, after all.”
“You’re vile,” I spit.
“Your little friend said something similar, if I recall.”
Rage rises hot in my throat, but there’s no use fighting here. Any pain would only be temporary, and he deserves much worse.
“It was rather inspiring, I thought. The way she defended herself.” He inspects his fingernails as if he’s bored. “Perhaps we should do some practising of our own. Hmm?”
He shoves me to the floor, and I scramble back, palms scraping on the stone. He follows, hands wreathed in flame.
A chill seeps through my bones as the room darkens. Not slowly—a single, violent pulse, as if someone ripped the light out by the roots.
A shadow flickers, then takes shape: Kael.
This is not the boy who held me while I grieved. He is something much worse. The thing the other Offerings were afraid of.
Kael’s eyes are blacker than I have ever seen them. His voice is a sound I’ve never heard before—an empty, echoing rasp that fills the whole Dome.
“Touch him again,” he says, “and there won’t be enough of you left to put back together.”
Atheron doesn’t flinch. Instead, his flames surge, illuminating the dark. “So, you want to play again, Prince?” he sneers. “You could have been a match for me, you know, but you’re soft. Your father would be ashamed.”
“There’s no one to help you this time,” Kael says. “One of your minions is already dead.”
Atheron huffs. “Minions, perhaps. But Maleiros was a dutiful soldier. And Serraith was more than capable of handling your two ‘bodyguards’.”
Kael’s eyes seem to pulse. He steps between me and Atheron, the air frosting over around him.
“You’re dead, Visconti,” he says.
“You know, I almost feel sorry for you, Prince. You’re not even relevant anymore. Your little pet here is the real standout.”
He laughs, low and ugly. “Your father sent you here to prove yourself, didn’t he? The Mad King, so obsessed with power he sent his last heir to the Blood Rites. Even I wouldn’t send my child here.”
He looks at me, speaking over Kael’s shoulder. “Did you know I have a daughter, Luceris? She’s beautiful. Almost as pretty as you. I would set the world ablaze before I let her witness this place.”
Kael’s whole body shakes. Not with rage, but with something closer to despair. “You’re a coward,” he says. “Hiding behind your pawns.”
Atheron laughs. “Maybe so. But I will win.”
Kael’s shadows deepen, spreading from his feet and climbing his legs. His voice is just a whisper now, but it vibrates in my bones. “No. You won’t.”
He lifts his hand, and the shadows congeal into a blade, black as the void. There is no flourish, no showmanship—just a single, clean motion.
I reach out and grab his arm.
His shadows stutter. For a fraction of a second, the edge loses its shape.
But I can’t stop him. I can’t reach him where he is.
He slices.
And the blade doesn’t cut.
It erases.
Atheron smiles. Not wide, but knowing.
His head hits the floor before his body realises it’s gone. His eyes are still open, mouth still smiling. His body staggers, then collapses, spilling blood that sizzles as it hits the stone.
I expect the Overseers to appear, or the Mother Shard to intervene. But nothing happens.
Kael stands over the body, breathing hard, shadows writhing around his hands and feet. When he turns to me, darkness swirls in his eyes, but beneath it, I can see the horror.
“I’m sorry,” he says.
I try to say something, but the words won’t come. My mouth is dry, my heart beating too fast.
Atheron’s headless body twitches.
The wound at his neck closes over, skin knitting itself together with impossible speed. His head rolls back towards the body and attaches itself, face still twisted in that same ugly grin. He gets to his knees, shakes himself off, and stands.
But something is off. He staggers, clutching at his throat. There’s a scar—a silver ring around his neck, like the chain of a necklace. It fades quickly, but the image lingers in my mind.
Kael sees it too. He backs away from Atheron and pulls me up from the floor.
Atheron’s voice is guttural. “You think you can kill me, Prince? You think you’re above the rules?”
He advances, but the movement is sluggish and uncertain.
Kael’s hand closes around my shoulder. “Next time,” he says quietly, “you won’t come back.”
Atheron scowls, then grins. “You’ll never get this close again.”
He turns and leaves without looking back.
The shadows recede, and the Dome is empty again, save for the pool of blood on the floor.
Kael lets go of me, his hands shaking as he stares at them like he doesn’t recognise what they’ve done.
I look at him—and something in me recoils.
Not from what he did. But from how easy he made it look.
He sees the fear, and his face collapses.
He doesn't speak.
He just turns and walks away, leaving me alone as the warmth returns to the room.
I want to sleep. I want the memory of Kael—the black hunger in his eyes—to be erased by it.
But sleep won’t come. Every time I slip under, I wake gasping, choking on ghosts. I can’t get out of the room fast enough.
The halls of the Embrace are empty. The lights pulse dimly, weak and uneven. Everything feels off-balance, like the whole world is tilting and no one warned me.
I drift through the halls until I end up back outside my room. But I don’t go in. I go to his.
I expect Kael’s door to be locked, but it opens under my hand. The room inside is the same as before—organised, severe. He’s there, hunched over the desk, leaning on his elbows.
“Not now, little rabbit,” he says, without turning.
His voice is smaller than I expect. Empty.
I step inside anyway and shut the door behind me. I stand in the centre of the room, my hands shaking “You scared me,” I say, because it’s true.
He turns in his chair, and the look he gives me is so barren it pulls the air from my lungs.
“You should be,” he says, but it’s just for show.
I cross my arms over my chest. “Not like that. I’m not scared of you. I’m scared for you. It was like you were—” I search for the word. “—gone.”
His mouth quirks. Not quite a smile. “And you’re here to find me?”
He stands and crosses to the other side of the room. He’s never been this cold, not even when I was just a target. An unknown.
“Maybe,” I say. “Maybe I was worried about you.”
“Don’t waste your time,” he says.
I move closer and rest my forehead against his back. “You told me we didn't have long. You told me to let you in. I’m saying the same to you now.”
He turns to me. “I’m not worth this, Luceris,” he says, his voice breaking. “I never have been.”
We are breaths apart, but the distance feels deeper than that. I set my palms on his chest. “You’re all I have left,” I say. My fingers tremble, and I try to still them. I want to run. But he’s shaking too, just a little, so I wait.
Eventually, he sits on the bed, burying his face in his hands. “You should go,” he says, muffled.