I woke to sunlight leaking through the cracks of the infirmary window. It was softer than the blaze I'd endured in Bey's trap, gentler than the searing pain of his poisoned blade, and yet it felt almost hostile in its calmness.
My body ached like I'd been torn apart and stitched back together by someone with cruel precision. Every muscle, every nerve was screaming, but I was alive.
I blinked, hazy, and saw her—Naya. She was kneeling beside the bed, sleeves rolled up, hands hovering over bandages she hadn't yet tied. Her hair fell over her shoulder in loose strands, catching the light in the way that made it impossible for me to focus on anything else.
She noticed my eyes open and froze, a small intake of breath betraying her calm facade.
"You… you're awake," she whispered.
I tried to speak, but my throat was raw. A faint rasp escaped instead. "I… am."
She studied me like she was measuring how much life remained in me. "You said something yesterday…" Her eyes were wide, almost anxious. "…You said it before… before you passed out. What did you say?"
I swallowed. My mind spun with a dozen possibilities. Did she really not hear me, or was this some delicate test? Was she forcing me to say it again because she needed proof, or… because she felt the same way and feared my heart?
I let the silence stretch. The only sound was the soft hum of the infirmary's ventilation and the faint rustle of her clothing as she adjusted her position.
"I… I shouldn't have come," I admitted, voice still weak.
"Forget what I said. It was a mistake."
Her breath caught. She froze again. Then a single, almost imperceptible whisper. "You…
coward."
Her voice was quiet, hesitant. "You never hesitate in battle but, you only confessed your feelings because your wounds were fatal."
I lifted a hand, trembling, and rested it lightly against hers. "I swore to myself… I vowed would stay away from you until the war was over.
Until the tyrants fell. Until… until I could see you without dragging death into your life."
She coldy said,"I don't need your protection."
"I know," I murmured, forcing a half-smile.
She revealed her deepest desire,
"I only want… honesty from you. I know it's too late for us but, don't hide behind our reality. Tell me your wildest dream. What do you feel for me?"
Her fingers brushed mine. The connection burned hotter than the wounds across my back.
She trailed off, hesitant. "Know I feel the same."
My heart skipped. I wanted to reach across the bed, to take her into my arms, to promise her the world—but I couldn't. Not now. Not when the war still raged. Not when her
father…
Victor Zefar… sat at the top of my list.
"I can't give you the love you deserve," I said softly. "Not yet. Not ever…
I'm a child of war. You know that. Exposing my heart would weaken me."
She looked down, biting her lip. "I know… I just—" She paused, glancing at me with a strange mixture of longing and fear. "I just wanted to hear it. Wanted to be sure it was real."
"My love for you is real," I whispered, my eyes locking on hers. "Always real. Even if I never get to show you."
The faint sunlight made the room look holy, almost peaceful. The irony wasn't lost on me.
Outside, my war was raging; inside, it was calm, fragile, dangerous.
My hands clenched around the bedsheets. I could still feel the faint burn from the venom Bey had used, the edge of it lingering in my veins.
Normally, it would have killed me. Normally, I would have been gone before even reaching Naya.
But years of handling snakes—playing with them, keeping them as pets, letting their venom lace my skin in harmless doses—had made me… immune.
My body had remembered. My blood remembered. My survival was proof. And yet, survival didn't mean I was safe.
"Naya…" I said quietly, voice barely audible. "You need to know… the man who nearly killed me might be a Trueslayer… "
She let me go upon hearing that. She knew what I had to do. I left her to find Zefar. He was going to meet the Trueslayers. Their meeting place was a secret no one except Zefar knew.
Once Zefar entered their mist, I emerged from his shadow catching the attention of the Trueslayers assembled.
All 899 of them watched me before demanding to know why I stood before them.
I asked them about the only one that mattered: Bey.
The Council surprisingly didn't know him. Zefar of all people swore Bey was only human. If Bey wasn't one of us, then what the hell was he?
I closed my eyes for a moment, picturing the battlefield, the Council, the chessboard of tyrants, the traps Bey had laid, the venom, the fires and most importantly:Bey's shadow.
I saw him amongst the living. Bey was alive and well. He had survived.
Again!
He was probably planning something new I couldn't yet see. And every second I waited, every hesitation, gave him more time to prepare.
I had no choice.
I returned to Naya and finally confessed.
"I must leave again," I said, my voice steady despite the fire in my veins.
"But remember this… nothing I do… no matter where I go, nothing I do will ever stop me from coming back to finish what he started."
She nodded once, almost imperceptibly, and I felt the weight of unspoken words hang between us.
Then, without another glance, I fell into the shadows of the infirmary and disappeared.
Bey was alive. And I would not rest until I knew exactly what he was—and exactly how to end him.
Bey was out there living while his headless corpse still cooled in the morgue.
I refused to be reckless again.
I decided to cripple Bey with fear since death refused to keep him.
I went after Bey one last time.
I let him see it in my eyes when I entered his chamber. Let him hear it in my voice when I told him I had already killed him twice. His heart betrayed him before his mouth did. Terror has a taste—sharp, acidic, unmistakable.
When I dragged him into the shadow with me, the world vanished.
The sea of darkness was...
Silent.
Lightless.
And dark.
Torment worse than death.
Bey screamed—
I did not hear it.
The darkness opened his mind the way it had opened mine.
His life flashed before his eyes.
Not for him.
For me.
I walked through his memories like a thief through a burning house. No doors. No permission. The sea does not care about consent.
A palace corridor. Clean stone. Tutors with tired eyes. A boy being taught how to smile correctly. How to speak slowly. How to wear a crown without letting it crush the spine.
The boy was Bey.
No!
The memory stuttered.
Split. Corrected itself.
Three boys.
The world's first identical Triplets.
I laughed.
So that was it.
No resurrection. No Trueslayer trickery. No divine interference. Just survival dressed up as mystery. One brother sent to die, another prepared to rule, the last hidden, trained, rewritten until he could wear another man's life like borrowed armor.
Clever.
Pathetic.
Tragic.
But this one?
This one was a shadow pretending to be a man because the world would not allow him to be anything else.
I stayed with him in the Sea longer than necessary.
I let him feel the terror. Let his mind tear itself open, searching for light that did not exist. He screamed. He begged. He promised kingdoms, gold, obedience, love.
I watched every memory.
The moment he learned his brothers were dead.
The nights he practiced their voices alone.
The fear that someday I would return.
I did.
When I pulled him out, nothing returned.
I took his sight.
I took his hearing.
Not by violence.
By mentally leaving him in the Sea of Darkness.
To Bey, I never let go.
His eyes were open, but they saw nothing. His mouth moved, but the sound meant nothing.
He screamed until his throat bled, convinced he was still dying, still falling, still trapped in the final second of his life.
He collapsed, clawing at stone, screaming into nothing.
"Please," he begged.
He thought he was still dying. Thought the darkness had never released him. Thought every second stretched forever.
I had already given mercy.
He would never perceive it.
I left him alive because death would have been kind.
Because fear is louder than execution.
Because kings needed to see what happens when I choose not to finish the job.
They used to whisper that I couldn't kill Bey.
That he broke me.
Now they know the truth.
I am not beaten.
Bey sits in his castle blind and deaf, raving at shadows.
I will return his senses when my work is done.
When every tyrant's head lines the roads.
Until then—
He remains in the darkness.
Just like I was.
And like me—
He will never forget the feeling.