The Shade, an awful name for it, and Gia couldn’t be more different. They’re as distinct as primal powers and will casting. Will casting twists the interplay between Gia and Shade to manifest one’s will, making it infinitely more flexible depending on how it’s wielded. Gia is raw material, like wood to a carpenter, while the Shade is the nails. And primal power? That changes everything.

  Altering a living creature isn’t as simple as shaping flora. A seed bends easily to Shade-based primal power, but an unborn creature is the closest equivalent. Anything without Gia? Untouchable. The same way telepathy fails against the organic. Moder, what he is now, was my greatest effort, and every change drained me for weeks. These powers seem limitless in the moment, but the cost is always high.

  I still crave iron and bone, like something feral. I don’t revel in devouring the living, but it does. It loves it. It delights in it. And when the servants find me covered in blood, laughing hysterically, they don’t realize what they’re looking at before they die.

  I’ve finally settled on a name for the thing.

  Bacchus.

  And together, we are beautiful.

  Moving through the dark woods at night, trudging through muddy terrain with a pack full of survival gear, was far from Kurt's idea of a good time. Maybe it could be tolerable with a companion of the female persuasion, but more likely it would be miserable regardless of the company. Moonlight filtered through the bare branches above, casting an eerie glow, while the air hummed with anticipation, and the night sky promised a spectacle. The two moons, one partially eclipsing the other, shone brightly enough to illuminate the deer path he was following. He knew these woods and didn't need the light but was grateful to the Gods for its blessing all the same. He knew his night would be filled with much more than flight, he had to watch for enemy scouts, and to make it worse he had to make sure his side didn't shoot him down as an enemy.

  This was why Kurt chose the path he did. Larger trails were available, certainly easier to navigate, but they also made him far more visible. With tensions running high and his father out there somewhere, he wasn’t about to risk his chance on something as reckless as friendly fire. This trail was his best option, not just because it was less traveled, but because few knew it as intimately as he did. One small cliff in particular would be his saving grace. "Small" is a relative term, of course, but some things, particularly large structures, deserve absolutes. Take cliffs, for example. Whether small or large, the term should inherently suggest one thing: falling from the top means certain death. There’s no need for debate; if it doesn’t meet that grim qualification, it’s not a cliff. That’s probably how the word originated in the first place, some unfortunate soul tumbled off a sharp drop, and they named it after him. Poor Cliff. Never did figure out how to tie his bootlaces.

  Perhaps Dorian was getting into his head, because falling wasn't a possibility. This was his home, his turf, and every secret pass and subtle route had either been discovered by himself or passed on to him from his elders. Most of those elders were either indisposed or decomposed, depending upon the elder, neither of which would be coming to visit him on this night. I hope.

  Finally, after half a night of slogging through the mud he came to the rocky cliff he had been looking for. It wasn't anything special, which is why it made for such a great spot. The rock face was white, which made the whole thing seem to blend in. Somebody, either a priest or a very dedicated smuggler, had found a cave and expanded it. The opening was narrow, but almost completely hidden unless you knew what you were looking for. Kel had shown him this, years back when he had passed his thirteenth trial. After a night out under the stars and proving he could set up a proper camp and fire without aid, his reward was this wonderful little hideout. Too narrow for bears, sometimes there were small critters but they were easily pushed out. The cats generally didn’t get this close to Metan, and bears wouldn't like the extremely jagged rocks that lined the entrance.

  Yes, the spot was perfect, and as Kurt came to the crack in the rock that was only visible from the right angle, he found that it was also occupied. A dim light shone through the hole, a branch had been placed in front of the entrance and was doing a poor job of hiding the firelight.

  Kurt thought it over for a moment, before deciding he would investigate. He figured that the hole would be hard pressed to fit more than three, and if it came to it, he'd just defend himself at the narrow point. If they were friendly, great. He could get out of the mud. If they weren't, well, let’s hope they were.

  Kurt discarded the fur branch he had dragged along with him, and very quietly replaced the covering branch as he entered. The crackle from the fire was soft, the smoke sifted upwards and seemed to escape through natural ventilation. It was, after all, a really good spot.

  He turned the corner and saw the sleeping form of a young woman. Kurt's interest was piqued, and he tilted his head in contemplation. On the one hand, it was very rude to wake a sleeping lady, on the other, this female mountain troll was in his cave. This cave was only known to a few people, of which none were his age, or of the finer sex. So, who, in the fuck, is in my Gods damned cave.

  At the thought struck, he had an idea, and despite his better judgment, he voiced his thought. With his deepest baritone, he boomed, “Who, in the fuck, is in my Gods damned cave?!”

  The young woman startled, jumping up at a speed no mortal could match. In a blur, Kurt found himself with his back against the stone wall, a black crescent held to his throat, and a set of intoxicating amber eyes glaring at his. Her silhouette and her eyes were all he could make out, both of which were familiar.

