Chapter 2
Whispers echoed through the dark, cobbled streets of Lykrios. Though half the rumors weren’t true, Dominic Nite was content to let them believe whatever horrors they’d heard of him.
Only his name had been spread like wildfire all over the world, rather than his face, or else Dominic would have wanted posters plastered across the cities alongside the demand for all Pherra to be hunted and turned into the queen.
Gifted or cursed by the gods—whatever one wished to believe—Pherra were either worshipped or outlawed for their magic.
The rulers of Lykrios had always been intent on killing every last one of them.
Cowards who feared someone else would rise to defy them.
The queen was now especially ruthless toward his kind.
She was more focused on keeping the throne than keeping her kingdom from its impoverished demise.
As he walked through the dank alleys, Dominic habitually twirled a dagger between his nimble fingers.
Beggars draped in tattered scraps of clothing huddled in corners throughout the alley, desperate for anyone to offer them a morsel.
Their scraggly hands trembled as they reached out to others, pleas desperate on their lips. Dominic kept his eyes forward.
An old man stretched out a hand to him, wrinkled fingers grasping at his hazel trousers to get his attention. Before the man could utter a word, Dominic flicked his hand, promptly slicing off three grimy fingers, and deftly moved away before any blood could spatter on his clothing.
The man screamed, jerking his hand away.
Dominic was already halfway down the alley when eyes turned toward the old bloke sobbing over the bloody stumps cradled in his good hand.
Dominic purposely bumped into a stranger passing by, wiped the bloodied dagger on the person’s coat, and continued to twirl the clean knife between his fingers as he walked.
Eyes snagged on him, carefully watching the cloaked demon that strode among the living. If only they knew the King of Keys was in their presence, they’d turn tail screaming. Beneath the shadows of his hood, he smiled at the thought.
But stealing keys was not what he came to do today. Dominic was here to find something that had managed to evade everyone for centuries. An elusive prize that no one had ever come to use. He was determined to be the first . . . and only, for that matter.
He needed to find the man who knew the whereabouts of the Whisperer, its eye being the first relic he set his sights on finding to forge the Realm Fracturer.
Dominic scanned the streets for the pawnshop of ancient artifacts sold to desperate souls searching for magical items that could change their fate in this dull, broken kingdom.
Catching sight of the battered shop, he took a sharp left down another alley, poorly lit by an oil lamp, its flame flickering as it swayed in the wind.
The lettering on the shop’s sign—hanging crookedly on broken hooks—had long since faded, leaving the words incomprehensible.
The door let out a low creak as Dominic entered. A bell jingled softly above him.
He blinked, trying to adjust to the faint lighting as he gazed around the shop.
One wall had an assortment of weapons hung or propped against the wood.
Dominic cringed at the rusted, dull blades.
Hanging beside the weapons was an old shield, dented and scratched from battle.
Shield from the Wasted War, a small tag read along with a price far too cheap for a war relic, its price clearly lowered in hopes that someone would purchase it.
Despite himself, he read over the tag again. The Wasted War. It scratched at his brain, attempting to take him back to a worse time. He could almost smell the bloodshed. Unable to stand it, he turned his attention elsewhere.
A shelf to his right held a variety of books, languages that had been long forgotten inscribed down the spines like archaic tattoos.
Curious, he picked one up, recognizing the word Pherra scrawled on the spine.
Dust coated his fingers as he flipped through the weathered pages, rustily deciphering a few sentences about how his kind came to be.
Born ordinary . . . tragic life event . .
. unnatural abilities . . . manipulate surroundings.
His brows furrowed at that last part, still unsure why he was one of the rare anomalies of Pherra who could summon from nothing.
Bored, he flipped the book shut. A cloud of dust swirled in the air, eliciting a few ragged coughs from Dominic. He replaced the book on its shelf.
Other random trinkets lined the shelves and tables, marked with unreasonably high prices for items of little value.
Dominic rolled his eyes at the pathetic excuse of a dragon scale.
It was preposterous that the merchant had actually duped people into thinking it was authentic.
Clearly, it was a scale of some other creature, altered enough to look like a dragon’s—perhaps a sand serpent from the Ruins.
