Chapter 15
?──── Serenya ? ────?
The wind has a bite to it this morning, sharp with the scent of rain and something more—an unease that clings to the back of my throat.
I stand on the stone balcony of my father’s chambers, my hands resting lightly on the railing as I gaze down at the gathering below. My cloak—deep violet and lined with gold thread—billows softly behind me in the breeze.
Koen, Aren, Asbel, and Lioran stand in the courtyard below, spaced apart but each radiating their own energy. Some are confident, some quieter in their focus.
My mother steps forward now. She addresses them from atop the marble stairs, her voice magically amplified to carry over the courtyard and into the surrounding balconies.
“You now stand on the threshold of the second trial,” she says, her tone formal but not unkind. “This time, you will be taken to a place beyond any kingdom’s borders, a forgotten region that has long been abandoned, and for good reason. The land is treacherous, and it does not welcome life.”
I listen carefully, with my heart in my throat, as my mother continues, “The trial region is vast, nearly the size of a kingdom, though no banner has ever been known to fly over it. It’s a drowned land, shallow waters stretching for miles, broken only by a scattering of small, dry isles and half sunken ruins from a civilization long lost—the reasons for their fall unknown.
Perhaps the land itself turned against them. ”
I shift slightly, and my eye flicks to Koen’s still figure. He stands near Torin, face half-shadowed , his expression unreadable.
“Each of you will be placed separately in different locations near the region’s center. Your goal is to make your way to your portal at the outer edge. Its location will be marked on the map you are given. You will have one week.”
A low murmur rises among the guards stationed below. One week in an unknown place teeming with water and ruins and whatever now lives among them.
My stomach churns. I say nothing, but my father, reclining behind me on the cushioned bench, murmurs quietly, “That’s the same look your mother wore before each of my trials.”
I don’t respond. I’m too overcome with worry for each man about to step through a portal, possibly to his death.
With a flick of my fingers, I release the ribbon of darkness coiled between my palms. It leaps off the edge of the balcony, sliding silently across stone and air until it reaches the courtyard and attaches itself to Koen’s shadow.
It’s risky to use my shadow magic like this in front of so many, but the weave was subtle. I only needed one thread, one eye tethered to him.
Something had changed in him. He’d seemed distracted at breakfast yesterday. Quiet, almost distant. It wasn’t just nerves. I know nerves . This is something else.
The way he talked to me…I deserved it. I know I did. But it still hurt more than I would care to admit.
My mother is wrapping up now. “You will each be given the same supplies: a small pack with rations, a magically imbued waterskin that is capable of cleansing any source of water, and a single parchment map marked with the portal’s destination.
Beyond this, you must rely on your strength, wit, and endurance.
The land is unpredictable, as are the creatures that still inhabit it. ”
Guards hand out the supplies, then step back again, and the pixies begin to drift forward—six of them again, though two remain hovering off to the side. One has its eyes downcast, as if in mourning for Aleric, who had not returned from the catacombs.
Four portals shimmer open in the courtyard.
Torin steps up beside Koen and leans in close to murmur something. I can’t make out the words, but Koen nods once, jaw set tight. I’ve never seen him look quite so serious.
Then he’s gone. Stepping through the veil of light and into whatever dangers lay beyond it.
One by one, the others follow. The last to go is Lioran, who flashes a confident grin up to me before vanishing into the unknown.
As the courtyard empties and the portals collapse into sparks, I let out a slow exhale.
Closing my eyes, I let my awareness drift until I feel his, carried by wind and darkness. A man who had once been just another candidate. Now, I don’t know what he is.
I only need to know why he makes me feel so damn much.
────────────? ? ?? ?────────────
Koen
The portal spits me out into knee-deep , murky water that reeks of brine and rot.
I stumble forward a few steps, my boots sink slightly into the soft, muddy ground beneath the water.
The horizon around me is fractured, a broken, gray sky stretches over half-submerged ruins and clusters of jagged, moss-covered stones.
No trees. No hills. Just endless, stagnant water broken up by scattered isles of crumbling stone and sickly grass.
My map is rolled tight and tucked into my satchel, pressed against my side. My waterskin thumps lightly at my hip. This is all I have.
Click. Click. Clickclickclick.
My head snaps toward the sound. I look left, then right. Nothing. Just rippling water.
The clicking comes again, faster and closer. The water to my right explodes.
I barely get my arms up in time to shield my face as something lunges from the surface, with sharp legs. I catch only a glimpse of chitin, black eyes, and a needle-thin stinger poised to strike. Then it’s gone again, diving beneath the surface with barely a ripple.
“Shit,” I breathe.
I reach for my sword, drawing it in one smooth motion, trying to steady my breathing. “Scorpion. Giant scorpion. That’s new.”
Click. Clickclickclick.
Behind me.
I whirl, blade ready, but again it vanishes, diving before I can get close.
