Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
The next night…
“Close your eyes and feel the shadows,” Bael instructs, his voice echoing slightly in the abandoned ballroom we’ve claimed for tonight’s training.
Moonlight filters through cracked stained glass windows, casting jewel-toned patterns across the dusty marble floor that shift and dance as clouds pass overhead.
The once-grand space has fallen into elegant decay—tarnished chandeliers hang precariously from the ceiling like sleeping giants, and velvet curtains hang in tatters along the walls, their rich burgundy fabric faded to the color of dried blood.
It’s beautiful in that haunting, forgotten way that seems to define half of Greyson Academy.
The air smells like dust, old roses, and the faint metallic tang of tarnished silver.
I obey, closing my eyes and focusing on the surrounding darkness.
After two weeks of nightly training sessions, my shadow awareness has expanded dramatically.
I can sense the shape of the room through shadows alone—the curve of the walls, the height of the vaulted ceiling, even the tiny rodents scurrying in distant corners.
Their heartbeats flutter like whispers against my consciousness.
“Shadow-walking requires complete immersion,” Bael continues, circling me slowly. I can feel his presence like a warm current in the cool air. “You must become one with the darkness, not just command it.”
“Easy for you to say,” I mutter, my breath visible in small puffs. “You’ve had centuries to practice.”
His soft chuckle comes from directly behind me, making me jump.
The sound is rich and warm, like dark chocolate melting.
I hate how silently he moves—one second he’s across the room, the next he’s close enough that I can smell his scent, dark and intoxicating.
“Even for me, the first step was the hardest.”
I’ve been dreading this lesson. Shadow-walking—the ability to travel through the shadow realm—is an advanced technique that marks the difference between a truly skilled Dark Nephilim and a novice.
It’s also the most obvious “tell” if I get it wrong.
Normal Dark Nephilim use shadow-walking as a technical skill; for me, it feels instinctual, which means I might accidentally reveal my Ascendant nature.
“The technique is simple in theory,” Bael says, his voice taking on that instructional tone I’ve come to know well. “Extend your awareness into the shadow you wish to travel through, then pull your physical form after it.”
“That doesn’t sound simple at all,” I protest, eyes still closed. My shadows curl around my ankles like an anxious pet.
“Think of it as diving into water,” he suggests. “Your mind enters first, creating a path for your body to follow.”
I reach out with my shadow awareness, feeling the darkest patch of shadow across the room by the grand piano.
The instrument looms in the darkness like a sleeping beast, its black surface reflecting moonlight in fragmented patterns.
My shadows extend toward it eagerly, like fingers stretching to touch something just out of reach.
“Good,” Bael murmurs, suddenly right beside me. I can feel the heat radiating from his body despite the cool air. “Now step into your shadow, not through it.”
I take a deep breath that tastes like dust and magic, and attempt to follow my shadow extension, imagining myself flowing along the path my awareness has created.
For a moment, nothing happens. Then the world tilts sideways, my stomach lurches like I’m falling, and icy darkness envelops me completely.
The sensation is overwhelming—like being submerged in liquid night while every cell in my body vibrates with electric energy.
I panic, flailing in the nothingness, unable to see or feel anything solid.
Just as claustrophobia threatens to overwhelm me, muscular arms wrap around my waist, anchoring me back to reality.
We emerge by the piano, my back pressed against Bael’s chest as he steadies me. The physical contact sends electricity up my spine, making every nerve ending sing with awareness. My shadows instinctively reach for his like they’re coming home.
“I’ve got you,” he says, his breath warm against my ear, sending shivers down my neck. “The first transition is always disorienting.”
I pull away quickly, my heart racing from both the shadow-walking and his proximity. The loss of contact leaves me feeling strangely bereft. “That was... fucking intense.”
“You did well,” he says, maintaining a careful distance now, though his shadows still reach toward mine. “Most can’t manage any transition on their first try.”
A small thrill of pride cuts through my disorientation. “Let me try again.”
For the next hour, I practice shadow-walking across increasing distances.
Each transition becomes smoother, the cold shock less jarring, though Bael insists on being ready to catch me every time.
