Black Heart

Chapter 3

The skiff they had been on was long gone, the Volcra had fled the place he lay fallen and the surroundings were deadly quiet. There was a palpable emptiness around his prone form, which was void of all life, light, love or laughter. In the Fold you could forget any joy you have ever felt. The hopelessness that prevailed here had settled in his heart, but it would only fuel his determination to put an end to all of this.

He lay on his back with one leg outstretched, the other bent at the knee, his arms lying limply by his side, palms upturned, his lips parted and his pale features slack, small beads of sweat forming along his hairline. The wounds inflicted by foes and false friends alike were still oozing blood. Black spots surrounded his unconscious form, dotting the grey sand. They could have had this, all of it. Instead, she turned on him. Alina.

With a deep breath, he opened his eyes sluggishly and blinking slowly, he took in his surroundings. He was alone. His shadow monsters were gone, but he knew he could summon them again. He only had to think of them and they would re-appear, emerging from the rage and desperation in his soul. They would be a version of him. And they would not fear the light.

He rolled onto his side, resting his forehead on the ground for a second to get his bearings, groaning in pain. He needed a Healer. Luda. A sad whimper escaped his throat. The hate on Grisha, gripping this country for centuries had turned him, had transformed him into the Black Heretic. He used to be a boy. Now he was eternal. And he would rule over Ravka.

Aggravating the countless scratches, bruises and deep flesh wounds covering his tall form when he slowly stood had him swaying in place and a sudden weakness rushed through him, his knees buckled and his head tipped backwards as he almost passed out again but he tensed his muscles and became more aware, preventing himself from falling again.

Breathing heavily, he looked down at himself. He was a mess. His face was a mess. He looked mangled and torn. The fabric of his kefta was even darker due to the amount of blood clinging to it.

His blood used to be red. Now, along with his heart, it was jet-black. But it beat just the same for his people. For Alina.

One step at a time, he made his way towards the West Ravkan shores. East Ravka had nothing to fear from them anymore, he had prevented another war and the casualties along the way when he expanded the Fold were the price to pay.

Going was slow and he stumbled more than he walked and when the curtain parted and he stepped into the light, he heaved a sigh of relief, instantaneously falling forward into the sand, his weak body giving out for a moment.

Balling his right fist, he used his arm to level himself up onto all fours and he rose to stand tall and lean, one hand going to his side, his large eyes trained on the floor. Concentrating, contemplating. It was time.

Time to summon them again. His nichevo'ya.

Turning on his axis he stared at the dark wall rising up behind him. The determination in his heart found its way onto his tongue and in a deep voice he demanded: "Follow!"

With tentative steps he started walking again and he could feel the shadows emerging from the dark curtain behind him, following him across the beach towards the shore, which was lined with soft rolling dunes. Once he had reached the other side, the landscape unfolded before him in a colourful stretch of meadows, patches of flowers and blue streams and the beauty of it tugged at something inside him. He used to know what happiness felt like. But he had forgotten. Now, he was the darkness himself. Looking out of place here and anywhere he went. He was feared and if it was fear they wanted, it was what they would get. He was the Darkling, a disciple of merzost, of Morozova himself, he was the Black Heretic, the Shadow Summoner and his black heart would rule this country, this world. He would bring the Shadows. And they were standing around him right now.

Guarded by his creations, his knees buckled again and he collapsed onto the soft grass, lying on his back, his arm falling away from his side, the other hand balled into a fist resting on his hipbone, his hair beautifully sprawled out on the floor, his eyes closed on their own accord and his head fell heavily to the side as he lost consciousness once more; his body claiming the rest it needed for what was to come.