“Coward,” I mutter. My hands are sweating as I grip the hilt almost too tightly . My moves are slower now. I circle, trying to listen. Every splash of water I make seems deafening.
It lunges again, this time from directly in front, and I manage to slash it across its side. My blade scrapes shell , causing sparks.
The beast shrieks, more of a rattling screech than a true sound, and dives again.
I turn, my breath heaving.
Gods above. Why didn’t I ask Torin to teach me to use my magic?
If I could just burn it or create a shield. Anything. But I didn’t practice. I hadn't even tried. Even after surviving the catacombs, I still treat my magic like a curse that might solve itself.
Click. Clickclickclickclick.
It’s going to strike again.
I drop to my knees, slamming my hand into the water, and willing something, anything , to respond. Warmth flares beneath my skin, too wild and unfocused. It sparks in my veins like lightning with no direction…then sputters out.
The scorpion lunges from behind, and this time, I turn just in time, driving my sword straight into its underbelly. The blade lodges. I shove it deeper with all my weight, twisting.
The creature writhes and screeches, thrashing its legs before it finally collapses, stinger twitching weakly as it sinks beneath the surface.
My chest heaves as I stumble backwards in water that's up to my thighs now.
My arms tremble with fatigue, and I wince as I touch a shallow gash on my left arm. I’d gotten clipped during that last lunge, but I hadn’t even felt it through the adrenaline. Now I can feel the scorpion’s venom spreading like ice in my veins.
I trudge toward the nearest island, more of a stone platform than anything, and pull myself up. The sun above is hiding behind the clouds, and the water around me seems to stretch for miles in every direction.
I sit on the stone for a while trying to catch my breath. That’s when I see them.
Figures. Dozens of them. Wading through the water.
Cloaked. Hooded. Hunched over. Lanterns swing from hooked sticks they carry, casting long shadows across the water as they pass.
They make no sound.
Not a splash. Not a word. Not a breath.
I stay crouched, my hand instinctively going to my sword again. The water shimmers strangely around them, like their presence distorts the air. They don’t have faces . Just blackness beneath their hoods, like they’d been scooped out.
I watch as one pauses, its lantern swinging slowly. Though it has no eyes, no mouth, it turns its head toward me.
I don't move. Don’t breathe.
After a long, torturous moment, it turns back and continues on, disappearing behind a toppled pillar.
I wait another full minute before exhaling. I stay crouched in the water, barely breathing. The rest of the cloaked figures silently drift past. I stop trembling, but only because the cold has sunken too deep to feel my fingers.
“Delicious.”
I stiffen, turning slowly. The voice, low and gravelly, didn’t come from the lantern creatures. It didn't come from anything I’d seen yet.
A tall, cloaked figure stands twenty paces behind me, but unlike the others, this one walks.
Its cloak drags through the water, making the surface ripple.
Its sleeves are long and wide, but not enough to hide the hands.
No. Not hands. Claws. Four long, jointed fingers, tipped in black nails like polished obsidian.
“So soft. So fresh. So scared. ”
The figure steps closer to me, and I stagger back. My stomach twists, and bile begins to rise in my throat. The thing wears Aren’s face.
A mawless.
The figure tilts its head, like a predator admiring its prey.
“Do you like it?” it rasps. “Found it not long ago. Still warm,” he says, caressing his stolen face.
I can’t speak. My grip on the sword tightens, knuckles white as a bone.
“Hmm. But you…” The creature takes another step closer; the false face shimmers and melts slightly before it hardens again. “You have a much better face. I think…I think I’d rather wear yours.”
It lunges.
I barely duck under the first slash, throwing myself sideways with my blade up — water explodes around me. The mawless moves faster than anything that size has any right to. The steel of my sword clangs against its claws.
I’m outmatched .
My arm screams with the force of every block. The creature doesn’t fight like a man. It's toying with me, letting me exhaust myself.
“Where’s your light, pretty one?” the mawless hisses. “Where’s the gift your blood promises?”
My vision flickers, and I stumble back. My pulse roars in my ears. Magic. I need my magic. But my head throbs, and I still don’t know how to call it. Every time I try, my magic comes wild and uncontrolled. Panic rises in me, and I freeze. I can’t think or make myself move.
A claw rakes across my side, making my blood spray the water. I cry out and drop to one knee.
The mawless looms over me. “That’s better,” it purrs. “On your knees. Face up.”
Its hand comes down, and it stretches its fingers to me. I scream. Not a sound of pain. A sound of rage. Of terror. Of something older than words rising through my throat like shattered glass.
For one moment, the world is lit by burning light.
But my magic goes out almost instantly. The water crashes back down, and steam hisses around me. The mawless screeches in fury, but it’s still standing.
My vision blurs and my arms feel heavy from the scorpion's venom, but I raise my sword again.
The mawless chuckles. “Good,” it whispers. “Fight harder. I want to see your face scream when I take it.”
It surges forward, and I’m not fast enough. The blade slips from my fingers as I hit the ground.
The world goes dark.