Page 2 of Shadow's Claim

A chill slides down my spine despite the increasing warmth beneath my skin. Lord Kael Nightshadow. The Shadow Dominion's most feared enforcer, rumored to have personally executed dozens of resistance leaders during the Blood Week. The stories whispered among translators describe him phasing through solid walls to extract confessions, his four arms working in perfect coordination to manipulate both shadows and prisoners. Three centuries old with a perfect memory and senses so acute he can detect a lie before the liar knows they're telling it.

"Reporting immediately," I confirm, tucking the tablet under my arm and moving toward the southern corridor.

The corridors darken as I approach Courtroom 12, the architectural design deliberately intimidating. Classical columns from the original human courthouse rise three stories high, but now they're coated in light-absorbing material that makes them appear like massive voids cut into reality. The ceiling has been replaced with specialized panels that maintain permanent twilight regardless of the actual time of day.

Shadow demons thrive in darkness. Humans stumble through it. Another not-so-subtle reminder of our place in the new hierarchy.

I mentally calculate my window of safety—two hours until the pre-heat symptoms become noticeable to enhanced senses, another hour before actual heat biology begins its betrayal. Three hours to complete this assignment and return to my quarters where emergency suppressant doses are hidden beneath a loose floorboard.

The doors to Courtroom 12 slide open silently, revealing the specialized translation booths positioned at each corner. Two shadow demons flank the entrance, their four arms moving in continuous, unsettling patterns. Not random motion—they're manipulating the shadows around them, creating subtle currents that flow throughout the room like invisible rivers.

I map escape routes out of pure habit—main doors, service corridor behind the translation booths, maintenance access that requires security clearance I've cloned onto my identification. Ten years since the Conquest, and still I never enter a room without planning how to leave it in a hurry.

"Booth Three," directs the assignment coordinator, barely glancing up from his workstation. "Shadow-to-human translation for the defendants."

I nod and move toward the designated booth, keeping my pace measured and my breathing controlled. The transparent enclosure offers the illusion of separation—sound-proof and climate-controlled to ensure optimal translation conditions. In reality, it's just another form of display case, allowing the shadow demons to observe the humans they consider useful tools at best, breeding stock at worst.

I settle into the chair, inserting the specialized earpiece that will feed me the formal Shadow Speech from the tribunal members. Through the glass, I see the defendants being led in—five humans with the hollow-eyed look of those who've already undergone preliminary questioning. I recognize Tomas Chen, whose apartment served as a distribution point for suppressants in the eastern sector. Next to him stands Mira Kozlov, a chemical engineer who helped develop the very compounds keeping my omega status hidden.

My fingers tighten on the edge of the desk before I consciously relax them. Shadow demons notice everything.

The tribunal members materialize rather than walk in—their forms coalescing from the specially designed shadow pools at the edges of the room. Three high-ranking judges, their purple eyes scanning the assembled humans with the detached interest of scientists observing laboratory specimens.

Then the temperature plummets.

My breath catches as frost patterns form on the glass of my translation booth. The shadows throughout the courtroom deepen, converging toward the center like iron filings drawn to a magnet. The defendants shrink back. Even the tribunal members straighten to attention.

He doesn't walk or materialize. One moment the space is empty, the next Lord Kael Nightshadow occupies it completely, as if reality itself had to adjust to accommodate his presence.

He stands nearly seven feet tall, his midnight-black skin absorbing light rather than reflecting it, creating an unsettling void-like appearance that human eyes struggle to focus on directly. Four powerful arms extend from his muscular torso—the primary pair folded formally across his chest, the secondary pair holding documentation tablets. His eyes glow with vibrant purple light, illuminating his sharp features with an otherworldly radiance that marks him as a Prime among his kind.

Those eyes sweep the courtroom in methodical assessment, moving with predatory precision from one face to the next. When they pass over my translation booth, I keep my gaze locked on my tablet, the perfect image of a focused professional. Inside, my heart hammers against my ribs with such force I'm certain he must hear it.

The trial begins with formal declarations in Shadow Speech, the harsh consonants flowing through my earpiece. I translate automatically, my training kicking in despite the mounting sense of danger.

"The tribunal convenes to address charges of sedition, unauthorized possession of restricted chemical compounds, and interference with lawful omega management," I translate, keeping my tone neutral despite the bitterness the words leave on my tongue. "How do the accused respond?"

The human advocate—a beta male appointed by the Shadow Dominion—rises to present the defense. I know before he speaks that his arguments will be performative at best. Shadow trials have predetermined outcomes; the proceedings merely establish the severity of punishment.

As the advocate speaks, Lord Kael moves closer to the defendants, his massive form towering over them. All four hands move in complex patterns, manipulating shadows that curl around his fingers like living extensions of his body. The air temperature continues dropping wherever he passes.

"Defendant Chen," I translate as the tribunal chief addresses the first accused. "You will detail all resistance contacts, locations of unregistered omegas, and suppressant distribution networks known to you."

Tomas trembles visibly but maintains silence. Lord Kael steps directly before him, shadows gathering around both figures in ominous density. Two of his hands reach for Tomas's face while the others continue their hypnotic movements.

"Enhanced interrogation authorized," I translate, the formal phrase chilling my blood. Everyone in the courtroom knows what it means—shadow infiltration of the human body, tendrils of living darkness stimulating nerve endings directly to extract confession through pain no training can withstand.

As Lord Kael's shadow extensions begin to snake toward Tomas, a sheen of sweat breaks out across my forehead. The warmth beneath my skin intensifies, my body's temperature rising as the suppressants continue failing. I press the pendant against my throat, hoping the emergency cooling function might buy me time.

Through the glass, I see Lord Kael hesitate, his head turning slightly. Nostrils flaring. Sensing something.

Sensing me.

Those glowing purple eyes shift from his target to my translation booth, narrowing with sudden predatory interest that sends ice through my veins. I continue translating without pause, without changing expression, but internal alarms scream through every nerve. His posture changes subtly—head tilted, shoulders squared in my direction. Recognition flickers in those luminous eyes, not of who I am but of what I'm hiding.

The shadow tendrils withdraw from Tomas as Lord Kael takes one deliberate step toward my booth.

Then the lights go out.

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