Page 12 of Wings of Shadow
8
KAISNER
My fingertips brush against cracked leather spines, leaving trails in the dust. The musty air clings to my skin, heavy with secrets whispered by countless generations of mages. Shadows writhe on rough-hewn walls as guttering candles struggle against the oppressive darkness of my sanctum.
A sudden spark leaps between my fingers, and I inhale sharply. The scent of ozone mingles with aged parchment, a reminder of the volatile energies I court. My heart thunders in my chest, each beat a war drum urging me onwards.
I close my eyes, steadying myself against the nearest shelf. The wood groans, as if sharing the burden of forbidden knowledge. How many hours have I spent here, poring over texts in languages long dead? The answer eludes me, much like the prize I seek.
Slowly, I extend my awareness inward. There—a faint stirring. Deep within my core, something ancient and terrible shifts in its slumber. My breath catches. The dragon. My dragon. So close, yet maddeningly out of reach.
I clench my fist, nails biting into my palm. The pain grounds me, a tether to reality as arcane currents threaten to sweep me away. I’ve come too far to falter now. Whatever the cost, whatever shreds of sanity remain, I will awaken the beast that slumbers in my blood.
But now, as I feel the power surging through my body, the ancient words of summoning falling from my lips like a lover’s caress, I know that I’m close. So close that I can almost taste the victory on my tongue, the sweet savor of a destiny finally realized.
The air begins to shimmer and twist, the fabric of reality bending to my will as I channel the dark energy that flows through me. Its form is indistinct, a swirling mass of shadow and smoke that seems to pulse with a life of its own. And then, with a final word of command, a figure emerges, a being of pure darkness and malevolent intent.
Azrakan of the Abyss.
“Why have you summoned me, warlock?” the daemon hisses, its voice like the scrape of claws on glass.
My stare sharpens, locking onto the creature’s otherworldly form. The air between us shimmers with unspoken power, and I force myself to hold that unhallowed gaze. Somewhere in the depths of those unfathomable eyes, I glimpse eternity—and my reflection, small and fleeting.
“I seek your counsel,” I say, willing my voice not to waver. The words taste of ash and ambition on my tongue.
I swallow hard, steeling myself. “For years, I’ve scoured tomes and delved into forbidden rites, all to no avail. The dragon within me...” I pause, the admission of failure bitter in my mouth. “It remains stubbornly dormant.”
The creature doesn’t move, doesn’t blink. Its stillness is more unnerving than any sudden movement could be. I press on, desperation lending strength to my words.
“I need your guidance.” The plea scrapes my throat raw. “Your wisdom in the dark arts that have eluded me. There must be a key, a ritual, something I’ve overlooked.”
As I speak, I feel it again—that faint stirring deep in my core. The sleeping dragon, so tantalizingly close. My hands quiver with the effort of restraining myself from grasping at that ephemeral sensation.
I draw a shaky breath, acutely aware of how I must appear to this ageless being: a mortal man, teetering on the edge of power and madness. But I’m beyond caring. I’ve come too far, sacrificed too much, to turn back now.
“Will you help me?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
The daemon’s cackle crashes over me like a wave of ice, extinguishing candles and hope alike. Shadows writhe at the edges of my vision, hungry things drawn by the promise of forbidden power.
“Bold, little mortal,” Azrakan purrs, each word dripping with contempt. Its eyes blaze with infernal light, twin pits of hunger that threaten to devour me whole. “You fancy yourself a master of the abyss?”
Something snaps within me—pride, desperation, or madness. I can’t tell which. My nails bite deeper into my palms, and I welcome the pain, the trickle of warm blood between my fingers. It anchors me, reminds me of all I’ve sacrificed to reach this moment.
“I am Kaisner Drachenstein,” I snarl, my voice raw and feral. The name echoes in the chamber, carrying with it the legacy of centuries. “Last scion of a bloodline steeped in shadow and flame. My ancestors communed with powers that would shatter your feeble mind, daemon.”
The words pour out of me, a torrent of rage and determination that surprises even myself. “What is rightfully mine has slumbered too long. I will reclaim it, no matter the cost.”
Silence falls, heavy and oppressive. The daemon’s gaze bores into me, peeling away layers of flesh and bone, probing the very essence of my being. I push myself to meet that terrible stare, drawing on reserves of will I didn’t know I possessed. My legs tremble beneath me, a betrayal of muscles straining against exhaustion, but I refuse to show weakness. Not now. Not when I’m so close.
An eternity passes before Azrakan lowers his chin, the gesture somehow both acquiescence and challenge. “Very well, Master of Shadows.” It spits the title like a curse. “I will share what you seek. But know this—the path ahead is paved with agony and sacrifice beyond your mortal comprehension. Are you truly prepared to pay such a price?”
My heart pounds in a frantic rhythm against my ribs. Sweat beads on my brow. Yet beneath the fear, beneath the doubt, something else stirs. The sleeping dragon inside me shifts, as if roused by the proximity of such terrible knowledge.
“I’m ready,” I whisper, the words a vow and a death sentence all at once. “Whatever must be done. I will see it through.”
The daemon’s smile unfurls like a blooming nightshade, beautiful and lethal. My skin prickles, an instinctive warning I force myself to ignore.
“Listen well, Kaisner Drachenstein,” it purrs, savoring each syllable of my name. “The key to your awakening lies in blood—not your own, but that of another. One whose veins carry power as ancient as your own.”
