The first thing Lion felt when he opened his eyes in the choking smoke was the searing pain in his throat. He instinctively tried to rub it, only to find his wrists bound by vine-like ropes, the coarse fibers already chafing his skin raw.
"Awake?"
The voice came from his left. Lion jerked his head to see the red-haired girl crouched beside a dying campfire, poking at the embers with a stick. The firelight carved sharp angles across her face—high cheekbones, thin lips, a half-healed scar running across the bridge of her nose. Her attire was unusual: leather armor layered under a dark red mage's robe, three daggers of varying lengths at her belt, and a string of tiny beast-bone earrings dangling from her right ear.
"Who are you?" Lion rasped. He tested his ankles—bound just as tightly.
The girl snorted, fishing a charred potato from the ashes. "Selene." She speared it with her dagger and blew on it. "And you, dear Shadowborn, nearly got us both skewered by the Inquisitor."
Memories flooded back—the shadowbeast, the Inquisitor's blade, the look on Brook's face—and Lion's stomach twisted. "Why did you save me?"
Selene paused. When she lifted her gaze, her eyes—no longer the fiery orange from before, but a deep, bruise-like purple in the dim light—locked onto his. "Because anyone the Church wants dead is usually worth keeping alive." She split the potato, steam rising between them. "Eat. We need to cross the Ashvein Mountains before nightfall."
Lion stared at the offered half but didn't take it. "My foster father—"
"Isn't dead." Selene cut him off. "The Inquisitors don't care about some blacksmith. But if you go back now, they'll use him as bait to burn you both in the square." She leaned in suddenly, pressing her dagger under his chin. "Why do you think those black-robed fanatics weren't surprised when shadowbeasts attacked your village?"
The cold metal bit into his skin. Lion held his breath, catching the scent of sulfur and mint on her.
"They're feeding those things," Selene whispered. "With the blood of Shadowborn."
By nightfall, they'd scaled a steep ridge. Selene had freed Lion's ankles but kept his wrists bound. She moved like a lynx, near-silent, pausing occasionally to listen—twice, her sharp ears saved them from patrols of Church cavalry.
"How did your power awaken?" Selene asked abruptly as they trekked through a pine grove.
Lion snapped a twig underfoot, startling a pair of owls. "I didn't know it was a power… just nightmares." Haltingly, he described the dreams—the writhing shadows.
Selene's breathing hitched. "How long?"
"A month, maybe."
"Ha!" Her laugh was bitter. "Lucky you. Three more days, and your own shadow would've strangled you in your sleep." She pushed through the brush, and moonlight spilled over the cliff ahead—below, half-buried in vines, stood the ruins of a stone tower. "Shadowborn have omens in their dreams before awakening. But without training, the magic consumes you."
Lion stared at the ruins, a chill creeping down his spine. "Why help me?"
Selene didn't answer at first. She uncorked her waterskin, took a swig, and passed it to him. The liquid burned, some alcoholic herbal brew. "Three reasons." She raised a finger. "First, I hate the Church. Second, I need someone who can fight shadowbeasts." Her third finger hesitated, then traced her scar instead. "Ever heard of the Crown of Light?"
The wind howled, stealing her last words.
Lion shook his head.
"A relic said to purge all darkness." Selene's eyes gleamed in the moonlight. "And your blood is the key to finding it."
A wolf-like cry echoed in the distance—but Lion knew better. Shadowbeasts shrieked like glass on metal. Selene yanked him into the undergrowth, her calloused palm (scarred from old burns) clamping over his mouth.
"Not a sound," she breathed. "They're hunting us."
Moonlight revealed three tar-black shapes slithering up the cliff, their forms flickering between wolf, spider, and human. The nearest was ten paces from their hiding spot—close enough for Lion to smell rot and rust.
Selene's fingertips glowed faintly red. Her other hand hovered over a dagger as she mouthed:
"When they get closer, unleash your shadows. But this time—imagine they're clay you can crush."
Lion's pulse roared in his ears. He closed his eyes and stopped fighting the strange heat in his veins. The darkness stirred in his marrow, and this time, he gripped it like a blacksmith's hammer—not with fear, but purpose.