I wish I remembered his name, instead of the way his blood tasted.
Sometimes, it feels like something that happened to me, instead of something I did. Not a choice—but it was a choice.
My muscles moved. I did it.
But it doesn’t feel real.
I can’t even blame the magic because that thing wasn’t inside of me yet. I let it in.
Now, I have to watch it happen to young boys over and over again. They choose without fully understanding. They are praised for their violence. They are rewarded with power.
I watch as a new set of Anuikar—warriors in training—arrive in the sanctuary. Their stomping is impressively synchronized. They will make a strong group.
Are these the boys they will make me lead to battle? Nothing is yet decided. The Ancient has not forced me to choose, but they will. I see it in the eyes of Blythe and the Mavdrak even now.
I took what should not have been mine. I defeated my captain. There will be consequences.
I have mostly avoided the front lines of our exploration but that will soon end, I can feel it. There are no real adversaries to challenge us—yet. This continent has been easy to claim, between the curse and the famine and the scattered communication between cities. But Ayrinth will not be so easy.
Soon, true war will come.
Priestess Blythe watches me as I watch them, my expression neutral. Do they see the conflict raging in my mind? No. They never do. I am too good at hiding.
Gordian is one of the trainees. He does not wear the kind smile he is known for. He plays the role of hardened soldier well. Will he fail his test? Will his goodness win?
We will find out in a few days.
Sometimes, when one of them fails—when their blade falls to the floor, the innocent life still breathing—I silently cheer for them. They become what I wish I’d been strong enough to be. Unmarred by this curse.
They die for it, of course. And the innocent life is ended regardless. It solves nothing. And yet, it feels like everything.
Those who succeed let the dark curse in to corrupt their soul and they become like us. A Drak warrior. Powerful. Cruel. A weapon to be used against a good world.
Bones crack as the Ancient One begins to rise. Finally, he stands to face the new recruits.
Every time our leader comes to life, I am disgusted. His skin is pale and wrinkled. He is so old he looks dead. When he raises his palms, all of the torches in the sanctum are snuffed out at once.
Dark. Cold. Silent.
The old man’s palms glow with red power. Power we give him.
“In ten days, you will join me,” he says, voice shaky and weak.
His body is barely hanging on, but his magic thrives with each new curse that ignites. With each soul stolen, a new warrior is born, and his life is extended.
“You will become part of a legend. You will become part of me.” He smiles, exposing sharp teeth. “We will breed magic in your souls, and continue our legacy of violence. Nihil himself has shown me what you are capable of. Some of you will fail. Some of you will ascend to greater heights than even you can fathom.”
These young recruits don’t know what it will require of them. They don’t know what it will cost. I close my eyes, remembering the day I succeeded in my test. When I killed him, a boy whose name I don’t remember.
I remember the day because, in that moment, as darkness entered my soul, I thought of her.
25
Lina
Helena makes me leave my clothes she calls rags behind and follow her with my towel alone. I eye my clothes carefully. I don’t want to leave them; what if I need them when I escape? Nor do I want to go waltzing through the halls of this place nearly naked.
“It’s only right down the hall. One minute at most.”
