Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
The abandoned chapel in Greyson’s east wing has become my favorite practice space, a forgotten sanctuary that feels like stepping into another world.
Forgotten by most students, it offers privacy without the claustrophobia of the Shadow Archive.
Moonlight streams through shattered stained-glass windows, casting prismatic patterns across stone floors worn smooth by centuries of faithful feet.
The broken glass creates a kaleidoscope of colors—deep blues and purples mixed with fragments of gold and crimson that dance across the ancient stones.
Wooden pews, long since removed, have left ghostly outlines in the dust that coats everything like a shroud.
Crumbling saints watch from niches along the walls, their stone faces eroded to haunting approximations of human features that seem to follow my movements.
The air smells like centuries of incense mixed with decay and something indefinably sacred that makes my skin prickle with awareness. Perfect for practicing forbidden shadow techniques without worrying about prying eyes.
I stand in the center of what was once the altar space, my shadows swirling around me like eager dancers awaiting instruction.
The stone beneath my feet is cold even through my shoes, and I can feel the weight of history pressing down from the vaulted ceiling above.
Since discovering the ancestral knowledge hidden within my shadows, my practice sessions have taken on new purpose.
I’m not just controlling my shadows anymore—I’m unlocking abilities passed down through generations of Dawns like some kind of genetic memory.
Tonight I’m attempting shadow-weaving again, the technique Bael showed me in the astronomy tower.
I focus on creating a three-dimensional construct—a butterfly with delicate wings and articulated body.
My shadows respond eagerly, gathering into the rough shape before hesitating, as if unsure how to proceed.
The half-formed creation hovers between my palms like a question mark made of darkness.
“You’re thinking too linearly,” comes Bael’s voice from the darkness behind me, smooth as aged whiskey.
I don’t jump anymore when he appears without warning. My shadows have learned to recognize his presence before he announces himself, greeting him like an old friend rather than alerting me to danger. They actually seem to purr when he’s near, if shadows can purr.
“I told you I wanted to practice alone tonight,” I say, not turning around. My breath fogs slightly in the cool air.
“And yet here I am.” He circles to face me, moonlight catching the sharp angles of his face and making his skin look like carved marble. “Your shadows called to mine. They’re struggling with something.”
I sigh, letting the half-formed butterfly dissolve back into formless shadow that flows around my feet like disappointed smoke. “I can’t get the fine details right. The construct falls apart when I try to make it too complex.”
“Because you’re approaching it as sculpture when you should be thinking of it as transformation.” He extends his hand, pale as moonlight in the colored glow from the broken windows. “May I?”
After my encounter with Constantine in the restricted section last night, I should probably maintain boundaries with both men. Instead, I nod, allowing Bael to step closer. I can smell his scent now—something dark and masculine that reminds me of winter nights and forbidden desires.
“Shadow-weaving isn’t about forcing shadows into shapes,” he explains, his own shadows extending to mingle with mine like lovers meeting after a long separation. “It’s about revealing the forms that already exist within darkness.”
“That makes no fucking sense.”
A rare smile touches his lips, transforming his usually serious expression. “Watch.”
His shadows gather between us, seeming to thicken and solidify without losing their essential darkness.
They flow like liquid night into the shape of a perfect rose, each petal distinct, the stem bearing delicate thorns.
It looks so real I could reach out and smell its fragrance—which I do, marveling as my fingers encounter actual resistance where only shadow should be.
“How do you make it solid?” I ask, fascinated by the way the shadow petals feel like silk beneath my fingertips.
“Density and intent. The shadows become tangible when properly compressed.” He dissolves the rose with a gesture, his shadows returning to their fluid state. “Your turn.”
I concentrate again, picturing the butterfly in my mind with perfect clarity. But this time, instead of trying to sculpt the shadows from the outside, I reach into them with my awareness, feeling for the butterfly-shape that might already exist within the darkness.
To my amazement, the shadows respond differently.
They swirl into a vortex that makes my stomach flutter, then expand outward, revealing delicate wings patterned with intricate designs, segmented antennae, and a segmented body.