Although he needed a dragon’s scale, Dominic was still skeptical about whether the beasts were even real.
There were legends written in old story books, but he couldn’t remember a time when someone had actually seen one—and he had lived quite a few lifetimes.
Turning to face another table, he flipped open the lid of a small wooden chest. Gold keys glinted in the sliver of sunlight that shone through the dusty window.
Something inside urged him to reach out, to run his fingers over the metal.
He retracted his hand, disappointed at the dull, empty feeling.
They were either regular keys to homes or chests, or the hearts they were connected to were long dead.
“Who would buy these useless things?” he muttered, flicking the lid shut with a snap.
“Is there anything I can help you with?” a voice called.
Dominic’s head whipped toward the merchant standing in front of a desk, forearms braced on the wooden countertop, with a pleasant smile.
Dominic turned, prowling toward the counter. “Unfortunately for you, there is,” he drawled, voice like a whetting stone running along a knife—sharpened, poised to strike.
The man’s bushy gray brows furrowed in confusion, and the corners of his lips turned down. Dominic tilted his head, scrutinizing the merchant with a fiendish smirk.
“I—I’m sorry, I don’t quite under—”
His stuttered words were cut off as Dominic’s hand shot out, slamming the merchant’s head against the edge of the counter.
A thick stream of blood ran down his temple.
He tried to pry himself from Dominic’s hold, but Dominic’s fingers already made their way around his throat.
He squeezed harder, making sure the only sound the merchant could make was a choked sob.
Tears pooled in the man’s wide, fearful brown eyes.
“You have valuable information I need,” Dominic said indifferently.
The man tried to shake his head beneath Dominic’s grasp. His mouth opened and closed in an attempt to respond.
“Don’t panic,” Dominic said. “Just tell me what I need to know, and I’ll let you live. Understand?”
The man nodded his head vigorously, hands clawing at Dominic’s.
“Good.” He unwrapped his fingers from the merchant’s neck, drawing his dagger with his other hand. The merchant hunched over, gasping for air, rubbing at the harsh red line forming around his neck.
Dominic ushered the man into a storage room in the back of the shop and shoved him into a chair. With the flick of his wrist, vines materialized and wound themselves tightly around the merchant, tying his limbs and torso to the chair. He thrashed in the seat, skin turning red under his bindings.
“So,” Dominic started, knife twisting between lithe fingers, “I hear that you know where the Whisperer is.” The tip of his blade rested beneath the man’s chin.
The merchant shook his head, eyes squeezed shut in fear, lips pressed tightly to keep from quivering. “I-I don’t kn-know what you’re t-talking about,” he stammered.
Dominic rolled his eyes. “The Realm Fracturer.”
The merchant’s brown eyes shot open at the name of the ancient sword, confirming that he had the information Dominic was seeking.
“That—That’s a myth!” he blurted. “Just an old tale to give people hope. It sends fools like you on suicide missions!” His voice rose, cracking in terror.
Removing the blade from the man’s neck, Dominic flipped it once, then plunged it into his hand.
Blood spattered as the knife tore through flesh and bone.
Vibrations rattled up the hilt and into Dominic’s fingers as the knife buried into the arm of the wooden chair as well.
The man shrieked in pain, fingers clenching around the arms of the chair, nails scoring the wood.
A punch to the jaw abruptly cut off the scream.
The merchant’s head whipped to the side with the force of the blow. A tooth flew to the floor.
“One,” Dominic began. He painstakingly twisted the knife inside the man’s hand.
The King of Keys observed with satisfaction as blood dribbled down the merchant’s chin from biting his tongue to contain his screams. “Do not call me a fool. Two,” he continued, yanking the knife out with a sickening squelch.
“You’re the one on a suicide mission by searching for the Realm Fracturer and trying to keep it from me.
” He lifted the dagger to the man’s face, tracing a flushed cheek with the bloodied tip.
“Three,” he said, his voice low and threatening.
“You clearly don’t know who I am, else you’d be telling me what I want to know.
