Aura sat in the dark, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. The sun was fading, but she was too occupied to get up and light a candle.

  Bert had gone to help Sophie with something. He’d left her in silence, muttering about discipline and weak parenting. Aura pressed her nails into her palms. He didn’t understand. She loved him, but he just didn’t know noble society as she had.

  Marco wasn’t just some stubborn boy to be beaten straight. He carried his grandfather’s blood—cold, cruel, ambitious. To deceive came to him as naturally as breathing. To twist the truth until it suited him.

  Ironic. Marco would be the favorite grandson. Maybe even designated for council once he came of age.

  But she had ignored it all. She hadn’t taught him the crucial rules.

  It didn’t matter back in Grainwick.

  But here, in Ki-Elico—when Marco first brought money home—she should have pressed harder. She should have found the time to teach him.

  She didn’t, and now, here they were.

  The door creaked. Aura’s heart leapt.

  Marco stepped inside, shadows dragging across his face. She rose to her feet before she knew what she was doing and wrapped him in her arms. His warmth, the weight of him—it was a relief so sharp it nearly dropped her to her knees. He was safe. He was here.

  She held him for one breath, two. Then forced herself to release him. Her hands lingered a heartbeat longer on his shoulders before she stepped back, smoothing her expression.

  “I—I’m sorry,” Marco stammered. His words came out in a rush, tripping over themselves. “I’ll fix it, I—”

  “No.” Aura’s voice cracked sharper than she meant. She drew in a breath, steadied it. “No, Marco. Not this time. You will listen.”

  He flinched. “The sword—”

  “The sword is nothing.” Her voice wavered, then sharpened again. “You are worth more to me than that sword, or even a spellbook written by the Goddess herself. But to keep secrets from me…” Her breath hitched. “That is a wound I do not know how to heal.”

  He froze, eyes wide.

  “People lie. They scheme and they vie for power.” she said, bitterness curling her tongue. “They tear each other down.” She shook her head, pressing a hand to her chest. “But nobles are strictly taught to never do that to their families. Even the father I hated had never deceived me.”

  “You understand this, right?” She paused for a breath, “If you cannot tell the truth to your own blood, Marco—then you have no one left. No one to stand with you against the darkness.” She put as much force into her words as she could. “So tell me. Tell me everything and I promise I’ll still stand with you.”

  His mouth opened, closed. Then, as though the dam broke, words poured from him.

  The story of Calland’s fate tightened Aura’s throat with rage and disgust, but she stood there, taking it all in.

  Next, he detailed what really happened with the rebels. She had mostly guessed, but it still hurt to hear.

  But as Marco spoke, his hands fidgeted, his voice caught. Somehow, it felt like all of that was just a prelude.

  “There’s… one more secret,” he whispered, voice breaking.

  Aura’s heart dropped into her stomach. She braced herself.

  He spoke of the predator. How he had made an explosive charge out of a priceless artifact. How Darryl struck a killing blow and alien memories flooded Marco’s mind. And then—

  His fingertips curled slightly, and a soft sound of shifting bones permeated the silence. His nails elongated, sharpened into short, jagged claws.

  Aura stumbled back, knees buckling until she sat hard on the floorboards. “Goddess …” The words slipped out without thought.

  Marco flinched like she had struck him. “I’m sorry! I’ll just leave!” He half-turned toward the door.

  “Wait.” Her voice broke, but she forced it steady. She wiped her face with her sleeve, not aware at which point the tears started flowing down her face. She swallowed the fear clawing at her chest. “I have never heard of such a thing. Not in all my studies. Not in all my life.”

  He hesitated, shoulders hunched, shame burning on his face.

  “But if there is anyone who can understand it, Marco…” She reached out, her hand trembling, and caught his wrist. The claws grazed her skin, but she didn’t pull away. “…then it will be us. Together. I’m still on your side.”

  Her boy shattered. He collapsed into her arms, sobbing, the claws pricking her back through her dress. She only pulled him closer. Not a scheming noble, not a monster wearing human skin.

  When the storm of tears finally passed, Marco sniffled, pulled back, and whispered, “I almost forgot…” He reached into his satchel.

  Aura blinked a few times staring at his fingers. They were already back to normal, with not even a trace remaining of the previous amalgamation that took their place.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  He drew out a worn scroll. “Back in the ruins we found a ritual. It seemed valuable and alchemical in nature, so I copied it for myself. I wanted you to have it… to make up for the sword.”

  Aura pressed her hand over his, feeling the rough parchment beneath her palm. She could hardly see through the wet blur in her eyes. “You think I need trinkets from you?” She mocked, but her voice was warm this time.

  She drew in a sharp breath as inspiration struck her. It was a risky idea, but her burns should be concealment enough for her identity. “Academy grants private laboratories to students with interesting projects. Most people don’t know, but such things can be requested even in the first year.”

  He blinked at her, red-eyed, then let his mouth hang. She pulled his chin up as she smiled.

  “Do you want to work on this together? On the ritual… and the other thing too. You are not alone in this, Marco. Not now. Not ever.” She offered, with excitement the likes of she had never felt before.

  “Thank you, mom.” He hugged her again, “For everything.”

