Page 31 of Empire of Wrath and Ruin
"What is this place?" I asked, gesturing to the corridor that stretched behind him. From somewhere in that direction came a low, keening sound that raised the hair on my arms.
Patir's expression grew troubled. "These are the care chambers, my lady. For those who have... given too much of themselves to the darkness."
The keening sound came again, followed by what might have been sobbing or laughter—it was impossible to tell which. "Care chambers?"
"Perhaps... perhaps it would be better if you saw for yourself," Patir said after a long moment. "You're going to be living among us now. You should understand what we face, what our people sacrifice."
I nodded, though something in his tone made my stomach clench with dread.
He led me down the corridor, our footsteps muffled by the oppressive atmosphere. The first chamber we approached had a heavy wooden door with a small, barred window. Through it, I could see a man sitting on a simple bed, staring at his hands with intense concentration. He appeared normal at first glance—middle-aged, clean, well-cared for.
"Mias," Patir called softly. "I've brought your meal."
The man looked up, and I had to suppress a gasp. His eyes should have been completely black, but they were white, likeTaveth. Strange, silver veins spread across his face like spider webs, pulsing faintly beneath his skin.
"The shadows told me you were coming," Mias said, his voice perfectly calm and rational. "They whispered in the walls. They're excited. They've been so lonely."
Patir slid the tray through a slot in the door with practiced efficiency. "How are you feeling today, Mias?"
"The Emperor's dragons are circling overhead," Mias replied conversationally, though we were deep underground. "Can you hear their wings? So sad, so lost. They're looking for the lost children. But we hid them in the shadow realm, didn't we? Safe in the darkness where the sun can't burn them."
"Yes," Patir said gently. "They're safe. Now eat and rest, my friend."
As we moved away, I whispered, "What happened to him?""Shadow madness," Patir replied quietly. "He was one of our finest warriors, fought the Empire for fifteen years. The power consumed him slowly, the way it always does. He doesn't remember his wife or children anymore, but he's peaceful. That's more than some can say."
The next several chambers held similar scenes—men and women lost in delusions, their bodies marked by the same dark veins, their magic having burned them from the inside out. Some muttered constantly to invisible companions, others sat in perfect stillness, and a few paced their rooms like caged animals. All were treated with careful respect by Patir, who seemed to know each of them personally.
"They're martyrs," he explained as we walked. "They gave their sanity, their very souls, to protect our people. We honour them by ensuring their final years are as comfortable as possible."
"How many are there?" I asked, horrified by the implications.
"Forty-three in this section alone," Patir said. "And the numbers grow each year."
We passed a cell where a woman sat braiding and unbraiding her hair with mechanical precision. Her movements were so repetitive, so constant, that the hair around her temples had been worn away to raw scalp. She looked up as we passed, and her face lit up with genuine joy.
"Patir! My sweet boy, have you come to visit?" Her voice was warm, motherly.
"Hello, Aunt Sera," he said, his voice catching slightly. "I brought your favourite honey cakes."
"Oh, how wonderful. And is this your wife? She's very pretty, dear. You'll have beautiful children together."
I saw Patir's hands tremble as he passed the food through the slot. "This is Lady Livia, Aunt Sera. She's just visiting."
"Lovely to meet you, dear. Patir's such a good boy. He visits his old aunt even though I know the shadows whisper terrible things about me." Her tone remained perfectly pleasant, as if she were discussing the weather. "They tell me to tear the skin from my bones, to feed my blood to the darkness. But I don't listen. Much."
As we moved away, I noticed tears tracking down Patir's cheeks. "She helped raise me," he said quietly. "She was the strongest shadow mage of her generation, could bend darkness to her will like it was silk thread. Sometimes she has good days, remembers who I am, who she used to be. But you can't allow yourself to hope. Hope just makes it hurt more when the madness takes them again."
The atmosphere grew heavier as we progressed deeper into the complex. The shadows here seemed to move independently of any light source, pooling in corners like black oil. The temperature had dropped noticeably, and I could see my breath misting in the air.
“My generation is the smallest in memory," Patir continued, his voice taking on a bitter edge. "Most shadow mages choosenot to have children, so they won't pass this curse to innocent souls. A few still believe it's their duty to preserve the bloodline, that the power is worth the price." He gestured around us. "This is what we're preserving. So the rest of them have to use their abilities more, burn brighter and faster, because there are fewer of them to defend against the Empire's attacks."
"Isn't there anything that can be done?" I asked. "Some cure or treatment?"
Patir's laugh was hollow. "The temple keepers have been searching for centuries. Ancient texts, old rituals, anything that might break the curse. But if there was a real cure, don't you think they would have found it by now? Don't you think they would have used it?"
I thought back to the battle I had fought in, to Taveth’s presence on the battlefield, the way his shadows sent Imperial troops into sheer panic, the way he ripped through the legion like a dark scythe through meadow flowers. Then I thought of Aytara, sitting calm and impassive by the pool in the garden, the way she spoke of her people, the sadness and resignation in her eyes when she looked at Taveth. If the elders had found a cure, would they have told anyone? Would they have used it, if it meant ending the one advantage, they had over the endless onslaught of Imperial soldiers? Would Aytara take away their only chance of survival to save her adopted son? Something inside me whispered that she wouldn’t, but I kept my thoughts to myself as I followed Patir through the labyrinthine tunnels.
We approached another chamber, and I noticed that the man inside had the same silver veins as the others, but they seemed to pulse more rapidly, more aggressively. When he looked up at us, his smile was sharp enough to cut.
