Chapter 5: The Shadows Stir
When Cilia brought me back, everything hurt.
My body throbbed with each heartbeat, a relentless drum of pain. My ribs screamed with every breath, and my knuckles were split raw from the fight in the tunnels. But worse than the pain was the sight that greeted me when I finally pried my eyes open—Lina, slumped against the wall, her leg wrapped in a bloodstained bandage, her arms crossed tight over her chest. A bruise darkened her cheekbone, and her jaw was set in a way I knew too well. Silent fury.
I tried to sit up. A mistake. Fire lanced through my side, and I hissed through my teeth.
Lina's gaze flicked to me, sharp as a blade. "Took you long enough."
"What happened…?" My voice was rough, like I'd swallowed gravel.
She exhaled through her nose, fingers tightening around her arms. "Same bastard that got you. White mask. Fast. Strong." Her eyes darkened. "Too strong."
I swallowed. Lina wasn't one to admit defeat easily. If she was rattled, that meant we were in deeper than I'd thought.
"You fought him?" I managed.
Her lips thinned. "Fought. Lost." She looked away, jaw working. "He moved like Dad."
A cold weight settled in my gut. Our dad had been a monster in his own right—a man who'd trained us to survive by breaking us first. If this masked freak fought like him…
I forced a weak laugh. "Yeah, well. Doubt that guy could've taken him."
Lina didn't answer.
A small sound cut through the silence—a sniffle, barely there.
I turned.
Cilia stood at the foot of the bed, her small frame trembling. Her hands were clenched into fists at her sides, her bangs shadowing her eyes. But I could see the tears anyway, glinting in the dim light.
"Why?" Her voice was a whisper, raw and broken.
I blinked. "Huh?"
"Why did you tell me to stay back?" She looked up, and the fury in her eyes hit me like a punch. "Aren't we a team?"
I opened my mouth, but no words came.
Lina shifted, her expression unreadable.
Cilia's breath hitched. "I—I know I'm not as strong as you two. But I'm not useless!" Her voice cracked. "What if you'd died? What then?"
The room went still.
I stared at her, at the tears streaking through the dirt on her face, at the way her whole body shook. Guilt twisted in my chest. We'd been so focused on protecting her that we'd forgotten—she wasn't some helpless kid. She was one of us.
Lina moved first.
In one smooth motion, she pushed off the wall and crossed the room, dropping to one knee in front of Cilia. Without a word, she pulled her into a hug.
Cilia stiffened—then crumpled, her small hands fisting in Lina's shirt as sobs wracked her shoulders.
I dragged myself off the bed, ignoring the protests of my body, and wrapped my arms around both of them.
For a long moment, we just stayed like that.
Finally, I exhaled. "Lina."
She glanced at me over Cilia's head.
"Start training her."
A beat. Then, a single nod. "Alright."
I tightened my grip on them both. "We're not losing next time."
The Citadel of Shadows
Far beneath the city, buried under layers of stone and silence, lay a place untouched by sunlight.
The stronghold of the Eclipsed Hands was a relic of Virelia's forgotten past—repurposed into something beautiful and terrible. Its halls were carved from smooth black rock, polished to a mirror sheen, lit by the eerie glow of floating soul-lanterns. Their blue fire flickered behind rune-etched glass, casting shifting patterns on the walls like ghostly hands reaching.
The air here was thick with power, with the weight of centuries-old secrets.
Dozens of masked figures moved through the halls, their black cloaks whispering against the floor. Most wore blank porcelain faces—faceless, nameless, obedient.
But five stood apart.
Five whose names were not spoken.
Five whose presence bent the air.
Five who could each, alone, reduce a kingdom to ash.
Blue leaned against a pillar, her sea-colored cloak rippling like water. Her mask was a smooth, curling wave, her silver hair tied back with a ribbon that shimmered like fish scales. She toyed with a dagger, her laughter light and mocking.
Yellow perched atop a stone gargoyle, swinging his legs like a child. His mask was a grinning sun, his wild black hair streaked with gold. Sashes fluttered at his wrists as he spun a knife between his fingers.
Red stood motionless in the center of the room, his crimson armor etched with old battle scars. His mask was stern, unforgiving, his gray braid resting over his shoulder like a coiled whip.
Pink reclined on a divan, her rose-petal robes spilling around her. Her mask was serene, eyes closed in eternal slumber—but her fingers tapped a slow, impatient rhythm against the armrest.
And then, from the shadows—White.
His cloak was frayed at the edges, his bone-white mask cracked along one cheek. The air around him seemed to warp, heavy with something unsaid.
"You're late," Red intoned, his voice like grinding stone.
White didn't flinch. "Ran into complications."
Yellow cackled, kicking his legs. "Ohhh, did the big bad White get held up? By what—a couple of street rats?"
A beat of silence.
"…Yes."
The room stilled.
Pink's fingers stopped tapping.
Blue's dagger paused mid-spin.
Red turned his head, slow and deliberate. "Explain."
White's voice was flat. "Two brats. A boy and a girl. They fought like trained soldiers."
Yellow whistled. "And they got away?"
White's mask tilted slightly. "For now."
Pink sighed, stirring like a waking serpent. "How… unfortunate."
Blue twirled her dagger again, smirking. "Maybe you're losing your touch."
Red's voice cut through the room like a blade. "Find them. Before they become a problem."
White didn't move. "They will not escape again."
A door groaned open at the far end of the hall. A figure in a gilded mask stood there, silent.
The King was calling.
Without another word, the five turned, their cloaks sweeping behind them as they strode toward the throne room—toward the heart of the darkness.
And above, in the city they thought they owned, three orphans licked their wounds.
Unaware that the shadows had just marked them as prey.