Page 82 of Empire of Wrath and Ruin
"They cleared them out," Septimus observed, running his fingers along scorch marks on a door frame. "This wasn't random destruction. This was systematic population removal."
"Slave markets," Marcus said grimly. "Or worse."
I sat apart from the others, staring at the crystal's faint glow through the fabric of Antonius's pack. The shadows urged me to take it, to stop playing at being human and embrace what I truly was. The restraint required to resist was becoming physically painful—my hands shook constantly now, and I'd started bleeding from my nose whenever the darkness surged.
That night, I dreamed of burning the world.
In the dream, I stood at the heart of a crystal cavern while darkness poured from my skin like black fire. The shadows showed me every person I'd ever cared about writhing in agony as my power consumed them. Livia's screams were particularly beautiful, the way they broke and reformed as I systematically destroyed everything that made her who she was.
I woke gasping, my bedroll soaked with sweat despite the cool night air. Across our small camp, Tarshi was watching me with worried eyes, and I realized I'd been laughing in my sleep.
The second day brought fresh horrors. We passed a crossroads where Imperial soldiers had left a warning—a dozen Talfen fighters nailed to wooden posts, their bodies left to rot as an example to anyone who might consider resistance. Crows had been at them, but the message was still clear: this is what happens to those who defy the Empire.
"Animals," Livia's voice carried across the gap between our mounts, raw with fury.
The shadows agreed. Animals indeed. But I was something worse than an animal—I was a force of nature barely contained in human flesh. The darkness showed me how easy it would be to find the soldiers responsible, to teach them the true meaning of suffering before granting them the mercy of death.
"Taveth," Marcus’ voice cut through the violent fantasy. "Your shadows are visible."
I looked down and saw tendrils of darkness writhing around my hands like living things. With enormous effort, I forced themback beneath my skin, but not before earning fearful glances from my companions.
"Sorry," I managed to say, though the word felt foreign on my tongue. What was I apologizing for? For being what I was born to be? For carrying the power to make the Empire pay for its crimes?
That evening, we found shelter with a family that had somehow escaped the Imperial purges. They were hollow-eyed and skittish, jumping at every sound, but Mira's letter earned us a place by their meagre fire and a share of their thin soup.
Their youngest daughter, perhaps six years old, had burns up her left arm from dragon fire. She’d been lucky. She stared at me throughout the meal with the kind of innocent curiosity that made the shadows writhe with interest. She was so small, so fragile. It would be so easy to—
"Tell us about the sky," she said suddenly, her voice cutting through the darkness in my mind like a blade of pure light. "What does it look like from up there?"
I found myself describing the view from dragon back—cloud formations like mountain ranges, the way sunlight turned mist into gold, the sense of freedom that came from being truly alone with the wind. She listened with rapt attention, her eyes bright with wonder despite everything she'd endured.
When I finished, she smiled and said, "Thank you for fighting the bad people."
The simple trust in her voice nearly broke me. Here was a child who had lost everything to the Empire's cruelty, and she still believed in heroes. Still believed that someone would make things right.
The shadows showed me how easily I could betray that trust. How one small push of power could stop her heart, end her suffering forever. She'd never feel pain again, never know fear or loss or the crushing weight of hope repeatedly destroyed.
I excused myself and walked into the darkness beyond the farmhouse, my hands shaking so violently I could barely control them. The crystal's call was strongest when I was emotionally compromised, its alien hunger feeding on my despair and rage.
"Taveth?"
I turned to find Livia approaching, her expression cautious but determined. She'd seen the signs—the tremors, the way shadows leaked from my skin despite my efforts to contain them, the increasing periods where I seemed to be listening to voices only I could hear.
"You shouldn't be here," I said, backing away from her. "Not when I'm like this."
"Where else would I be?" She continued walking toward me, unafraid despite the darkness writhing around my feet. "You're my mate. My love. If you're in pain, I want to help."
"You can't help," I said desperately. "No one can. The voices are getting stronger, Aeveth. The things they want me to do..." I couldn't finish the sentence. Couldn't tell her about the detailed fantasies of violence, the way the shadows showed me exactly how to hurt her in ways that would break her mind before her body gave out.
She reached for me anyway, her warm hands framing my face despite the chill that seemed to radiate from my skin. "Then tell me what they're saying. Share the burden."
"They want me to kill you," I whispered, the words torn from somewhere deep in my chest. "They show me how beautiful you'd look broken and bleeding. They tell me it would be mercy, that death is better than watching the world burn."
Her expression didn't change, didn't show even a flicker of fear. "But you haven't," she said simply. "You're still fighting them."
"I don't know how much longer I can." My voice cracked with the strain of maintaining even this much coherence. "The crystalis so close, Livia. It calls to me every moment, and I want it so badly I can taste it. I want to take it and let it complete what I was always meant to become."
"Which is what?"