His presence is both comforting and distracting—I find myself hyperaware of his every movement, the way he watches me with those intense green eyes.
By my sixth attempt, I can move from one end of the ballroom to the other without the stomach-dropping sensation.
“The key difference in your shadow-walking,” Bael notes after a particularly smooth transition, “is that you seem to become shadow entirely during the transition. Normal Dark Nephilim simply use shadows as conduits, maintaining their physical form.”
I frown, wiping sweat from my forehead despite the cool air. “Is that bad? Will it give me away?”
“Not if you’re careful. Most won’t notice the subtle difference unless they’re specifically looking for it.
” He studies me thoughtfully, his gaze making my skin prickle with awareness.
“Your natural affinity for the shadow realm could be advantageous, actually. You can travel farther with less effort.”
We move on to the next exercise—using shadow tendrils as scouts to gather information. I sit cross-legged in the center of the room, the cold marble seeping through my jeans while Bael places objects in distant corners, challenging me to identify them using only my shadow extensions.
“Extend your awareness, not just your shadows,” he instructs. “Feel what they encounter as if through your own fingertips.”
I send a tendril sliding across the dusty floor toward the first object, trying to sense its shape and texture. The shadow touches something cold and metallic, with ridges and a circular shape. The metal tastes of age and tarnish through my shadow’s senses.
“A coin,” I guess. “Old. Silver, maybe?”
Bael nods, impressed. “Exactly right. Try the next one.”
As my shadow scouts become more precise, I discover I can sense not just objects but energies.
The room holds layers of emotion—decades of joy from long-ago parties, sorrow from abandonment, and something darker that makes my shadows recoil.
When my tendril approaches the door, it suddenly snaps back as if it’s been burned, sensing someone in the hallway outside.
“Someone’s coming,” I whisper, alarmed. My heart hammers against my ribs.
Bael goes still as death, extending his own shadow awareness. The temperature in the room seems to drop several degrees. “Light Nephilim. Two of them on patrol.”
My shadows instinctively gather closer, responding to my fear without conscious command. They form a protective shroud around me, darkening to better conceal my presence like living camouflage.
“Your shadows are becoming protective,” Bael observes, moving silently to my side. “That’s good. It means your bond with them is strengthening.”
The patrol passes without entering the ballroom, their light auras creating brief flashes under the door that make my shadows flinch. But the momentary danger highlights the risks we’re taking with these nightly sessions. If caught, I’d face tough questions at best, exposure, and death at worst.
“We should practice shadow-walking through walls,” Bael suggests once the danger passes. “For quick escapes if needed.”
This proves significantly more challenging.
Moving through solid objects requires compressing my physical form into pure shadow essence—a process that feels like squeezing through a too-tight opening while every atom in my body screams in protest. My first attempt ends with me halfway through a wall, stuck like a bug in amber until Bael pulls me back through with hands that shake slightly.
“Commit fully to the transition,” he advises, his hands lingering on my shoulders as he steadies me. His touch burns through my shirt, warm and solid. “Hesitation leaves you vulnerable.”
After several more attempts and near-disasters that leave me gasping and disoriented, I finally manage to shadow-walk through the ballroom wall into the adjacent corridor. The triumph is short-lived, however, as the effort leaves me dizzy and weak-kneed, like I’ve run a marathon.
Bael appears beside me instantly, his arm around my waist keeping me upright when my legs threaten to give out. “Enough for tonight. You’re pushing too hard.”
I want to protest, but the room is spinning alarmingly, and I taste copper in my mouth. “Fine. Just... give me a minute.”
We slide down the wall to sit on the cold stone floor, my head dropping to his shoulder as I wait for the dizziness to pass.
He smells like winter nights and something uniquely him that makes my pulse skip.
His shadows curl protectively around mine, creating a comforting cocoon of darkness that soothes my frayed nerves.
“Our shadow connection grows stronger,” he observes quietly, his voice rumbling through his chest. “Your abilities are developing faster than I expected.”
“Is that because of the mate bond thing?” I ask, still not entirely comfortable discussing the mysterious connection he described in the observatory.