Page 70 of Shadow's Claim

I still find myself startled sometimes by the fierce love I feel for her. When did this happen? When did the child conceived in captivity become the center of my world? Perhaps it was the moment she first reached for me, her consciousness touching mine with pure, uncomplicated trust. Or maybe it was watching her save us from Obscura, her newborn determination to protect what was hers.

Our dwelling is nothing like the cave we initially sheltered in. Kael refused to let his "family" live in such primitive conditions, as he put it—the word "family" still sounding strange in his deep, resonant voice. Instead, he spent weeks manipulating shadows and actual materials to construct something truly remarkable.

Our home now resembles a blend of shadow demon architecture and human comfort—a two-story structure built into the side of a hill that overlooks the valley. The exterior walls appear to be made of obsidian that somehow remains warm to the touch regardless of outside temperature. Windows that adjust their transparency according to the light needs inside. Furniture that looks like it's carved from midnight itself but feels perfectly comfortable when touched.

The great room where Nimara plays has ceiling-high bookshelves filled with both actual books we've salvaged and shadow-texts that Kael has created from memory. A central hearth that burns with purple-tinged flame provides warmth without smoke. Above, a skylight shows the constantly shifting stars of the Anomaly's sky, sometimes rearranging themselves into patterns that only Nimara seems to understand.

Kael enters from outside, his massive form ducking through the doorway despite its enhanced height. All four of his arms carry supplies—wood for the fire, water from the nearby spring, and plants that are mostly edible if you don't mind the occasional flavor shift mid-bite. The sight of him performing such mundane tasks still catches me off-guard sometimes—the fearsome enforcer of the Midnight Courts now gathering food for his family.

"The boundary disruptions have increased," he says without preamble, setting down his burdens. "Three new fold-points have appeared within the valley."

I glance at Nimara, who doesn't seem concerned by this news. She's abandoned her shadow play and is now "reading" one of the books Kael created for her—shadows formed into pages that contain not words but memory impressions she can absorb directly.

"Obscura?" I ask, the name still sending a chill down my spine even after months without pursuit.

Kael's glowing eyes narrow slightly. "Unlikely. The pattern suggests natural dimensional instability rather than directed manipulation." He moves closer, one hand—his upper right—briefly touching my shoulder in what has become a familiar gesture of reassurance. The contact sends a ripple through the shadow patterns that still mark my skin, a pleasant awareness I've come to associate with comfort rather than possession.

The Anomaly protects us in its own weird way. The same reality fluctuations that make living here challenging also make it nearly impossible for Obscura to track us. Shadow paths don't function normally here—they twist and redirect, sometimes leading back to their starting point or opening into pocket dimensions that shouldn't exist. Even Kael, with his centuries of shadow manipulation experience, finds his abilities behaving unpredictably.

"Mama," Nimara calls, suddenly at my side though I didn't see her move. She does that sometimes—not exactly teleporting, more like she steps through a fold in space that only she can perceive. "Show you something."

Her tiny hand reaches for mine, shadow patterns extending from her skin to merge with the fainter ones that still mark my own. The connection between us flares, and suddenly I'm seeing through her perception—a dizzying kaleidoscope of overlapping realities, pathways that exist between spaces, possibilities that flicker in and out of existence.

"Visitors coming," she says simply, withdrawing her hand and leaving me gasping from the intensity of her vision.

Kael is immediately alert, all four arms creating defensive shadow patterns that swirl around our home. "Where? When?"

Nimara points toward the eastern boundary of our valley. "Three days. Not enemies." She pauses, head tilting as though listening to something beyond normal hearing. "They run from shadows too."

Other refugees from the Prime territories. It happens occasionally—desperate humans or even rebellious Primes seeking sanctuary in the one place their former rulers won't follow. Most don't survive the journey through the Anomaly's outer zones, where reality bends most violently and unpredictably. Those who do usually settle in distant pockets, forming small communities where they adapt to the strange conditions as best they can.

"How many?" I ask Nimara, knowing her perception far exceeds what either Kael or I can detect.

"Three," she answers. "Two big, one small." Her purple eyes blink up at me. "Small like me."

Another child? My heart squeezes with both hope and concern. Children are rare in the post-Conquest world, rarer still in the Anomaly. Nimara has never met anyone her own age, even if her accelerated development puts her mentally far beyond normal childhood.

"We should prepare," Kael says, his practical nature asserting itself. "Additional supplies, secured perimeter."

I nod, already mentally cataloging what we'll need. Living in the Anomaly has made me more organized than I ever was as a resistance fighter. When reality might randomly decide that your food storage doesn't exist on Tuesdays, you learn to plan ahead.

Nimara returns to her shadow play, seemingly unconcerned about the upcoming visitors. Her confidence is sometimes unnerving—like she's already seen every possible outcome and has chosen the path we'll take. For all I know, maybe she has.

* * *

The visitors arrive exactly when Nimara predicted—three exhausted figures emerging from the twisted forest that borders our valley. Kael and I wait at the edge of our territory, me with a makeshift weapon fashioned from Anomaly-wood that burns shadow demons if it strikes them, Kael with darkness gathered around his massive form like living armor.

Our positions remind me of how far we've come. Once, I was his captive, terrified of his power. Now we stand as equals, partners in protecting what we've built together. The shadow patterns beneath my skin still mark me as his in some ways, but the meaning has transformed just as we have.

Nimara insisted on coming with us, perched on my hip with curious eyes taking in everything. I tried to argue that she should stay in our home, but she just gave me that look—the one that somehow manages to be both childlike and ancient simultaneously—and said, "Need me to talk to small one."

As the strangers draw closer, I make out their features with increasing clarity. Two adults—a man and a woman, both human from their appearance—and between them, a child of perhaps four or five. The girl has strange markings across her visible skin, patterns that remind me of...

"Plant creature hybrid," Kael murmurs, confirming my suspicion. "The offspring shows Verdant Expanse characteristics."

A child like Nimara—not shadow demon hybrid, but something similar. A Prime-human offspring seeking refuge in the only place beyond the Council of Nine's reach.

The adults spot us and freeze, clearly recognizing Kael as a shadow demon. The man pushes the child behind him while the woman raises what looks like a light-emission weapon similar to what Constantin's team used.

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