Villain's Last Chance

The walls were moving. Not the slow, predictable shifting of a collapsing ruin, but something alive, pulsing, reshaping itself with a will of its own. The stone groaned, dust spiraling into the dim torchlight. The sound echoed, deep and unsettling, like a breath drawn through hollow lungs.

Marek cursed under his breath as he pushed himself up, brushing dirt from his jacket. "Tell me this isn't some kind of elaborate death trap."

No one answered him. Cairon was already on his feet, blade drawn, his body tense with the kind of readiness that only came from instinct sharpened by experience. The guide stood still, his face a shadow beneath his hood, his expression unreadable. I pushed myself up, my head still spinning from the fall. The air was thick, carrying the scent of something ancient, something wrong.

"What is this place?" I asked.

The guide's lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. "The first trial."

Before I could respond, the walls split open.

Shapes emerged from the darkness—twisted, skeletal figures, their hollow eyes locked onto us with unnatural stillness. They moved in jerks, as though they had been frozen for centuries and were only now remembering how to exist. A whisper of something old and cruel slithered through the chamber, sinking into my skin like ice.

Cairon's voice was sharp. "Shades."

The moment he spoke, one of them lunged.

I barely had time to move before its clawed fingers scraped against my arm. Cold unlike anything I had ever felt surged through me, pulling. Not just warmth, not just breath—something deeper. Something essential. My vision flickered. For a heartbeat, I was somewhere else.

A throne room stretched into endless shadow. A pulse of power—deep, slow, inhuman—echoed through my bones. A voice, low and ancient, whispered at the edges of my mind.

"You were always meant to return."

I gasped as reality snapped back around me. The shade was still there, its empty sockets locked onto mine, its fingers tightening. My knees nearly buckled under the weight of its presence. My heartbeat was frantic, my breath shallow, my body screaming to run—but it wasn't fear. It was recognition.

Cairon moved before I could react, his blade slicing through the shade in a clean, ruthless arc. The creature staggered but didn't fall. Instead, the wound rippled, knitting itself back together like water closing over a stone.

Marek swore. "Oh, that's just fantastic." He struck out with his daggers, but the result was the same. The shades didn't bleed. They didn't die.

Cairon shifted closer to me, his back nearly against mine. His voice was low, urgent. "Ideas?"

The knowledge came unbidden, sinking into me like something long-buried clawing its way to the surface. I knew how to stop them. Not with steel. Not with force. But with something older, something far more dangerous.

I met the shade's empty gaze and whispered a name.

The effect was instant. The shade recoiled, its form flickering like a dying flame. I didn't stop. I spoke again, and its body collapsed, vanishing into nothing.

Silence stretched in the aftermath.

Marek let out a low whistle. "Well. That's new."

Cairon turned to me, his expression unreadable. "How did you know that would work?"

I hesitated. The truth was too dangerous to speak aloud. "I just—felt it."

Something dark flickered in his gaze. He didn't believe me. And maybe he was right not to.

The other shades hadn't moved. They were watching, waiting. Their hollow eyes locked onto me with something that felt almost like understanding.

I lifted my chin, ignoring the cold that still lingered in my bones. One by one, I spoke their names.

One by one, they vanished.

The chamber fell into silence once more. I was trembling. Not from fear, but from the echo of something vast and unseen stirring in my blood. The guide was watching me, his gaze thoughtful, assessing. "Interesting."

I turned on him, my voice sharp. "You could have helped."

He tilted his head slightly, as if I had just asked a foolish question. "And robbed you of the chance to prove yourself? That would have been unwise."

My hands curled into fists. "What, exactly, have I proven?"

His smile was slow, knowing. "That you are not what you were."

A shiver crawled down my spine.

Marek exhaled, breaking the tension. "Well, that was horrifying. Can't wait for trial number two."

Cairon sheathed his sword but didn't look at me. Not directly. And I knew why.

He had seen it.

The way I had spoken those names. The way the power had answered me.

He knew I was changing.

And he wasn't sure if that was something he could stop.

We walked in silence. I could feel Cairon's eyes on me, heavy with thoughts he wasn't saying aloud. I could feel the weight of the guide's presence, the way he seemed entirely unsurprised by what had just happened. The further we walked, the deeper the feeling of unease settled into my bones.

I should have said something. I should have told Cairon that I was still me.

But I wasn't sure that was true anymore.

And the worst part?

I wasn't sure I wanted it to be.