Page 231 of Lana Pecherczyk
Her hand dropped, and she whirled with a dramatic flourish, a flurry of feathers and silk. She moved deeper into the shadowed chamber, toward something that made the mana pulse stronger.
With a heavy sigh, Ash followed until they met a skeleton embedded in the wall. Its ancient bones were black with age but somehow still vital, still radiating power in tangible waves. The same dark shade ran beneath Ash’s skin, beneath the triad tattoo.
This was why it was never he who’d saved his triad from the Well Worms.
The Collector approached the remains like a lover, her palm settling against the skull with genuine tenderness. The gesture should have revolted him. Instead, his hand rose unconsciously, almost mirroring her touch. He jerked back, bile rising in his throat.
“Your father sends his regards.” She stroked the bone with the same affection Ravi showed Talo. “He’s been so patient, waiting for you to stop pretending.”
“I’m not—” The words died. Down here, wrapped in mana that sang the same song as his blood, the lie choked on his tongue.
“Not pretending?” Her fingers never stilled on the skull. “Blood calls to blood, doesn’t it? And you’ve been calling for such a long time, haven’t you, my love?”
The skeleton seemed to pulse in response. Power washed over Ash in waves. For a moment, just a moment, he felt complete. Understood. As though he were coming home after a lifetime of speaking a foreign tongue.
He stepped back, but the damage was done. The mana had recognized him.
And he’d recognized it in return.
Enough.
“Where?” His voice came out steady despite the tremor in his hands.
The Collector’s smile could have cut glass. “Eager to collect your reward?”
He glared back until she gestured toward an archway hidden in the shadows. Despite knowing the way, Ash followed her through the opening into an antechamber, leaving behind the spiraling patterns of the main room.
Illumination came from the purple and midnight scales of a creature coiled on the floor before another door. Enforced ceramic chains thick as Ash’s wrist circled the Shadowmaw’s throat. More for appearance than purpose. Multiple rows of crystalline teeth caught the glow of its scales as it lifted its massive head. Dark eyes fixed on him.
No fear. No aggression.
Just the lazy contentment of a hound greeting its master.
Ash’s steps slowed as he approached, something heavy settling in his stomach. The creature’s deep rumble sounded like distant thunder and vibrated through the floor into Ash’s bones.
He knelt, and it nuzzled his hand with serpentine grace. His fingers found the scar along its slippery flank automatically, tracing the precise line he’d carved there a mere hour ago. Again, more for appearance than purpose. Shallow enough to heal clean. Deep enough for the blood required to paint over his garb, fooling his brothers.
“Sorry about the scar, old friend.”
The Shadowmaw huffed, a sound that might have been laughter in a creature capable of such things. Its hide was warm beneath Ash’s palm, scales smooth as polished stone. He scratched behind the horned ridges of its skull. It pressed into the touch like a fee-lion seeking warmth.
Had to deal with one of her pets.
Ash’s hand stilled. The Shadowmaw sensed his shift, nudging his shoulder with gentle concern. Real affection, even if their battle had been fake. Real trust, even though he’d used it to deceive the only family he’d ever known.
“What does that make us, Tenebris?” he whispered.
The creature only continued nuzzling Ash’s hand, patient as stone.
He rose slowly, giving the beast one final pat. It settled back into its dark mana pool with liquid grace, content in its domain of shadows and ancient power.
The most honest relationship Ash had as a child was with a creature that helped him manufacture lies.
This was where his mother left him. Not a single word left her lips. No gloat. No snide remark. She had what she wanted, and now it was his turn.
He stepped over Tenebris and into another antechamber. This one, he’d carved out with his claws in his youth.
The space felt smaller than memory painted it. The single lantern of trapped manabeeze dangling over a closed and locked wooden door cast a twirling light. Each buzzing ball of energy struck its glass enclosure, eager to escape. Each softtingcreated a rhythm, a melody he remembered well.
