Normal text
Thinking
Onomatopoeia
Rayne's POV
It began with a cold.
Burrowed deep into the bones. A breathless, hollow cold that pressed into my chest.
When I opened my eyes, I was already here. A chamber of obsidian and fire stretched before me. Moonlight bled through stained glass, casting the snarling gargoyles in eerie silhouettes.
I stood in the farthest corner, wrapped in a veil of shadow so dense that even the firelight couldn't reach. Darkness clung to me like second skin—warm, almost comforting. A stark contrast to the oppressive heat radiating from the volcanic walls.
Everywhere screamed danger.
I don't belong here.
I don't want to be here.
[Damaged data detected.]
But the shadows held me. Inky wisps brushed against my arms—not binding, but gentle. Soothing. As if trying to calm my frayed nerves.
[Initiating system scan...]
Just watch, it whispered.
So I did.
[Restoration protocol engaged.]
At the end of the bleak expanse stood a throne—carved from obsidian blacker than night; with streaks of lava pulsing beneath its cracked surface.
A figure sat upon it, enshrouded in darkness. Only his lower half was visible—boots plated in silver, with a dash of crimson brushed on them. Battle-worn but elegant. Swirl-like patterns etched onto the contours, resembling the malevolence of an undying flame.
[Analysing residual memory signatures...]
The metal shimmered faintly, as though still warm from the forge. A reddish-brown tailcoat fell just below his knees, crisp and clean. Regal. Militaristic. Perfectly tailored for a tyrant who had never known defeat. It was too sharp and deliberate to belong to a man. Yet far too refined for a monster.
From the darkness, two eyes burned.
Scarlet. Slitted.
Unblinking. Inhuman.
They stared forward—at the prostrating man, and nothing else. They didn't see me.
Not yet.
Something in his posture—how he leaned back, how those eyes looked down at you condescendingly—felt familiar. Where have I seen him before...
[Memory fragment recovered.]
[Restoration level: 42% complete.]
At the base of the dais knelt a withered old man—bare-chested, clad only in his scanty underwear. As if he was plucked straight out of bed and abducted here. His back was hunched low, skin glistening and hands trembling against the stone-cold floor. His crown lay discarded beside him like a relic long forgotten.
The human king. Now without his royal regalia and guards.
I blinked, in utter disbelief. I almost couldn't recognise that bloated donkey. Especially in such wretched nakedness. When has he ever looked this embarrassed? In my memory, that asshole was always on the tacky throne encrusted with diamonds, looking down at people with his nostrils. But now... he's reduced to a pathetic, whimpering mutt.
"You will draw his army west," said the figure on the throne.
NO!
That was the only thought that flashed past. I didn't know where this inexplicable notion came from. Just that the urge was too strong for me to ignore. I wanted to kill this bastard.
YOU ARE READING
Your Shadow Is My Light
FanfictionRayne, a girl born into tragedy, is haunted by a traumatic past, burdened by the memories of killing her father and witnessing her mother's death. Bullied and isolated, she often struggles with self-doubt, thinking that she's better off dead than al...
