Chapter 42 – One Fight

Raiden's POV

The ceiling above me spun like a storm.

Everything ached, including my ribs, throat, and breath.   Still, none of it counted.   Not when I saw her.

Calla

Kneeling next to me, her eyes wide and her fingers gripping mine as though she did not want to let go.

You are alive, she said gently, her voice breaking.

I attempted to grin, but it only seemed like a grimace.

"Barely," I said, my voice raspy.

She blinked quickly, and I saw she was sobbing.

Calla did not cry.  Not unless the world was going to end.

Perhaps it was.

Because I saw something before the darkness swallowed me and the healers used roots and magic to stitch me back together.  I saw him.

The Shadow King.

Only this time… it wasn’t the face I expected.

He was wearing a mask of someone familiar.  Someone has walked these halls.  Someone with power here.

He had not gone.

He was inside the Silver Moon.

"I need you to listen," I said, squeezing her hand with my remaining strength.  "He has not died.  "The Shadow King is still alive."

Her mouth opened and then closed.

"But we saw him fall—"

"No," I replied.  "That was a decoy.  An illusion.  "A puppet."

Calla looked away as if she did not want to believe me.  But I could see the doubt beginning to fade.  Her instincts were keener than most.  She knew there was something wrong.

"He is been hiding," I explained.  "Even worse, he is not alone."  There is someone here.  Someone he is using."

Her gaze shifted to mine.  "Lysandra."

I nodded slowly.  "And maybe someone else."

Calla stood and paced the small healer's den like a caged wolf.  Her fists clenched.  Her breath was short.

"They are planning something," she mumbled.  "I can feel it."  She has already gotten inside the council's heads.  "She is turning the pack against me."

"She wants them divided," I explained.  "Because a broken pack is easier to kill."

Calla paused and looked at me, fire in her tired eyes.

"Then we can not let her win."

I tried to sit up, but my ribs screamed in protest.

"We have to stand together now," I remarked.  "Or we die alone."

By nightfall, I was on my feet.

Barely.

The healers warned me it was too soon and that I needed to rest.  However, there was no time.

We gathered our remaining allies—Brin, the warrior who had once doubted me but now blindly followed Calla; Mara, a healer who had seen Lysandra sneaking into the western forest at dusk; and Corwin, a quiet wolf with sharp eyes and even sharper memories.

We met in the ruins of an old training hall.

"What we say here does not leave this room," I remark.  "If the Shadow King still moves among us, then we need to act fast."

Brin growled lowly.  "We should kill Lysandra now."

"No," Calla replied.  We need proof.  The pack will not execute without it."

Corwin nodded.  "There is a network beneath the northern watchtower.  Old wartime escape tunnels.  Someone has been using them.  Supplies have gone missing.  "Fresh tracks with no scent."

"No scent," I mumbled.  "That means shadow magic."

Calla crossed her arms.  "So that is where we start.  "We follow the tunnels."

Brin looked uneasy.  “It could be a trap.”

Calla’s jaw tightened.  “Everything is a trap.”

We waited until dawn.

The watchtower was quiet, its guards shifted elsewhere thanks to a well-timed distraction from Mara—who faked a venom burn just to buy us time.

We slipped inside, down the cracked stairs and into the darkness.

The tunnels smelt like old stone and something worse: rot, magic, and cold earth.

Calla led the way, blade drawn and eyes alert.

I walked behind her, my hand hovering close to her back.  I am not trying to control her.  Just to stay close.  Just to remind myself she existed.

Because despite everything—every scar, every battle, every mistake—we were still here.

It is still us.

"I never stopped believing you," she said quietly, just loud enough for me to hear.

My heart tightened.

"I did not deserve that," I said quietly back.

"No," she replied.  "But I needed to believe in something."

We discovered the chamber at the end of the tunnel.

Green torches provide light.

Runes pulsed like veins.

And standing at the centre—

Lysandra.

Her back was towards us.  She spoke in a low, steady chant.  Her voice echoed against the stone.

A shadow glimmered beside her.  Tall.  Inhuman.  Shrouded in black mist.

My blood turned icy.

The Shadow King.

He was here.

However, his form was different—warped and half-formed, as if he was drawing power from someone else to stay alive.

Lysandra turned abruptly.  Her face twisted in surprise.  Then, with rage.

"You should not be here," she hissed.

"And you should not be breathing," Calla responded.

The Shadow King stepped forward.  His voice was a snarl, low and poisonous.

“You think you’ve won.  But you’re just ants underfoot.”

Calla raised her blade.  "Then let us see how many bites we can land before you crush us."

Lysandra screamed, launching a blast of dark magic at her.

I tackled Calla out of the way, sending energy slamming against the wall behind us.

"We are outmatched," I told her, pulling her up.

She did not argue.

"Split left!" she exclaimed.  Draw her fire.  "I am going for the King."

"Together," I replied.  "We fight together now."

Her eyes met mine—they were full of fire, fear, and something deeper.

"Together," she replied.

We attacked as one.

I approached Lysandra, steel flashing in the dim light.  She was faster and crueller, but I had something she didn't: nothing to lose.

Rage, loss, and betrayal fuelled each strike.

But just as I landed a blow on her shoulder, she screamed again, this time with joy.

"You are too late!"  She shrieked.

We turned.

The Shadow King had disappeared.

The torches flickered out one by one.

And the chamber started to crumble.

Calla grasped my arm.  "Go!  We need to get out!"

We ran through the collapsing tunnel, rocks falling all around us.

Behind us, I could hear Lysandra laugh.

And something worse.

A whisper.

A name.

Not Calla's.  Not mine.

A third name.

One that I had not heard in years.

One that no one should be aware of.

My brother's.

Dorian.

We emerged from the tunnel into the pale morning light, coughing, bleeding, and alive.

Calla turned to me, her face pale.

“You heard it too?” she asked.

I nodded.

“Your brother…”

"He is supposed to be dead."

She stepped back.  "Raiden… what if he isn't?"

I stared at the ground, my heart pounding.

"Then the Shadow King has found his next weapon."