Page 85 of Duskbound

"It feels..." he started, then stopped, unable to find the words.

"Familiar," Mira finished quietly.

The shadows continued flowing until all three had received their share. After a few moments, the dark river ceased, sitting now like a pool across the chamber floor. The restraints clicked open, allowing the recruits to stumble back, examining their arms where the burns seemed darker now, more alive.

"Well," Vexa said, stepping up to one of the remaining connection points. "Might as well top off while we're here." She settled into position, the metal restraints clicking softly around her wrists.

"Vexa," I chided.

"Relax, Fia. I'm not about to fly out to the rip and go on somemurder spree." The darkness flowed into her burns as she spoke, and her head tilted back, eyes closing. "Wow… those are divine," she said, as if absorbing some form of magical narcotic.

I couldn't help but roll my eyes.

"And that's it?" Mira asked, leaning closer to examine Vexa's arms where the shadows had vanished.

"That's it." Vexa flexed her fingers as the restraints released. "Simple, really."

I stepped down from the platform, feeling oddly drained. Not physically—the shadows hadn't taken anything from me. But watching them flow into others, knowing they would use them for whatever came next... it felt heavier than I'd expected.

Lael was already experimenting, small wisps of darkness curling around his fingers. Theron studied his arms with analytical interest, while Mira stood very still, as if adjusting to the new sensation.

"When do we start Spectre training?" Lael asked, a gleam in his eye.

"Rethlyn will begin with you tomorrow, bright and early," Vexa said, "Well, not bright, I guess. But early."

Rethlyn nodded. "Lael, Mira, and Theron. We'll meet in the courtyard."

"What about me?" I asked.

"You won't benefit from this type of training, Duskbound. It'll come to you with time. As Aether said before, it left instructions within you," Vexa responded, eyes now fully consumed by black inky swirls.

One week. I had one week to figure out how to stop a war, or these shadows—my shadows—would be used for unimaginable destruction. The weight of that responsibility settled over me as I watched darkness dance across my fellow recruits' skin.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

I foundmyself seated at a small side table, quill poised over fresh parchment as five men settled into their chairs before an immense desk. The wood carved from mahogany, gilded up the legs, its surface gleaming in afternoon light that spilled through tall windows. Behind it, two emerald serpents coiled around a blade on the wall—the crest of Sídhe.

My eyes found Laryk immediately, his presence impossible to ignore. His fingers drummed against the arm of his chair, his other hand pressed against his mouth as he stared ahead, brow furrowed in thought. The other men shifted in their seats—one with his arms crossed tight over his chest, jaw clenched as if physically holding back words, another fidgeting with the hem of his formal jacket.

The door swung open, and the King of Sídhe swept into the chamber. Sydian. Despite the darkness beneath his violet eyes and the slight dishevelment of his peppered hair, he carried himself with the grace that came so naturally to royalty. The Generals rose as one in a bow, but the King barely seemed to notice as he sank into his chair. He rubbed his eyes, exhaustion evident in every movement.

My quill scratched against parchment, recording the time and date, the positions of those present.

"You requested this meeting." The King's eyes fixed on one of the men, the one whose arms remained crossed tight over his chest.

"Your Grace." The man straightened. "We've seen no activity at the border for over two months, yet I'm forced to keep my entire faction stationed in the West. My soldiers grow restless—they have families scattered across the Isle who need them. I can no longer justify keeping them all there."

The King's gaze flickered to Laryk before returning to the first General. I dipped my quill and began recording the exchange.

"I'm requesting permission to release half my forces back to their home stations."

Laryk muttered something under his breath that I couldn't catch, though my hand noted his interruption.

All eyes turned to him.

"I second this request." Another General stood—the head of the healers' faction, his voice less certain than the first General's. "Our best healers remain stationed at the border. We could better serve our people if?—"

"I've put Laryk in charge of all Guard decisions and stationing." The King's voice cut through the chamber.

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