Page 17 of Lich's Bride

Nearby, a pair of kobolds are engaged in the delicate task of grooming a Nightshade Wraith - a floating mass of shadow and thorns that drifts among the garden beds, drinking in the darkness and exuding an aura of palpable dread. The kobolds dart in and out, their clawed hands a blur, plucking away dead leaves and twigs, smoothing the Wraith's ethereal surface to a glossy sheen.

As I watch their efforts, I can't help but be reminded of Kira, my newest and most promising addition. The thought of her brings a faint smile to my lips, an expression that feels strange and unpracticed on my ascetic face.

Kira. In the few short months since I plucked her from the chaos of the mortal world, she has shown a remarkable aptitude for the mystic arts. Her mind is quick and hungry, devouring knowledge with a fervor that borders on obsession. She has mastered spells and incantations that would take a lesser mage years to even comprehend, let alone wield with any degree of skill.

But it is more than just her raw power, her innate talent, that sets her apart. There is a fire in her, a spark of something vital and unquenchable that burns away the dross of her mortal frailties, leaving behind a core of pure, adamantine will.

I saw it in her the moment I first laid eyes on her, a lost and terrified slip of a girl standing on that auction block. A diamond in the rough, waiting to be cut and polished to a razor's edge.

And oh, how she shines now. Each day she grows stronger, more assured, more attuned to the whispers and currents of the unseen world. It is a joy to behold, a dark and twisted pleasure that I nurture in the secret places of my heart.

I turn away from the gardens, my feet carrying me back into the cool dimness of the castle's interior. I find myself heading towards the library, drawn by the certainty that Kira will be there, ensconced among the towering shelves, lost in the pages of some musty grimoire.

I am not disappointed. As I step into the cavernous space, I catch sight of her immediately - a slender figure hunched over a massive tome, the quill in her hand scratching furiously as she takes notes on a scrap of parchment. At her feet, curled into a tight ball of mottled fur, is her familiar, the strange and mercurial creature she called forth from the ether scant days ago.

For a moment, I simply stand and watch her, drinking in the sight of her furrowed brow, the way she worries at her lower lip with her teeth as she concentrates. There is a fierce intensity to her in these moments, an almost palpable aura of focus and determination that crackles around her like a static charge.

She senses my presence after a moment, her head snapping up, her eyes locking onto mine. For an instant, I see a flicker of something in those luminous depths - surprise, certainly, but also something warmer, something that sends a strange shiver down my spine.

Then it is gone, replaced by a polite smile as she rises to greet me. "Master," she says, dipping her head in a gesture of respect that has become as natural to her as breathing. "I didn't hear you enter."

"You were engrossed in your studies," I reply, moving closer, my eyes flicking to the tome open before her. "As well you should be. I see you have discovered Karthul's Compendium of Nethercants. A challenging text, but one that holds great potential for one with your gifts."

Kira's smile widens, a flush of pleasure coloring her pale cheeks at my praise. "It's fascinating," she says, her voice trembling slightly with barely contained excitement. "The theory behind the invocation of nether forces, the way Karthul weaves the syllables to create a resonance pattern... I've never seen anything like it."

"And yet you comprehend it," I say, not a question but a statement of fact. "More than comprehend - you are already beginning to extrapolate, to see ways in which the basic principles can be adapted and expanded. Is this not so?"

Her flush deepens, but she meets my gaze without flinching. "Yes," she says simply. "It's as if... as if I've always known these things, on some deep, instinctual level. As if I'm remembering, rather than learning anew."

I nod, unsurprised. It is a common enough phenomenon among those truly gifted in the mystic arts - a sort of genetic memory, a tapping into the vast well of arcane knowledge that underlies the fabric of reality itself. That Kira is already experiencing this... it bodes well for her future progression.

"And your familiar?" I ask, glancing down at the sleeping creature. "How goes your bonding, your exploration of your shared capabilities?"

At this, Kira's face truly lights up, her eyes sparkling with an almost childlike wonder. "Oh, Malachar," she breathes, "it's incredible. The things we can do together, the way our magick intertwines and amplifies each other... I never dreamed such a connection was possible. It's as if we are two halves of the same soul, finally reunited after an eternity apart."

I feel a strange twinge in my chest at her words, a fleeting pang of something that might almost be envy. To know such a bond, such a sense of unity and completion... but no. Such thoughts are folly, a weakness I cannot afford to indulge. I am Malachar, the Deathless One, the Scourge of Nations.

"I am pleased with your progress, Apprentice," I say, my voice carefully neutral. "You have exceeded my expectations in every particular. Continue on this path, and there will be no limit to what you may achieve."

Kira glows at my words, her aura flaring happily bright and gold around her. For a moment, I am dazzled by it, by her, a moth drawn helplessly to a flame far brighter and purer than anything I have known in centuries beyond count.

But I master myself, wrapping my tattered cloak of indifference around me like a shroud. I will not be moved, will not be swayed by this slip of a mortal girl, no matter how promising, how intoxicating her potential. I am eternal, unchanging, a thing of shadow and stone. And I will remain so, until the stars themselves gutter and die.

"I will leave you to your work," I say, taking a step back, putting distance between us once more. "Should you need me, you know where to find me."

Kira nods, a flicker of disappointment crossing her face, quickly hidden. "Of course, Master. Thank you for your guidance, as always."

I incline my head in acknowledgement, then turn and sweep from the library, my black robes billowing behind me. But even as I climb the winding stair back to my study, I can feel her eyes on me, a palpable weight between my shoulder blades.

Fool, I chide myself, my lip curling in self-disgust. To let a mere mortal affect me so, to let her worm her way beneath my skin like a splinter lodged deep in the flesh...

It cannot be borne. I will excise this weakness, this aberrant flicker of something dangerously close to feeling, before it can take root and fester.

I am Malachar, the Nightlord, as cold and pitiless as the void that spawned me.

And I will let nothing and no one, not even a shining paragon like Kira Noor, deter me from my dark purpose.

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