Page 17 of The Ashborn

Picking his sword from the ground, Danek steadied himself. The darkness would die here. Swallowing hard, he unleashed a violent scream and ran headlong into the void, slicing his sword straight through its chest, ripping through its shoulder, and out into the air. The darkness wailed.

“You could rule the kingdom,” it said. Images of Danek, crowned and resplendent, flashed through his mind. Kienna was by his side, donning her own crown. Gold surrounded them. The images tempted him. “Yes, she could be yours, too. That is the future I promise you.”

The shadows licked Danek’s blood from his arm, cleaning the pain. He faltered, craving to taste that future, one where Kienna existed. His brows furrowed, and he stepped away, fighting the whispers. “What does that look like?”

“Just as I showed you. You can have her, and you can rule the kingdom. I will make it so.”

“Who are you?”

“Someone with infinite power.”

Danek let the picture sit with him. “What use do I have for ruling?”

The shadow man laughed. “Does it matter if it brings you the girl?”

What would Danek do to earn Kienna’s love? He wanted that more than anything, but would he sell his soul for it? Because Danek understood that’s what this was—a test for his soul. He was weak enough to be bribed into the one thing he was sure he wanted. Would he ever forgive himself for it? Each morning that he woke to Kienna’s face, would he be able to look at her and know she truly loved him back?

“No,” Danek said aloud. “I have no interest in any of that.”

The shadow creature bared its teeth—if Danek could call them teeth at all. Its hiss was a warped symphony of screeches, tearing through the air like claws dragging endlessly across stone. It spewed black spittle, thick and heavy with the scent of putrid death.

It charged forward, cleaving through Danek’s guard and knocking him off his feet. Danek winced as the illusion of dark metal crashed against his sword.

Danek tightened his grip around the pommel until his knuckles blanched from the strain. Darkness licked along the blade, bleeding outward until it curled around him. As it seeped into his skin, pain clamped him like a vice, whispering of a sweet release if only he would surrender. A spike of false euphoria followed, flooding his veins like a promise of peace.

More images burst through his mind—visions of a new world that the shadow dangled before him. Sunlight poured over fields alive with laughter. The darkness tempted him with stolen days beside Broan, wrestling in the dirt and raising cups until his friend roared with drunken delight.

It showed him Moira dancing to the melodies he could create with his magic.

Baila wouldn’t be a traitor to the Guardians.

Most of all, it circled Kienna with a smile on her face.

A smile.

How Danek wished she would smile more, feel the joy of life beyond the darkness. The thought brought an unexpected tear to his eye when he realized he might not ever see Kienna happy. The world was too dark, and there was no reason for her to be.

“That might almost be worth it,” he whispered to himself, regretting the words as they fed the shadows around him.

They grew bigger, leaching into his veins and reminding him where he was. “Do you want it?” the shadow whispered. “Let me give it to you. Release yourself to me.”

Danek’s muscles nearly caved. “She’ll be happy? Truly?”

“I will make it so.”

He swallowed, his throat dry. Slowly, the euphoria ran its course, and the pain returned. Danek winced, fighting with all his might. His strength faltered. He was just a mortal man, desperately wanting the ones he loved to be safe. Could Danek sacrifice himself so the realm could be better?

He hesitated.

Tremors followed, threatening seizures and death.

The shadows burrowed deeper within him, swirling his blood.

Danek’s sword plummeted to the ground, and he heaved over, clutching his chest as he gasped for air. His lungs constricted, releasing only in small pulses, barely enough air to keep him breathing.

The shadow seized him fully, smashing its form into his face. Blood welled from a thick cut on his cheek, hot and caked with black tar. The dark did not relent.

It smashed into his face repeatedly, bones crushing with each blow.