Training with Mira Dark did not feel like training.
It felt like a game.
At least—that’s what Lucien thought, until his legs moved without his permission.
He blinked as his right foot slid forward, then his left spun sharply, hips twisting in a way that had absolutely not been his idea.
“What—hey—!” Lucien protested as his arms flailed outward, his body jerking into a ridiculous half-turn, half-hop.
Mira laughed.
Not quietly.
Not politely.
She stood a few paces away in the old courtyard, one hand extended, fingers curled slightly as if holding invisible strings. Her shadow stretched unnaturally long behind her, thin tendrils snaking forward until they wrapped around Lucien’s own.
“Careful,” she said sweetly. “You’re doing it wrong.”
“My legs are—” Lucien stumbled into an awkward spin, “—not listening to me!”
“That’s because they’re listening to me.”
She flicked her wrist.
Lucien’s body dipped into a clumsy bow, nearly face-planting into the stone.
Mira doubled over, laughing harder.
“Oh gods,” she managed between breaths. “You look like a puppet with the strings tangled.”
Lucien’s face burned. “You’re cheating.”
“Mm,” she hummed. “You didn’t say we weren’t allowed to.”
He glared at her—then closed his eyes.
Focused.
The tug on his shadow was unmistakable. It felt like pressure behind his spine—a cold grip that didn’t touch skin, but weight. Like being held in place by the idea of a hand rather than the thing itself.
Shadowbind, he realized.
When he opened his eyes again, he did something Mira didn’t expect.
He stepped forward.
His shadow stayed behind.
Mira’s smile faltered.
Lucien felt it—an odd lightness, as if part of him had been peeled away. His shadow stood where he had been, still trapped beneath Mira’s control, twitching slightly like it was confused.
But Lucien—
Lucien was free.
“What—?” Mira started.
The world tilted.
Lucien slipped.
Not forward.
Not sideways.
Down.
The courtyard vanished, replaced by cool silence and endless black. The shadow realm wrapped around him like familiar breath—weightless and intimate. He didn’t linger. He didn’t need to.
He rose again.
Behind her.
Mira felt the wooden sword touch her back before she heard him speak.
“I win,” Lucien said softly.
She froze.
Her grip loosened.
Lucien’s shadow tore free of her bind and slid back into place at his feet, settling like it had always belonged there.
Mira turned slowly, eyes wide—not frightened, but stunned.
“How did you do that?” she asked.
Lucien scratched the back of his neck, suddenly shy. “It’s… my gift. I call it Shadow Step.”
“That wasn’t a step,” she said. “You disappeared.”
He shrugged. “I don’t move through shadows. I move into them.”
Her gaze sharpened, curiosity replacing surprise. “You entered the Shadow Realm.”
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He nodded. “Briefly. Then I came out of yours.”
Mira stared at him for a long moment.
Then she smirked.
“You sure you didn’t just want the view from behind?”
Lucien choked on air.
“I—what—no—!”
She laughed again, stepping closer and poking his flushed cheek with one finger. “Relax, Lucien. I’m teasing.”
His heart was doing something dangerous.
They trained a little longer after that—less binding, more sparring. Mira moved differently than Mercer. Where Mercer was efficient and brutal, Mira was fluid, almost playful. Her shadowed arm shaped itself into blades and hooks whenever she focused too hard.
Eventually, Serena Noctyrr’s voice echoed faintly from the tower, calling for them to stop before stone cracked beneath magic neither of them fully controlled yet.
They left the courtyard together.
Instead of returning straight to the castle, Mira caught Lucien’s wrist.
“Walk with me,” she said.
They wandered through the Fallen Quarter as dusk bled into night. Lanterns flickered weakly. Shadows stretched too long. People bowed their heads when Lucien passed—not in fear, but in hope.
Mira noticed.
“They pray to you,” she said quietly.
Lucien looked away. “I try not to see it.”
“They call you the Shadow Prince,” she continued. “The last light of the Fallen.”
“That’s stupid,” he muttered.
She smiled faintly. “Hope usually is.”
They passed a collapsed alley where two deranged Fallen fought over scraps, bodies moving wrong, voices reduced to snarls. A shopkeeper watched helplessly from behind broken glass.
The Quarter felt smaller here. More tired.
“If you win the Trial,” Mira said after a moment, “what will you do?”
Lucien slowed.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Save my people. Or… save myself.”
She studied him. “You don’t have to fix what your uncle broke.”
He stiffened—but she didn’t push.
“You didn’t choose this,” she said gently. “Whatever you decide… make it yours.”
They walked in silence after that.
Back at the castle gates, Mira stretched and sighed. “I’m going to bathe.”
Lucien nodded quickly. “Right. Of course.”
