Chapter 110: The Masterless Shadow
The altar pulsed with crimson veins, blood seeping from its cracks and running like tears onto the stone floor. A low, crackling hum echoed through the ruined chamber, and Elara and Ariella skidded to a halt at the entrance—too late.
The altar exploded.
Stone shards screamed through the air. From the heart of the destruction rose a man—soaked in blood, long black hair plastered to his skin. His spine curved unnaturally, limbs trembling as he knelt in the center of the ruin, blood dripping from his fingertips like ink bleeding into paper.
Smoke slithered around him.
The shadow—once wild and omnipotent—halted midair. It shifted, twisting into a bowed posture before the man. Its voice, thick with reverence, oozed through the chamber.
"You've returned, Master..."
The man didn't spare the shadow a glance. He lifted his head, eyes burning gold, and smiled. A maniacal, fractured smile that did not reach the rage burning beneath his skin. His gaze locked on Seraphina.
"You," he rasped. "The final piece. A choice awaits you, child of silence. You may destroy him—" he jabbed a finger toward the shadow, "—and earn your freedom. But your soul will vanish. Forgotten by time itself."
The shadow recoiled. "Why?" it whispered. "What have I done to deserve this? I served you. I raised armies. I carved empires in your name."
The man tilted his head, eerily calm. "Did you forget the Hollow of the Echoes? A hundred years of agony? Because you betrayed me. You led them to me."
A vision surged into being—unbidden. The chamber swirled with ghostly echoes of the past.
The man, regal once, led a rebellion against the Kingdom of Flame. But it was the shadow who whispered secrets to the enemy, led them to his stronghold. He had been bound in chains of glass, tossed into the Hollow of the Echoes, where screams folded into silence for a century.
The vision dissolved. The shadow sputtered, coiling in panic.
"I was building for you—"
"You were building for your own glory," the man growled.
He turned to Seraphina, eyes expectant.
She trembled. "No," she said. "I won't do it. He's your creation. You end him."
The shadow reeled. "Seraphina?" it hissed. "I never harmed you. I gave you power."
Seraphina took a shaky step back. "You used me. Just like he used you. I'm not your salvation."
A low whistle escaped the man's lips.
The shadow tried to flee—smoke bursting toward the ceiling. But mid-flight, it was yanked down, slammed under the man's bare foot like a snake pinned before slaughter.
Ariella turned to Elara. "He's more dangerous than the shadow. We can't let them be on the same side."
"Then one of them has to die," Elara said. "And we're choosing for them."
Together, they reached for each other's hands.
"Now, Ariella."
Their palms burned as light threaded between them—blue meeting silver, sparks dancing. The air rippled with raw, ancient energy.
"By the bond of the Queens, we fuse."
The ground cracked. The shadow shrieked, its smoke form contorting in agony. The man backed away, stunned. The energy wrapped around the shadow like a cocoon, suffocating it in layers of light.
But as the spell reached its peak, the altar exploded again—a final pulse of backlash.
Elara's hand slipped from Ariella's.
She vanished.
Ariella collapsed to her knees. The silence was too loud. Her hand trembled in the air where Elara had been, fingers empty.
Suddenly, a vision struck her mind like a blade—sharp, merciless.
She stood alone, cradling Elara's lifeless body beneath a shattered sky. The battlefield was cold, littered with ash. Her voice broke in the vision, calling Elara's name again and again—but there was no answer.
Back in the present, Ariella screamed.
The real world spun. Her heart shattered in her chest. The magic inside her twisted, darkened, nearly collapsing.
Then a voice whispered in her head—soft, clear, unshaken.
"This is not the end," the Queens said. "Let your sorrow burn brighter than fear."
Ariella's eyes flew open.
She rose.
And the magic burst out of her like a floodgate shattering—blue flames rippling from her spine, fire and light and thunder pulsing toward the man whose smirk had just started to fade.
---
Ariella stood at the center of the storm she had created, her body trembling with power she hadn't known she possessed. The entire chamber glowed—walls splintered, the air thick with magic that hummed like a dying heartbeat.
The man no longer smiled.
He watched her in silence, as though seeing her clearly for the first time. Not as a child, not as a threat—but as a Queen's weapon forged in grief.
The shadows around him tried to recoil, but they were sealed in place by her magic. Trapped. Quaking.
"You weren't supposed to rise yet," the man murmured, voice hollow. "But grief always awakens the fiercest warriors…"
Ariella didn't answer. She took a step forward, flames coiling around her bare feet.
"What are you?" he asked.
Her lips parted, voice shaking but steady. "I am what you should fear next."
Suddenly, the chamber walls began to moan.
Cracks spread upward like veins as if the ancient structure could no longer contain the forces clashing within it. The symbols etched on the stone glowed—some in Queen's script, others too old to name.
Then, without warning, the blood on the altar began to recede—drawn inward, as though rewinding time.
The man's eyes narrowed. "So… they've hidden you, too," he said to the blood-soaked stone. "What else have the Queens kept from me?"
Behind him, Seraphina backed away, her heart thudding.
She wasn't sure who was more terrifying anymore: the man reborn in blood… or the girl rising in grief.