The simplicity unsettled me more than any threat.
“You…” I faltered. “You are not what I expected.”
That earned me a bitter laugh. “And what did you expect? A beast dripping with shadow? Easier to kill monsters than men, isit not?”
“Yes,” I admitted, my voice thin.
He went still at my honesty. Then, slowly, he said, “Perhaps that is why you hesitate now.”
I stiffened, hating that he was right. Hating more that he could see it so plainly.
The admission struck me harder than any blade. My people had whispered of his monstrosity for decades. I had preached it myself. And yet here I was, bound in his forest, and for the first time, I doubted the truth of our stories.
I closed my eyes, the weight of it crashing down.
When I opened my eyes, he was watching me again.
“You doubt,” he said softly.
I swallowed hard. “I… question.”
A faint smile ghosted his lips. “That is enough.”
“Do not mistake it for belief,” I warned quickly, clinging to what scraps of defiance remained. “You may sway me with words, but words are wind. Proof is stone. Until I see stone, I will not yield.”
“Then look for yourself,” he said, gesturing toward the forest beyond. “See how my snares wound but do not kill. Walk where your Paladins fled, and you will find them alive, shaken but breathing. I could end them, but I do not. That is proof enough.”
My chest rose and fell rapidly. The audacity of him—to invite me to test his mercy. Yet a part of me longed to see, to know whether his claim bore truth.
And deeper still, a dangerous spark whispered that if it did, then everything I thought I knew about him—about Solaris, about the war between us—would crumble.
I clenched my fists. I could not afford to crumble. Not here.
“Even if you spare some,” I said harshly, “my people still bury others. You may call it necessary, but to us, it is murder.”
“And to me,” he countered swiftly, “it is survival. Do you notkill to protect your city? Do your Paladins not spill blood when they march beyond your wards? Tell me, priestess—how is my survival different from your protection?”
The question landed like a blow. I opened my mouth, closed it again, unable to summon an answer that did not ring hollow.
The shadows around my wrists pulsed once more, looser still, as though his restraint weakened with each word we shared. I flexed my fingers, wondering if he even noticed, or if some part of him wanted me freer than before.
I could feel my pulse pounding at my throat, quick and unsteady, as though my body betrayed the turmoil clawing through me.
His question—how is my survival different from your protection—would not leave me. It burrowed into the marrow of my bones, demanding answer, demanding honesty. And honesty was the one thing I could not bear just then.
Because the truth was simple. There was no difference. Only perspective. Only names we wrapped around the same crimson stain.
“You twist words like vines,” I said, my tone sharper than I felt. “Snaring me in sophistry won’t absolve you.”
The shadows thickened, pressing in like walls. His eyes blazed, and for a moment, I thought he might crush me in fury. But instead, his voice broke—not louder, but rougher, raw with something deeper than rage.
“Even if Ihavehurt your precious paladins,” he spat, “I have never harmed children. I would sooner carve out my cursed heart than see a child’s blood on my hands,” he said, every syllable vibrating with conviction.
His breath shook. “I know what it is to be young and abandoned, to be cast into darkness. I would never—never—inflict that upon another.”
The force in his tone silenced me. It was not the defiance of anenemy. It was the vow of a man who had repeated it to himself so many times that it had become the only chain holding him together.
At my long silence, his gaze sharpened. “Yes. You see it now.”
