The reassurance in Serin's words had barely settled when the shadows in the far corner of the chamber began to move.
At first, Aurean thought it was only the flicker of torchlight—until the black mass began to peel away from the wall, slow and sinuous, stretching unnaturally as it slithered across the stone floor. The air grew colder. Breath misted. A low, rasping hiss filled the chamber.
"Shadow!" someone shouted.
The thing surged forward, and Aurean was already on his feet. Verethian slid into his grasp as if answering his unspoken call, its dark silver edge thrumming faintly in his hand. The creature lunged, a smear of darkness with eyes like molten gold, but Aurean stepped into its path, the blade cutting a streak of light through the gloom.
The clash was soundless—no metallic ring, only the sharp gasp of air displaced by each strike. The shadow twisted, coiling around his arm like living smoke, its touch burning with icy pain, but Aurean gritted his teeth and drove Verethian through its center.
A flash—silver-white, blinding—and the thing convulsed before bursting apart into drifting black motes that scattered across the stone like dying embers.
For a moment, there was only the sound of breathing, quick and uneven.
"Seal the door—now!" Lareth's voice cut through the silence. He was already moving, barking orders as knights scrambled to haul in heavy planks and brace the damaged frame. The smell of fresh-split wood filled the chamber as hammers struck, each blow a desperate measure against the darkness waiting outside.
Aurean stood still, Verethian's tip lowered but his knuckles white on the hilt, his chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven breaths. The cold from the shadow still clung to his skin.
The moment the plank was set against the door, the siblings and their partners moved as one, converging on Aurean. Their faces were pale in the torchlight, worry etched into every line.
"Are you hurt?" Rhalia asked, her voice tight.
"I'm fine," Aurean started, but they weren't convinced. Serin was already draping a thick blanket over his shoulders, and the instant the wool touched him, several of them flinched—the cold radiating from his skin was sharp enough to feel through the fabric.
"Gods," Vaela murmured, "you're freezing."
They guided him toward their usual table, the one they'd claimed as theirs in the fortified hall, the flicker of the nearby hearth offering what little comfort it could. Aurean settled into the chair, the blanket tight around him, while they hovered close, the protective circle unbroken.
Across the room, Lareth and his knights hammered the last boards into place, each strike echoing against the stone. Sawdust hung in the air, sharp against the lingering metallic tang of the shadow's death.
Thalan's gaze stayed fixed on Aurean for a moment before shifting toward the door. His voice, when he spoke, was low and troubled, meant for no one and everyone at once.
"If fighting one of those things leaves you this cold… what in the gods' name is Rythe enduring out there, facing them for days?"
The question settled over them like another weight in the room—one no blanket could chase away.
On what they assumed to be the sixth day—though the passing of time had become a blur—they heard voices outside the fortified door.
"Open up! It's us! Let us in!"
The words should have brought relief. Instead, they froze everyone in place.
"What if that's not them?" Queen Elendra's voice cut through the murmur of the hall. "What if it's those creatures… trying to trick us into letting them in?"
Her warning settled like ice in their veins. No one spoke for a moment. Then came another voice from outside, urgent, trembling with pain.
"Some of us are severely injured! You have to let us in, please! There is nothing out here!"
Cale's head snapped toward the door. Renna stiffened beside him. Mira's eyes widened.
"That's him," Renna said.
"It's the voice of Sir Levan," Mira added, naming the young omega knight they all remembered.
"We have to help them," Renna and Cale said almost in unison.
But the protests rose quickly.
"What if it's a trap?"
"They could be… changed."
"We can't risk the rest of us."
Aurean's voice cut through. "We can use my blade. Verethian will tell us if they're real or not."
That only sparked a fresh wave of arguments—some agreeing, some shaking their heads, some desperate to believe loved ones might be just outside.
"Enough," King Valien's voice boomed, silencing the quarrel. His gaze swept the room, hard and unyielding. "We will not leave anyone of ours to die at the mercy of those things. Open the doors, and use the blade to make certain they are truly themselves."
The heavy bars came down one by one, the sound echoing through the tense hall. When the doors groaned open, Aurean stepped forward, Verethian in his grip, its faint light pulsing as if sensing what was beyond.
One by one, the figures outside were ushered in—over thirty wounded soldiers, mud- and blood-streaked, leaning on one another for support. None bore the mark of the shadow's corruption, and the light of Verethian stayed steady.
The young omega knight, Sir Levan, bowed low before the royal family, exhaustion written in every line of him.
"How are things outside?" King Valien asked, his voice quiet but edged with steel.