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Ink and Shadow
Huling Na-update:
2025-09-23 06:59:45Kai:
The Royal lounge is quiet, too dreadfully quiet for my srambling mind.
Even the fire seems to burn without sound, flames bowing low in the black-marble hearth as if the room itself is holding its breath. I sprawl in the corner chair, boots kicked out, a book open across my knees but unread. Ancient Fae script blurs into meaningless spirals. The prophecy fragment I found won’t stop humming behind my eyes—
When silence screams and stars descend…
Every word tastes like a blade.
A soft disturbance cuts through the hush. Shadows lengthen near the doorway, rippling like smoke around a figure that shouldn’t be there.
Silas.
He steps inside without a sound, a living absence. The air chills in his wake, the scent of winter and old stone following him. He moves like a thought half-formed, a wraith more than a man.
“You’re brooding,” he says, voice low enough to seem part of the room.
I snap the book closed. “And you’re trespassing.”
His mouth almost curves, not quite a smile. “This lounge isn’t yours alone, trickster.”
“Could’ve fooled me. Most people knock.”
“Most people aren’t me.” He glides closer, shadows folding around him like loyal pets. “You’ve been…occupied. Pages scattered across the library. Sleepless nights. You’re hunting something.”
I lean back, mask lazy, but my pulse ticks faster. “And you’ve been spying. Classic Silas.”
“I watch what matters.” His irridescent-ice eyes catch the firelight, a frozen reflection. “Especially when it concerns her.”
Her. He doesn’t need to say the name. It hangs between us like incense and smoke.
“What about her?” I ask, voice a little too sharp.
“The nightmares.” He lowers himself into the opposite chair, long fingers steepled. “The sigils that burn her skin. The way the dark follows her like a hell hound.” His gaze narrows. “And you know something, don't you Kai.”
My stomach knots. I’ve played this game for centuries, out-bluffing princes and thieves alike, but Silas is different. His quiet eats lies.
“Maybe I do,” I say finally, “maybe I don’t. What’s it to you?”
“I don’t want her hurt.”
I laugh, but it comes out harsh. “You are hurt, Silas. You’re a walking requiem. Don’t pretend you can protect anyone.”
His jaw tightens, but his voice stays soft, lethal. “You think I don’t know what I am? Death walks with me, yes. But a grim can also guard. Shadows can hide as well as kill, Kai.”
The room contracts around us, silence sharp as glass.
I study him. He means it. For once there’s no cryptic veil, only a cold sincerity that scrapes at something raw in me.
Damn it.
I drag a hand through my hair. “Fine.” My voice drops. “But this doesn’t leave the room.”
His eyes glint, a promise of secrecy.
I pull the worn folio from my coat, the one I found in Isadora’s hidden scriptorium. The leather hums faintly, old magic stitched into its seams. I slide it across the table.
“The Tamer of the High,” I say. “Older than the oldest Fae records. A prophecy.”
Silas lays a pale hand on the cover, and for a heartbeat the shadows around him twitch like startled birds. “Read it.”
I recite the fragment, the words a slow knife:
When silence screams and stars descend…
She drinks the strength of kings long dead…
Four thrones undone, their will entwined…
When I finish, the fire gutter-flashes blue.
Silas closes his eyes. “It speaks of her.”
“I know.” My chest feels too tight. “Every line points to Isadora. She’s the vessel. The war. The fall.”
“And the strength of four,” he murmurs, gaze sharpening. “Four of us.”
“High Lords. Us.” I swallow. “It’s already happening. Look at us—circling her like we’re caught in her gravity.”
His silence is heavy agreement.
I lean forward. “The wards are failing. Something’s coming for her. If that prophecy’s right, she’ll either save this world or raze it to ash. I can’t let the second happen.”
Silas studies me as though weighing my soul. “You care for her.”
It’s not a question, but I answer anyway. “More than I should.”
Something like understanding flickers across his face—a ghost of emotion quickly buried.
“I am teaching her shadow craft,” he says at last. “Small protections. Wards that bite back. But if the darkness grows, it won’t be enough. Not for what hunts her.”
The truth of it chills me more than his presence ever could.
“Then we work together,” I say. The words taste strange. “An alliance. Uneasy, sure. But she needs both of us.”
Silas inclines his head, slow and deliberate. “For her.”
“For her,” I echo.
The fire pops, sending a shower of sparks across the black marble. They flare and die in an instant, tiny stars swallowed by shadow.
I meet his gaze, and for a heartbeat the room feels like a pact sealed in fate and smoke. We are opposites—my chaos to his quiet, my light to his void—but tonight we stand on the same side of the dark.
For her.
Pinakabagong kabanata
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