The shadow butterfly hovers between my palms, its wings slowly opening and closing with lifelike movement.
“I did it!” I exclaim, giddy with success and the rush of power flowing through me.
“Excellent.” Bael’s approval warms me more than it should, spreading heat through my chest like whiskey. “Now try making it move independently.”
This proves more challenging than creating the form.
I can maintain the butterfly’s structure, but directing its flight while keeping the construct intact requires divided attention that makes my head ache.
After several failed attempts where the butterfly either dissolves mid-flight or crashes into walls, my shadow butterfly finally flutters in a small circle around us before dissolving back into ordinary darkness.
“That’s enough shadow-weaving for tonight,” Bael says, noting my fatigue in the way I sway slightly on my feet. “There’s another technique I want to show you. Something that might prove more immediately useful.”
“What’s that?” I ask, wiping sweat from my forehead despite the cool air.
“Shadow cloaking.” His eyes meet mine, green as deep forest pools. “The ability to render yourself invisible using shadows.”
My interest peaks immediately, cutting through my exhaustion. “That sounds way more useful than making shadow butterflies.”
“It’s also considerably more difficult,” he warns, stepping closer until I can feel the coolness radiating from his immortal form. “It requires wrapping shadows around your physical form in a perfect second skin while simultaneously bending light around the construct.”
“Show me,” I demand eagerly, my shadows already reaching toward him in anticipation.
Instead of demonstrating, Bael steps directly behind me, close enough that I can feel his presence but not quite touching. The air between us crackles with tension. “It’s easier to teach through guidance. May I?”
I nod, suddenly very aware of his proximity and the way my pulse has quickened. His arms come around me without making contact, his shadows extending to surround us both in a cocoon of darkness that feels intimate and protective.
“Close your eyes,” he instructs, his voice low near my ear, his breath cool against my neck. “Feel how my shadows move. They’re not covering us—they’re becoming us.”
I do as he says, focusing on the sensation of his shadows mingling with mine. They flow around my body like cool water, seeking out every contour and curve with an intimacy that makes my breath catch.
“The key is precision,” Bael continues, his voice rumbling through his chest behind me. “The shadow must conform exactly to your physical form, with no gaps or inconsistencies. A second skin of perfect darkness.”
As he speaks, his shadows demonstrate, wrapping around my arms, legs, torso with touches that feel almost real. The sensation is strangely intimate, like being caressed everywhere at once without actual physical contact. My heart hammers against my ribs.
“Now,” his voice drops even lower, becoming almost hypnotic, “bend the light.”
“How?” I whisper, hyper-aware of his presence behind me and the way his shadows move against mine.
“Shadows don’t just absorb light—they can redirect it. Feel the light touching your shadow skin, then guide it around rather than allowing it to bounce back.”
I concentrate on the moonlight streaming through the broken windows, feeling how it encounters our shadow cocoon. With careful mental effort, I visualize the light bending around us like water flowing around stones rather than reflecting off the shadows.
“Look,” Bael whispers, his voice so close to my ear that it sends shivers down my spine.
I open my eyes to find the world slightly distorted, as if I’m looking through dark water. Colors seem muted, edges softer. But more startlingly, when I glance down at my body, I can barely see it. My form appears as a subtle ripple in the air, visible only because I know exactly where to look.
“We’re invisible?” I breathe, amazed by the strangeness of seeing my own hand as little more than a heat shimmer.
“Not quite. More like... mostly unnoticeable. Someone looking directly at us might see a distortion, but casual observers would overlook our presence entirely.”
I turn slowly within the shadow cloak, coming face to face with Bael. In the dark transparency of our shared concealment, his features are ghostly, his green eyes luminous like emeralds catching firelight. Being hidden together creates an unexpected intimacy, a private world where only we exist.
“Now try it alone,” he says, beginning to withdraw his shadows with obvious reluctance.
“Wait,” I reach out instinctively, my hand catching his wrist. His skin is cool marble beneath my fingers. “Help me maintain it a little longer. I want to get the feeling right.”