Throne of Ash and Shadows

Chapter 7 Vlad Vasiliev

I had planted the seed, and saw the doubt flicker in her eyes. Now, I just needed to help it grow. But doubt alone wasn't enough—I needed proof. Proof that Ometz was manipulating Katya, twisting her into his puppet. She might not see it now, but with the right evidence, I could show her his true intentions, and we could be on our way. Back home, where she belonged.

Her betrayal cut deeper than any wound I'd received on the battlefield. All those years, she'd hidden from me, allowing me to believe she had died and been reborn—her memories wiped clean, our childhood lost in the fog of death. But a part of me hoped, prayed, that wasn't truly her. I'd given up on the idea that Ometz had fed her false memories, but I still believed he'd twisted her mind, convinced her that hiding from me was the right choice. She thought he had saved her, pulled her from the clutches of death.

In a way, he did.

I was already weak when she fell. Bleeding out, barely able to stand. She passed out in my arms, and in that moment, I thought she was gone. I wanted to cry, but no tears came. I had long since become numb to death. At the time, it had been a year since my first mission. I had killed more people than I could count, and whatever emotion I once possessed had long since withered away. When I saw her limp body, I wanted to bury her. But there was no time. The battle still raged around us, and my father was already dragging me away. He grabbed my arm, pulling with a strength I couldn't match in my state. I fought him with everything I had, but it was no use. He hoisted me over his shoulder and ran.

I let myself go limp, exhaustion washing over me. Blood loss blurred my vision as I watched her body disappear into the chaos. Then, nothing. The world faded.

When I woke, the sting of a healer's magic was mending my wounds. I hadn't died. But she had. And it was my fault. I didn't know how she had even made it to the front lines. She'd always dreamed of being a warrior, like me. Even after I warned her—war wasn't glorious. It was brutal, bloody. Her mind-reading abilities weren't meant for battle. When I found her, I spent every moment shielding her, protecting her, blocking the arrows that flew her way. But my attention slipped, just for a moment. She ran off, and a sword found her chest.

I watched as the blade was pulled free, as she screamed in pain—screamed my name.

It was my fault. All of it. If I had protected her better, if I had fought harder against my father's grip, she would never have been taken by Ometz. I would have saved her. She would be home, where she belonged, not ensnared in this web of manipulation.

But I hadn't fought hard enough. And maybe my father had seen her as expendable. Maybe he thought she was weak. He'd never looked at her the way he looked at me. But in that, I had always been grateful. He never put her through the same torture he had inflicted on me. I would have endured a thousand lifetimes of it to spare her from that pain.

I shifted my gaze towards my desk, where the reports lay illuminated by the soft glow of the candlelight.

My mind drifted back to the conversation with Ometz, his offer hanging like a shadow over everything. I had never once considered joining his side before. But now, with whispers of dark magic rising and ancient forces awakening, there was a new weight to his words. A threat that could not be ignored.

The destruction of the Heartstone had torn at the very fabric of our world, weakening it in ways we had yet to fully understand. He wasn't wrong. If we continued to fight each other, we might grow too weak to face what was coming.

The reports I had seen troubled me. Few in number, but the power they spoke of was undeniable. Entire towns, swallowed by shadows. Unnatural storms, twisting the land into something unrecognizable. Creatures that had no place in our world, yet now roamed the edges of it. These were not mere rumors. They were a warning.