The cold before dawn seeped into their bones. Lion pressed against the damp cliff face, feeling the newly awakened darkness churn in his veins. Three shadowbeasts advanced in a half-circle, their forms writhing in the mist like black dough kneaded by invisible hands.
"Now!" Selene's nails bit into his arm.
Lion's eyes snapped open. Shadows erupted from his feet, lashing out like barbed tendrils. This time, it wasn't a wild surge—it felt like swinging a familiar hammer. The lead beast shrieked as shadows speared its skull. The other two flattened into liquid-black sheets, slithering across the ground.
Selene leaped, hurling three daggers trailing fire. "Burn!" The blades wove a net of flames, ensnaring one creature. It thrashed, emitting greasy smoke.
Lion dodged right—only for the last beast to split into dozens of snaking tendrils. They coiled around his calves, and agony flared as they drank. Desperate, he seized the darkness inside him, shaping it like molten iron.
A shadow-blade coalesced in his grip. One slash severed the tendrils with a sound like shattering glass. The remnants writhed, trying to reform—until Selene crushed them under her boot.
"Not bad," she panted, her scar glowing faintly red. "But next time—"
A thunderous crack cut her off. The tower's vine-choked wall split open, revealing a yawning darkness within. The vines withered instantly, as if drained.
"Seems your blood woke it up," Selene muttered, wiping her mouth. Her gaze was unreadable.
The tower's interior was larger than expected. Moonlight through the collapsed dome illuminated walls dense with carvings. Lion brushed away dust, revealing rust-colored grooves—not paint, but blood.
"Shadowtongue script," Selene said, conjuring a floating flame. The symbols seemed to squirm in the light. "It's the truth about the War of Light and Dark."
Lion leaned closer—and the symbols rearranged themselves before his eyes:
[They lied. The Crown of Light is no salvation—it is a chain. When the twelfth priest offers his blood, it will devour all shadows—]
"What do you see?" Selene demanded.
The ground trembled before he could answer. Silver flashed above: six armored Inquisitors rappelling down.
"Down!" Selene yanked Lion aside as a blast scarred the wall. The lead Inquisitor leveled a glaive pulsing with the same red as Selene's scar.
"Heretic witch and shadowspawn," he rasped, "today you—"
Selene smiled—a knife's-edge grin. She tore her collar open, revealing a sun-shaped brand split down the center.
"Recognize this, Master?" Her voice dripped venom. "Your mark for 'defective' goods."
The Inquisitor froze. Selene slammed her palm to the floor. Not fire—a tar-black inferno erupted, swallowing the chamber. As burning fingers gripped Lion's wrist, the world twisted into vertigo.
The last thing he saw was the relief carving of a crowned figure—with his own face.