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Chapter 4 - The price of Silver

The Silver Heir

Chapter Four: The Price of Silver

The knight's laughter haunted Pearl long after the battle.

It echoed in her ears when she trained, when she ate, when she tried to sleep. Your light cannot touch me. His words festered like rot, poisoning every spark she drew from the moon. For the first time, Pearl doubted not just her strength, but her very power. What if her gift was no weapon at all—only a curse Kaelith had already twisted to his hand?

The thought gnawed at her until she could barely stand to draw the silver glow.

But Mareth would not let her falter. "Doubt is weakness," he said, driving her harder. He forced her to spar until her staff splintered, until her arms were mottled with bruises. When she staggered, he barked for her to rise. When she wept, he turned away, letting her tears fall unseen.

It was Liora who softened the edges, who pressed herbs into Pearl's shaking hands, who whispered chants of Selunara to still the tremor in her chest. Yet even her mother's voice could not quiet the dread: each day Kaelith's shadow drew closer, and Pearl's control slipped further.

One night, exhaustion dragged her into uneasy sleep.

And she dreamed not of Kaelith's throne or the chained souls.

She dreamed of herself.

She stood in the center of a blackened field. Her own body was the source of the ruin—her skin glowing silver, her eyes burning white. Every breath she exhaled withered the ground. Every step she took left ash.

And before her, her parents knelt, their bodies blistering beneath her light. They reached for her, mouths opening in pleas she could not hear. But when she tried to stop, the glow only grew brighter.

Her light devoured them.

Pearl woke screaming.

Mareth burst into the room, weapon in hand. Liora followed, eyes wide with terror. Pearl sat on the floor, clutching her arms, her body faintly glowing in the dark.

"I can't stop it," she gasped, voice breaking. "Even in my dreams, I destroy everything."

Her parents exchanged a glance heavy with unspoken truths.

It was then Liora said words Pearl had never heard before.

"There is a price to wielding the moon's gift."

They took her to the cellar beneath the house. A place Pearl had never been allowed.

The air was damp and heavy, the walls lined with crates of forgotten grain and cracked tools. But at the far end, hidden beneath a rotting tarp, was a chest carved from black wood. Symbols Pearl recognized from her mother's chants were etched deep into its surface.

Mareth knelt, his hands steady as he unlatched it. Inside lay scrolls, cracked and yellowed, and a dagger that shimmered faintly with silver light.

"These were brought from Selunara when it fell," Mareth said. His voice was low, almost reverent. "We swore never to show them to you unless the need was dire. But the time has come."

Pearl's fingers hovered over the scrolls, the ink faded but still burning with strange energy. "What are they?"

Liora's face was pale. "Records. Warnings. The truth of our bloodline."

Pearl unrolled the first scroll, her eyes skimming the strange glyphs. At her touch, the letters shifted, reshaping themselves into words she could understand.

And her stomach dropped as she read.

The light of Selunara is not endless. It feeds from the soul of the heir. Every strike, every shield, every spark burns life as fuel. Power is not given—it is stolen from the self.

Pearl's hands shook. "It… it kills me?"

Liora reached for her hand, gripping it tightly. "Not at once. Slowly. The more you draw, the faster the cost. That is why we tried to bury it. To give you an ordinary life."

Pearl's chest tightened until she could barely breathe. Every silver glow she had called, every desperate blast—it had eaten pieces of her. That was why she felt weaker after each fight, why the shadows of exhaustion clung deeper each time.

Her father's gaze was grim, unyielding. "Power always has a price. The question is whether you're willing to pay it."

Pearl's voice cracked. "And if I'm not?"

Mareth's silence was answer enough.

The days that followed blurred into a haze of dread.

Every time Pearl lifted her hands and felt the silver pulse, she thought of the scroll. Thought of her life burning away, piece by piece. Yet she could not stop. Each night, more shadowspawn crept closer. Each day, villagers whispered louder, blaming her for the sickness in their fields, for the children's night terrors.

And then the first villager vanished.

A young boy. His bed was found empty, his window shattered. No footprints, no blood. Only a smear of ash across the floor.

The village was consumed by fear. Mothers wept, fathers gripped axes with trembling hands. All eyes turned to Pearl. Some begged her to save them. Others demanded she leave.

Mareth stood between them, his axe gleaming. "Touch my daughter, and you'll regret it."

But Pearl saw the truth in their eyes: they believed Kaelith came because of her. And they were right.

That night, she did not sleep.

She sat outside, the cold wind pulling at her hair, the moon glaring down. Her hands glowed faintly, silver threading through her veins like fire. She whispered into the darkness, voice hoarse.

"What do you want from me?"

And the darkness answered.

Everything.

Kaelith's voice slid from the shadows, smooth as poison. The air thickened, pressing down on her chest. She spun, but he was not there. Only his voice, everywhere at once.

You burn so beautifully, little heir. Each spark takes from you, and still you cling to it. Do you know why? Because you were born to be consumed.

Pearl's heart pounded. "I'll never let you take me."

Laughter rolled across the fields, low and cruel. I don't need to take you. You'll come willingly, once the price is too steep. Once you've burned everyone you love.

The wind died. The night grew still. And she was alone again—except for the hollow ache in her chest.

When dawn broke, Mareth found her still sitting in the dirt, her eyes hollow. He crouched, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"You heard him," he said. Not a question.

Pearl nodded.

Mareth's jaw tightened. "Then know this: Kaelith feeds on fear. The more you let his words fester, the more power you give him. Fight, Pearl. Fight with everything in you."

She wanted to believe him. She wanted to believe her father's steel was enough to shield them.

But as she stared at her trembling hands, she could not escape the truth written on the scrolls.

Every time she fought, she lost more of herself.

And Kaelith was patient.

He would wait until there was nothing left.

That night, the boy who had vanished returned.

But he was not a boy anymore.

Pearl woke to the sound of scratching at the door. When Mareth opened it, the child stood there—skin pale, eyes glowing faint gold. His mouth stretched into an empty smile.

"Mother?" the boy whispered. His voice was layered with something else. Something deeper.

And then his body twisted, snapping bones cracking into new shapes. Shadows spilled from his skin like smoke, reshaping him into something monstrous.

The village bells rang again, frantic and broken.

Kaelith had returned his message.

He would not only take her.

He would break the world around her first.

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