Page 15 of Daughter of Shadows and Ash

I searched where my grandmother had once laid but found nothing but scattered ashes. I knelt beside them, cries of anguish ringing in the silent space. The woman who raised me, taught me everything I knew, was gone. I had no parents—my mother lost, my father presumed dead, a ghost never mentioned.

I love you as much as there are stars in our sky.

I stood and glanced at the spot where I last saw Maël, finding a hollow relief in knowing he was gone before my flames could consume him. My heart shattered as I thought of the boy I knew, the man I had loved even when I didn't think he loved me back. I touched the ring he gave me, a promise now broken.

I stumbled through the ash-covered ruins to the cluster of trees where I'd left the young boy, only to find more desolation. Maybe he got away before the flames came. I searched the tree line to no avail. There were no survivors other than me. If this could be called survival, I was tired, bloodied, and if I didn't find something for this wound on my arm soon it would fester.

I sifted through the wreckage, my fingers coated in ash, desperate for anything salvageable. I cursed, what was I supposed to do now? I kept walking until I caught something glinting in the dying sunlight. As I reached down to pick it up my heartache grew. It was the last thing my grandmother ever gave me, my dagger of starlight.

I used the blade to cut a strip from my shirt and bound it around my arm. I may not have healing magic, but I picked up some basics when I could. I put the dagger in its sheath and held the sword I had used to slay the fae who came here. Their camp, with its promise of provisions, lay not far from here. With nothing left in this wasteland, it was my only hope. Assuming they hadn't escaped my flames, their remains now indistinguishable from the ash around me.

I trudged towards the encampment, my steps faltering as I passed through the skeletal remains of the village gate. The once-welcoming structures were now nothing but memories, their warmth replaced by the chill of desolation.

As I pressed on towards the promise of survival, a part of me longed for Death's embrace, a twisted solace in this wasteland of ash and regret.

Darkness had swallowedthe woods whole by the time I stumbled upon what I prayed was the camp.

The clearing looked vaguely familiar, the fire pit a ghostly reminder of my last moments with Maël. It was the only sign someone had ever occupied the space.

The iron cages, bedrolls, and every trace of the murderers who'd brought death to my village had vanished. Someone had survived the chaos, but who? It couldn't have been just one man. Even two fae males would've struggled with those iron cages.

The three mercenaries I'd faced outside our cottage burned in my memory like a brand. They'd stolen the two people I loved most in this world from me forever. I clenched my fists, feeling the shadows pulse around me, thirsting for retribution.

I slumped onto a weathered log by the long-forgotten pit, my fingers seeking out the hilt of my dagger—one of the last remnants of my life before. The weight of it in my palm was a cold comfort. I couldn't yield to Death's seductive whisper, couldn't surrender to the temptation of joining my loved ones in the great beyond. No, that wasn't my fate, at least, not yet.

I traced the edge of the blade with my finger, watching as starlight kissed its surface like scattered diamonds. The eerie quiet of the woods pressed in around me, but it didn't unnerve me. It couldn't. I knew in my bones that I would meet Death again, like an old friend. Next time, I wouldn't greet Death as its victim, I would be its harbinger.

Live your life, Lor. Let me go and live.

The grief clawed at my chest, threatening to tear me apart. Maël's voice echoed in my mind, as real as if he were right beside me, close enough to touch.

"I won't rest until I find them," I whispered to the darkness, each word a blade against my throat. "I will harvest their souls like they've reaped so many others." The words branded themselves into my soul, a blood oath I couldn't break.

The dagger bit deeper into my palm as my fingers clenched, blood welling around the blade. They had taken everything from me, yet never imagined what would rise from the ashes of their destruction. I would become their reckoning, a nightmare forgedin the crucible of their own cruelty. And I wouldn't rest until vengeance was mine.

Chapter 11

One Year Later…

I sat on the rooftop in Oakston, a city of Esmeray, my gaze fixed upon the home ahead, waiting for my mark. It had taken a year to find the trail of one of the survivors—Archie, the one who had wanted to "have his fun" with me back at the camp. I had tracked him for nearly a month, learning his habits, and with midnight nearing, I knew it wouldn't be long until his drunken self stumbled home.

This past year hadn't been easy.

Haunted by a shattered heart, I had barely managed to drag myself from The Great Woods, finding refuge in a remote township within Esmeray. Though some kind souls tended to my wounds, the shadow of war had left the town a hollow shell of what it once was. Despite my gratitude, I pressed forward, surviving on what I could hunt and earn, haunting taverns by night in search of any whisper that might lead me to the men who ruined my life.

Gradually, I learned to embrace my newfound power. What I had first thought was darkness turned out to be shadows. In the depths of the woods, I honed my craft, learning to bend shadowsto my will, pulling them from trees until they blanketed entire clearings.

I became one with the shadows, watching huntsmen pass mere inches from where I stood, their oblivious forms close enough to touch.

But the fire—the white flames—remained untouched, a power I dared not summon after what happened to the village.

The shadows proved useful enough, yet the memory of that strange, searing warmth that accompanied the white flames still haunted me.

To summon that power again would be to risk losing control entirely.

I had made a vow of vengeance, and I intended to keep it—even if it meant restraining the very power that burned within my blood.

It wasn't until a month ago that I happened upon a local tavern here where this drunkard bragged about what he'd seen in his travels, including hidden villages within the woods. When I caught sight of his face, time froze, my blood turning to ice. My fingers trembled against the wooden table, memories of that night crashing through me like a tidal wave of horror. It took all of my willpower not to slit his throat right there. When he finally had his fill of ale, he stumbled out of the tavern, and I slipped into the night behind him. Once outside, I used the shadows to conceal my steps, though the fool never even glanced back. That was the first night I tracked him to his home.

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