Page 85 of Crown of Light and Ashes
"Since you asked so nicely," I crouch beside what remains of him, shadows wrapping around my hand to form long, needle-like extensions at each fingertip. "But death isn't what you think it is. Not anymore."
I drive the shadow needles into what's left of his chest, seeking not Damir's life force, but the foreign presence that invades it. His body convulses one final time as golden light begins to pour from the wounds—not blood, but a radiance that struggles against my invading shadows. Beneath the golden radiance of Aslan's departing soul, I sense something else—a flicker of Damir's own consciousness, already fading. The possession burns through his mind like acid through silk. Even if I want to save him, nothing remains to preserve.
"Aslan's soul," I explain to my audience. "Separate from Damir's body. Pure consciousness without its stolen vessel."
The golden light pours from every remaining orifice—eyes, nose, ears, mouth—coalescing into a translucent form that hovers above the ruined body. I can see Aslan's features clearly now, his expression locked in a silent scream.
From my belt, I withdraw a special crystal vial—one I crafted centuries ago for a purpose I never thought I'd use. The crystal is black at its core but clear at its edges, designed to hold consciousness itself.
"Your eternal home," I tell the hovering soul as my shadows funnel it into the vial. "From this prison, you'll witness everything while affecting nothing. Every moment Nesilhan spends with me. Every touch, every pleasure, every surrender."
The soul fights against the confinement, making the vial glow and pulse with desperate energy. But the crystal is designed for exactly this purpose, and soon the light is fully contained, the vial sealed with shadow magic that will never break.
"Inside," I explain, holding the vial up to examine it, "you'll experience your death on an endless loop. The sensation of being torn apart will be your only companion for eternity. But don't worry—I'll make sure you're present for all the important moments between me and my wife."
"He's bottled Aslan's soul," Banu explains to Nesilhan, her voice caught between horror and reluctant admiration. "Like a particularly vengeful perfumer."
"That's not possible," Nesilhan whispers, struggling to sit up despite her injuries.
"Apparently, no one told him that," Emir observes dryly.
With Aslan's soul contained, I turn my attention back to the mess that was Damir's body. With a casual gesture, my shadows completely engulf the remains, dissolving them into nothingness as if they had never existed.
Looking at her pain cuts through my bloodlust like a blade through silk. The beast in me, sated by Aslan's suffering, finally allows room for something gentler to surface. Only then do I finally turn to face Nesilhan. Seeing her injuries—still visible despite Banu's healing—reignites my rage, but I force it down. She needs care now, not more violence.
"Are you able to talk?" I ask, my voice lowering to something gentler than anyone in the room might expect.
She nods weakly, clutching my arm with surprising strength. "There's something you need to know. Before I lose consciousness—Aslan told me about a prophecy. If something happens to me, you need to understand what this was really about."
I kneel beside her, close enough to support her if needed, but not touching yet. "What is it?"
"Aslan told me..." she begins, then swallows with difficulty. "He said Damir was placed in your court as a spy. He was watching you long before I arrived."
My shadows coil tighter around me. "A spy for whom?"
"The Shadow Council, according to him." Her eyes meet mine, something uncertain flickering in their golden depths. "He said they knew about a prophecy. Something about shadow and light uniting."
The words strike me with unexpected force. A prophecy. The pieces begin to fall into place—Damir's unusual appointment as my personal guard, his constant presence, his assignment to Nesilhan.
"What else did he tell you?" I press, sensing there's more.
She looks away, pain crossing her features that has nothing to do with her physical injuries. "He said my father arranged everything. The incident with Zoran, the blood debt, our marriage. He said it was all orchestrated to fulfill the prophecy."
The implications crash through me. If what she's saying is true, then our entire union was manipulated from the start, a calculated gambit to bring shadow and light together for some greater purpose.
"The prophecy," I repeat. "What exactly did it say?"
"'When shadow and light join in blood, the ancient divide shall heal,'" she recites, her voice growing stronger. "'Two courts become one throne, when enemies become lovers, when hatred turns to something deeper.'"
These words resonate with something ancient inside me, a strange recognition I can't fully place. Two courts becoming one...enemies becoming lovers...
"There's more," she continues. "It speaks of a child born of both worlds who will heal the rift between shadow and light."
A child. Our child.
For the first time in centuries, I feel something I haven't experienced since Isil's death—fear. Cold, unfamiliar fear that wraps around my spine and squeezes. A child of my blood. A child who would be vulnerable, who could be used against me, who could be hurt or corrupted or killed. Another loss I couldn’t bear.
The thought sends ice through my veins. Not since losing Isil have I been truly afraid of anything. But this—the possibility of creating life with Nesilhan, of being responsible for a being that would carry my blood and her light, terrifies me in ways I cannot comprehend.
