The shadow-blade in Lion's hand struck the darkness coiled around his ankle—and stuck fast, as if plunged into tar. The living blackness slithered up his leg, leaving trails of icy numbness in its wake. Worse, he could feel his shadow-energy being siphoned away.
"Not an illusion..." He fumbled for Selene's blood-crystal, only to hear it clink against stone—the shard slipped through his fingers, swallowed by the void.
Above him, the Thornsanctum's seven pillars shattered. The fragments hung suspended, rearranging into the shape of a colossal skull. Its jaw unhinged with a grinding of stone, and its proclamation shook the forest:
"Vessel... approved."
Somewhere beyond the Sanctum, Selene's flames guttered out.
Lion bit down hard on his tongue—pain brought clarity. His shadow-blade elongated into a scythe, and this time, when he struck, the darkness screeched and recoiled as if burned. Snatching the key shard, he rolled free and sprinted toward the sounds of battle.
The forest had become a nightmare. Trees uprooted themselves, lurching like drunken giants. Calvin's greatsword was buried in an Inquisitor's chest, but a silver glaive had impaled his own gut. Selene knelt in a pool of her own blood, wrists bound by crystalline manacles, as the old Inquisitor—her "teacher"—raised his weapon for the killing blow.
Something inside Lion snapped.
This wasn't weaponized shadow—this was a tempest. Darkness erupted from his pores, a maelstrom of shredding tendrils. The glaive disintegrated mid-swing. The Inquisitor's white robes blackened, his aged skin erupting with the same shadow-markings that writhed across Lion's body.
"You..." The old man's voice twisted with horror. "Direct lineage..."
At the storm's eye, Lion stepped forward. His eyes were voids, his voice layered with echoes:
"Return to your graves."
When the darkness dissipated, only ash remained of the Inquisitors and the animated trees. Selene shattered her bindings—and promptly slapped Lion hard enough to snap his head sideways.
"Fight it!" She snapped bloodied fingers before his eyes. "Unless you want to become the next Shadowlord!"
Lion collapsed, retching. As the shadows receded, a final image flashed behind his eyelids—the Crown, superimposed over a face that looked like... his own?
Calvin limped over, using his sword as a crutch. "Kid's got flair," he rasped, spitting red. "But we've got worse problems." He pointed skyward.
A skeletal dragon circled above, wingspan blotting out the moon. Seven blood-red gems studded its vertebrae; silver fire burned in its hollow eyes. A cloaked figure stood astride its back, half-hidden behind a living metal mask that cycled through weeping and snarling visages.
"A Pursuer..." Selene trembled—a first. "Why would the Arcane Conclave—"
The dragon landed with ground-shaking force. The masked figure glided forward, their mask freezing in a rictus of greed as they beheld Lion.
"Shadow Royalty."
Selene's flames and Calvin's sword lashed out in unison—only to freeze midair at the Pursuer's gesture. The dragon's roar sent brackish wind screaming through the clearing.
"An unexpected prize." A crystal dagger slid from the Pursuer's sleeve. "Your companions will be buried with honors. You, however—"
Lion reached for his shadows—nothing. The Sanctum and the storm had drained him. Desperate, his fingers closed around the second key shard...
The dagger flashed toward his throat—
And the world blinked.
Not darkness—absence. A voice like grinding stones spoke:
"Touch my vessel, and I salt the earth with your bones."
Pressure lifted. When sight returned, the dragon and Pursuer were gone. In their place stood a robed figure with a scaled left eye and a staff of fused vertebrae.
"I am Greyscale, Watcher of Dragon Isle." He prodded Lion with his staff. "Boy, you carry the Shadowheart—stolen from us three centuries past."
Selene staggered upright. "Myth. The Shadowheart doesn't—"
"Myth?" The scaled eye swiveled to her. "Then why seek the Crown? To atone for burning your mother alive?"
Selene recoiled as if struck. The Watcher tossed a scale-etched chart at her feet. "The final shard lies in our forbidden vault. You have until the lunar eclipse." His form began misting away. "Oh, and the Conclave sent the Hearteater. Do try not to die before we meet."
Silence lingered after his departure.
Calvin wrenched the glaive fragment from his abdomen without flinching. "So. We're stealing from flying lizards who see the future. Anyone got a boat?"
Selene studied the sea-chart, whispering, "Worse. We need a ship."
Lion stared at his hands—the markings were fading, but something deeper had changed. When he closed his eyes, he heard waves... and beneath them, a second heartbeat.