She paused, then glanced over her shoulder with a grin.
“Unless you want to join me?”
Lucien froze.
“I—I—”
She laughed, poking his cheek again. “Relax. I’m joking.”
Then softer—almost fond:
“We did bathe together as kids, you know.”
His ears burned.
“Goodnight, Noctyrr,” she said, leaning in and pressing a light kiss to his cheek. “Try not to dream too loudly.”
She turned and disappeared down the corridor.
Lucien stood there long after she was gone, hand hovering uselessly near his face.
“…Goodnight, Mira.”
And for the first time in years—
The shadows around him felt warm.
The year did not pass gently.
Lucien noticed it first in the way Mira coughed.
At first it was nothing—a brief hitch in her breath after training, a soft sound she brushed away with a wave of her hand and a crooked smile.
“I’m fine,” she always said.
Then it lingered.
A cough that came at night. A hand to her throat when she thought he wasn’t looking. The shadows along her arm crept higher, dark veins tracing toward her collarbone like ink spilled beneath skin.
She still trained.
She still laughed.
But Lucien felt it—the way something vital was slowly being taken from her.
Serena Noctyrr did everything she could.
Her magic wrapped Mira’s arm nightly, weaving shadow into restraint rather than release, slowing the curse the way one slowed bleeding with pressure. It helped.
But it did not heal.
Mercer Dark left three months into the year.
No farewell ceremony. No speeches.
Just a quiet departure before dawn, armor strapped tight, eyes lingering on his daughter longer than usual.
“I’ll find something,” he said, voice steady. “Factionless towns still trade in old medicines.”
Lucien watched him go with a knot in his chest.
No other faction would help them.
To the world, the Fallen were no different from the factionless—useful only as cautionary tales.
Mira pretended nothing had changed.
She teased Lucien more now. Trained him harder. Sat closer when they spoke. As if filling time faster might somehow save it.
Lucien was seventeen.
Tall now. Lean muscle earned through years of survival rather than luxury. His black curls brushed his shoulders, his pale-violet eyes sharper, more watchful. There was something kingly in the way he stood—something people noticed even when he wished they wouldn’t.
Mira noticed.
She didn’t say it.
But sometimes her gaze lingered too long.
One night, after training, they lay on the grass beyond the castle ruins, the stones still warm from the day.
The stars were cruelly beautiful.
Mira traced constellations with her untainted hand, shadows curling lazily around her fingers.
“Do you know the story they tell?” she asked quietly.
Lucien shook his head. “Which one?”
“About the Fallen King.”
He tensed.
“They say Leukaidios Noctyrr betrayed everyone,” she continued. “That he killed the Queen of Time out of greed.”
Lucien stared up at the sky. “Why would he do that?”
Mira’s voice softened. “Fear.”
She turned her head to look at him. “The Celestial King was meant to marry her. Light and Time together. The strongest balance the world had ever known.”
Lucien swallowed.
“The Trials were failing back then,” she went on. “Factionless numbers were growing. Power was fading. The marriage was supposed to fix everything.”
“And the Fallen King wanted that power for himself,” Lucien said.
“That’s what they say.”
Silence stretched between them.
“With her death,” Mira continued, “her power shattered. Light took part of it. Darkness took the rest. The war began.”
Lucien clenched his jaw. “And my people paid for it.”
“Yes.”
She hesitated.
“The last Trial proved balance might be possible again,” she said. “Which is why the next one matters more than any before it.”
Lucien turned toward her. “If I win…”
Mira met his eyes.
“It would mean a new king for the Fallen,” she said softly. “Balance reborn.”
Lucien exhaled slowly. “I don’t know if I want that.”
Mira looked down at her shadowed arm.
“At any of it,” he added quietly.
Her voice cracked when she spoke again. “I wouldn’t want to either.”
She swallowed hard. “All of this—” she gestured vaguely to the ruins, the shadows, her arm “—came from one man’s greed.”
Her eyes shimmered.
“Promise me something.”
Lucien didn’t hesitate. “Anything.”
“If you win,” she said, “do what feels right to you. Not for them. Not for history.”
He nodded. “I will.”
She shifted closer, resting her head against his chest.
Lucien froze—then slowly, carefully, wrapped an arm around her shoulders. His fingers brushed through her hair, soft and warm beneath the stars.
Mira smiled faintly.
“Your heart’s racing,” she teased.
He swallowed. “It’s because of you.”
She went still.
Then—just barely—she blushed.
They lay there in silence after that, breathing in sync, the world momentarily quiet.
Eventually, sleep found them.
Curled together beneath a sky that did not care.
And Lucien dreamed—not of Trials or crowns or gods—
—but of a tomorrow where shadows did not have to mean loss.
