A Touch Of Darkness

Bonus || The Villain

Peace and quiet wrap the steep slopes of Mount Vasim in a tender embrace. Seated upon the rocks that look out to the darkened western sky, Ligari lets out a slow sigh, closing her eyes. If she lets the night drain away enough of her thoughts, she can simply drift into the silence, taste the soft song of energy as it rides through every fibre of this dimmed world.

The brush of the winter breeze. The keening of the tree boughs, the rustle of their sparse leaves. The Cormé souls far below, buried in a deep sleep, minds alive with bright colours of magic they can only dream of.

The lingering flare of Fiesi's flame, faded into wild sparks of warmth. The tainted darkness that twines with it.

Ligari's eyes snap open. She inhales sharply, tilting her head back as she endures the grating shiver that pours through her bones. Noli's dark power has diminished with distance, too, yet his touch still strikes the air in jagged waves, enough to crack the energy's delicate balance. Once she lets it flood into her senses, it overtakes all else.

"Unnatural," she says in a shuddering breath, then shakes her head and rises, dusting the gold-lined drapes of her emerald dress. She should be used to the darkness's presence by now. It follows her as a shadow.

She takes one last, sweeping look at the stars. Perhaps there is a little comfort to be drawn from the feeling, warped as it is. Mayci's boy is still alive.

A day and change has passed since she last saw him. Fiesi's intentions had been clear. They still are, snatching at the air in a serpentine strand of anger and fear. But they have not come to fruition, at least not yet. As long as Noli lives, she can dare to hope, foolish as it might be.

There's no one parent she can connect him to. He has Mayci's determination, her eagerness, her wonder. He has Rishi's quiet confidence and deep-rooted care. His hair is his mother's. His eyes belong to them both.

And, just as you couldn't save them, you cannot protect him.

Ligari stiffens. The thought is hers, every strand plucked from her own guilty resignation, yet in the same glance it is not. She knows who she will see before she turns, the voice she will hear without listening.

"You must be getting old, Ligari."

Cool calm is an easy skin to slip into. She refuses to give Harlow anything else. With a smile she knows won't reach her eyes, she steps down from the rock she perched on, meeting his piercing green gaze. "As must you. I hear a clueless fifteen-year-old boy succeeded in giving you the slip."

As she speaks, she dips again into that place of energy, shying from the dark and moulding that which she can extract from the air between them. The slightest shimmer of a barrier blurs the lines of his form, his navy tunic washed through with waves, extra wisps added to his mop of jet black hair. It's subtle, but he'll notice. She's learned countless times not to underestimate Harlow.

A knowing glint enters his eyes, and he takes a deliberate step closer, his own energy rippling the barrier. The darkness he leaks isn't as potent as Noli's, but she inhales its bitter wrongness all the same. "So he has been here."

Ligari doesn't flinch. "Don't act like I gave that away. You knew where he was headed."

He only hums, pacing again, curving it so that his drifting hand only just skims the barrier. His head turns to look out at the slopes below, the mountains and hills that roll on to a bleak horizon. "Where did he go?"

Straight to the point, no dancing around it. "You haven't changed at all."

"Is the Kynig boy still with him?" The questions are casual, tossed into the quiet with an almost careless air, and yet she hears the edge of frustration beginning to splinter their edges. Satisfaction settles Ligari's smile.