He returned to the room, where the walls were empty, like the memories of those who had gone. Only the bag by the bed, the sword wrapped in black cloth, and the quiet movement of shadows in the corners reminded him of who he was now.
Thirk was the first to appear, a huge spider with broken legs and crimson streaks on its shell, like burns or the mark of someone else's will.
"Lord, your anger has almost destroyed your connection to your body. We ask that you give yourself time."
Ward stood behind him, like a shadow of his own body, but thicker. Like steel.
"You won't break from the blade. You'll break from the pain. You'll break from the guilt. You'll break from taking too much on your own. Don't forget: you're not alone."
Kallen looked down. He breathed slowly, deeply. The darkness under his skin pulsed with his heart. The anger in him no longer screamed—it became a sharp, cold tool. Not a blazing fire, but a scalpel.
He closed his eyes.
Are you holding on to something, Kalen?
The question came out of nowhere. Maybe he asked himself. Maybe one of the shadows.
He didn't respond. He knew that if he started talking out loud, the walls would crumble. And all that would remain was the beast.
The next day, Kalen began his own investigation. Not through his father's army. Not through the archives. But through rumors, fear, and the void between words.
He bribed servants, watched guards, and looked where he shouldn't. His Shadow magic allowed him to remain undetected. His mind was persistent. The Shadows absorbed the whispers of the palace like a sponge absorbs blood after a murder.
One by one, he began to put the pieces together:
Two days before the brothers' deaths, there were unregistered guests in the castle. They were disguised as merchants.
One of the guards saw Veren arguing with his father. Badly. Screaming.
Kallen's father, Velmut, burned some of the correspondence after the funeral, and he didn't even touch the bodies. They were taken away without him.
Something was wrong.
Two days later, Kallen was standing in the part of the castle that even the royal family's closest advisors were not allowed to enter.
Archive tower.
It contained codes, correspondence, and contracts—everything the Lionheart family had kept over the centuries.
He entered through a secret passage - the basement was opened by one of his spiders, a small scout named Skriik. He quickly climbed through the bars and unlocked the door from the inside.
"Quickly," Kalen whispered. "We can't stay here."
There wasn't much light, but he didn't care. His eyes were long accustomed to darkness. He didn't read with his eyes; he read with his skin. The darkness revealed the letters.
And then he found it.
A letter. Half-rotted, but magically reinforced.
"Velmut, you must deal with Laer and Veren. They've started asking questions about the younger one. We can't take any risks. He can't know. Not yet. Reyna is handling it, but the boy is growing quickly. His shadow... it's unnatural.
Prepare a case. Let it be an attack.
Kallen was not breathing. He looked at the letter as if it were burning in his hands.
He read it three times.
And then he burned it.
"Reina knew," he whispered. "From the very beginning."