  She relished their embrace as a large rift in her heart closed. She had no idea how to reconcile all that with Bert.

  I’ll figure it out. Later.

  Oog’s head hurt. Cold stone. Good. Not Oog’s cave. Bad.

  Noise. Too loud. Head split. Oog groan.

  He sniffed deep. Smell shit. Smell blood. Good.

  Wall move. Light stab eyes. Oog roar, stumble back.

  Smell food. Ooooh.

  Oog lumber forward, squint eyes. Stone ring. Flat ground. Many small-things on walls. One small-thing inside.

  Small. Weak? Smell blood. Smell death.

  Is not prey?

  Oog not like this.

  Hungry. Hungry.

  Oog shake head. Oog big. Small-thing small.

  Oog roar.

  Small-thing not shake. Bad.

  Oog roar and charge! Smash!

  Small-thing fast. Bad.

  OUCH. Oog lost finger. Stings.

  Small-thing has sharp-thing.

  Finger burn. Bad.

  Where small-thing?

  Oog see small-thing! Two small-things?

  Many small-things!

  Flying-things? Bad crawlies!

  Oog scared.

  No smell? Only small-thing smell.

  Oog close eye. Oog follow smell. Oog smart.

  CRUSH! Oog hit! Small-thing lost Sharp-thing!

  Now Oog eat!

  Rin spat out blood, cursing as the Wyrmfang slid across the ground, far away from her.

  How did the troll pierce my illusion?

  She pushed away from the ground, gaining distance from the monster. It was steadily regaining confidence, having scored a hit.

  The fight had barely started, and she already disgraced herself by letting the sacred weapon touch the ground. Concerned thoughts of the spectators and elders streamed through her soul.

  She did her best to radiate as much confidence as she could back into the Soulwell. Her actions had to follow suit.

  Oh Bolender, whose fists were of stone, lend me your aid so that I may shatter those who oppose me.

  She offered the solemn prayer to the ancients as she deftly dodged the troll’s charge. The monster almost crashed into the wall behind her.

  [May your deeds overshadow mine.] The deep voice reverberated through her.

  From deep within the Soulwell, essence flowed into her, filling her mind with memories not of her own.

  Following the guidance of Bolender the usurper, her moves quickened and her stance suddenly exuded centuries of experience despite her measly sixty-three years of age.

  When the troll next came at her, massive hands swinging, she dashed forward, right between its strikes.

  The monster kept swinging wildly, but missed each time. By a hair’s breadth.

  As she danced with death, weaving between teeth and claws, she came closer and closer to the fetid body of her opponent.

  Finally, she was close enough. Mana flowed through her muscles, enhancing every move. She jumped off the ground, and delivered a crushing uppercut, straight to the four-meter-tall troll’s jaw.

  The crack of bone was met with thunderous applause, as the monster collapsed backwards, its skull broken with a single hit.

  The Soulwell swelled with pride and relief and numerous ancient voices expressed their approval.

  Sword in the dark, the voice that brings salvation, I offer this victory to you.

  She waited and waited, but the nightblade remained silent, as always.

  Rin scoffed as she flicked the troll’s brains off her knuckles, and went to pick up the Wyrmfang before people returned to paying attention.

  Some successor I am.

  The crowd’s roar still thundered in her ears when Rin walked back into the sanctum to wash herself.

  Why won’t you reach out to me? What am I doing wrong?

  Her heart screamed at the absent voice.

  “You did well,” said elder Igres, startling her. “Did they respond?”

  Though his body was still well toned and supple, he had over a millennium of experience at his back.

  She shifted away from him, concealing more vulnerable parts of her naked body. Igres, like others who grew up back in the old world, was bereft of any notions of privacy.

  “No.” Rin’s throat tightened. She felt his worry and grief creeping into her from the Soulwell.

  “Then it is as I feared.” The elder's eyes glistened softly, and a single tear escaped them. “It’s a cruel fate, but we ran out of time. I received a missive from the Human Empire this morning.”

  “What of it?” Rin felt a shiver run down her back. Humans only ever wanted one thing.

  She steeled her face, concealing her true emotions from others. That it was even possible, showed their bond, the Soulwell, as nothing but an eroded echo of the past. Of their glory.

  “They requested a hundred warriors…” Igres spoke, fighting back tears. “And you by name.”

  So this is how it ends. My legend cut short before I could even start properly writing it.

  “Did any of it matter then?” She spoke, her voice trembling softly. “All I’ve given, for nothing?”

  “Out of all the elders, including the dead we can commune with,” the elder whispered, “No one ever heard the voice of the Nightblade. That you did, and as a child… You are special. A ray of hope for our race. Never forget that, come what may.”

  Rin tightened her fists so hard her bones creaked. Special, yet abandoned.

  “You say that, and yet you pawn me off as a slave, rather than fight back?” She spat out, frustration taking over. “You are weak, Igres.”

  “That may be so,” He shrugged. “But were I stronger, I still wouldn’t destroy our people for a single soul.”

  “No. You would rather have them wither away, singing of old glory.” Rin gave him a disgusted glare. “Mark my words, I will return. But when I do, it will be with a sea of skulls at my back and you will no longer have a say in the matter.”