So, I’ll give you one more chance now that you know I’m Dominic Nite. ”
The merchant’s eyes widened, mouth agape. Dominic didn’t miss the wet spot blooming against the man’s trousers as he whispered, full of horror, “The Thief of Hearts.”
Dominic nodded. “Good, so you do know.” At the merchant’s hesitation to speak, Dominic thrust a boot into his chest, sending him and the chair toppling backward.
It clattered to the floor, drawing a grunt from the man.
Looming over him, Dominic propped a foot up on the edge of the chair, resting an elbow on his knee.
Fear radiated throughout the room. “Now, tell me where I can find the Whisperer,” he demanded, shooting a harsh glare at the man beneath him.
“Please,” the merchant begged, tears streaming down his face as he struggled against his bonds. “I need it to save my wife and son. D-don’t take this away from me!” He was hysterical now, crying and pleading as if words would spare him.
“We all have someone to save,” Dominic murmured. He crouched down next to the man’s head. Red, puffy eyes, tear-stained cheeks, and all the pleas that came from his bloodied lips would not put so much as a dent in the Thief of Hearts’s armor.
“I’ll give you anything else! You’re the King of Keys for gods’ sake. I’ve got plenty of keys!” he offered.
Remorse eluded Dominic. “I don’t want your pathetic keys,” he spat harshly.
“I want answers.” Angling the dagger at the man’s eye, Dominic growled, “I may need the Whisperer’s eye intact, but I don’t need yours.
” He carved two crossed lines over the man’s left eye.
Blood gushed from the wound, staining his teeth scarlet as he cried out for help. “Talk, or I’ll take the other one.”
Finally, he began spewing answers. “The Whisperer is somewhere on the eastern continent!”
A satisfactory smirk tugged at Dominic’s lips. “Enfider?”
The merchant nodded in confirmation.
“Which kingdom?”
“In a forest just northwest of Gierok, there’s a cave. That’s where it resides.”
“And how do you know this?” Dominic interrogated, inching the knife closer once again. He had to make sure the information wasn’t misleading.
“I read about it in one of those books out there.” With a tied-down hand, he pointed a finger through the doorway to a bookshelf. “I found someone to translate it.” Words rushed from his bloody mouth, desperate to give the King of Keys the answers he wanted, anything to stop the pain.
“Anything else?” Dominic held the knife threateningly close to his other eye. The man pulled back, violently shaking his head, sweat-damp graying hair falling over his forehead.
Dominic considered the merchant. He didn’t believe the man was lying, for this was the same shop Dominic had found the tome that revealed the Realm Fracturer’s riddle, only the shop was under different ownership long ago.
And if his search failed later on, or he needed more information, it would be beneficial to have the man alive.
But he’d seen Dominic’s face, and he might still try to forge the Realm Fracturer.
“Just in case you get any ideas about looking for the Whisperer before I can get to it . . . ” Dominic carved another jagged line through the man’s other eye, then pried it from its socket, sending it rolling across the floor.
Blood trailed in its wake followed by screams that rattled the precarious shop.
Dominic took the opportunity to reach into the man’s open mouth and slice off his tongue.
Finally, he bashed both the merchant’s hands with the pommel of the dagger, bones crunching beneath the precise blows that mangled his fingers, leaving them broken and bent at odd angles.
Now he’d never properly speak, hold a writing tool, or sign.
The King of Keys would remain a faceless entity to the world.
Taking a step, the eye squished beneath his boot.
The King of Keys ignored the man’s strangled sobs as he exited the shop and headed through the streets.
Eyes flickered back and forth, settling on his blood-stained hands before darting away, content with ignoring him and returning to their own miserable lives.
Turning down a dark alley, Dominic pulled a pearl-sized clear orb from his pocket. Thinking of home, he crushed it in his palm and was instantly transported to the sandy beach of Andreilia. His features twisted as he spotted the Valen Wind anchored not far from shore.
Why would Lunard return to the island? The captain despised this place. The crew hoisted the anchor, preparing to set sail. A cloaked figure stood by the wood line, hand raised in salute to the captain before stepping into the shadowy jungle.
Dominic’s lips twitched in amusement, eager to hunt down whoever dared to step onto his island.