  “Move and you die.” Her eyes carried a depth of severity to them, cold, despite their warm hue. Kurt didn't budge.

  She took a step back, holding the blade at arm’s length. Her hand lifted, and light filled the chamber. An orb of light sprang into existence, which allowed Kurt to finally get a look at his assailant. The orb grew, specs floating through it until a series of markings became clear in the negative shape of the sphere. It burst, and just before the effects of it rushed his mind, he stupidly asked, “Diana?”

  Some part of Kurt knew he was unconscious. He understood he was dreaming, yet the shock of seeing Diana lingered. Dreams, however, have a way of unraveling all sense of direction. His desires and curiosities felt distant, leaving only the detached observer in their place.

  “You’ve said the words, brother, but now comes the part that’s going to suck,” Dorian said. He knelt before Kurt, his youthful appearance at odds with the gravity in his tone. Taking a long, thoughtful breath, Dorian spoke again.

  “I need you to think of a memory—any memory—but it has to be a strong one, and it has to be of me.”

  “Any memory?” Kurt croaked. His body ached, battered and exhausted, and if not for the strange urgency in Dorian’s words, he would have succumbed to sleep. By Metae’s own grace, he might have fallen asleep right here—a quick nap wouldn’t hurt…

  The sharp sound of Dorian snapping his fingers broke through Kurt’s haze, irritating him. His annoyance must have shown, as Dorian pursed his lips and tilted his head, watching him closely.

  “Come on Kurt, this is to save your life! Wake up!” He clapped his hands once, and Kurt did all he could to focus. Right, a memory of Dorian? Should be simple enough, right? As he thought vigorously, despite the multitude of experiences they had shared, nothing came to the fore. He tried harder, and after a long moment, just as Dorian took a breath to shout at him again, Kurt finally spoke.

  “Remember your birthday, when we went to that pool?” Kurt managed to croak.

  Dorian smiled softly and nodded. “Which part?” He looked away in shame, “when I let go?”

  “No,” Kurt managed a weak chuckle, “when we jumped off the top of the cliff.” He smiled at his younger brother, and Dorian beamed. His eyes watered a touch, and his smile broadened.

  “Thank you,” he said. He reached out and a hum began. Kurt wasn't sure what it was from, he was focusing on the memory. Dorian held a hand to Kurt's temple, and a green light shone brightly, and despite closing his eyes, the light still left Kurt seeing spots. He blinked furiously, shifting his face as he did so, as if by stretching his face it would clear his vision.

  Dorian sat in front of Kurt holding a rugged crystal. He offered it to Kurt and said, “be careful with this.”

  Kurt took the crystal, it was surprisingly light for its size, roughly as large as his forearm. Dorian took a deep breath and closed his eyes. The hum returned, and Dorian's hand began to glow a blinding white. He put his hand to his temple and after a moment it seemed as though he was pulling something out of his head, within ten seconds he was holding another rough crystal, slightly larger than the one Kurt held.

  “Kurt, I need you to come to a knee, just like me.” His voice, still a tenor, cracked as he spoke. Despite this, Kurt knew this was serious by Dorian's expression. He tried to move, but the pain was blinding.

  “It’s okay Kurt, I can give you strength.” As he spoke, green light poured out of him. A sphere formed around the two of them, and suddenly Kurt's body didn't hurt any more. In fact, Kurt felt fucking great. He sat up, extending his right leg.

  Dorian grabbed his shoulder. “Kurt, don't be alarmed, but I'm going to stab you with this. You're going to have a memory when I do. It’s the same memory, just my side of it. Ready?”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa little brother. Stab? Why can't you just do the melty thing you just did to get these stupid things?” Dorian rolled his eyes, then shirked his left arm out of his tunic. Two fresh scars ran from just off the side of his neck half the length down to his chest. Kurt grimaced at the sight, it looked red and agitated.

  “Look, I've got two more today, so if you don't mind?” Kurt looked to his brother and saw him sheepishly smiling, and Kurt smirked, shaking his head.

  “Little brother, we aren't getting involved in something incredibly stupid, are we?” Kurt said, smiling broadly.

  “Keep pace as best as you can, I won’t leave ya behind.” Dorian said. At an unrealistic speed, Dorian moved, lancing Kurt through the heart. Kurt gasped in shock, eyes going wide.

  “Don't be such a sissy. It shouldn't hurt,” Dorian said, looking smug. He was right, Kurt barely felt a thing. He should have been run through, but there was no sensation of anything piercing through his back. Instead, a memory surfaced in his mind: soaring through the air, reckless and carefree, alongside his big brother. The swirl of emotions it carried, fear, happiness, joy, and exhilaration, it was overwhelming. But it also brought a pang of guilt. Not for what they had done, but for how Dorian saw him.Kurt had always shared a natural bond with his younger brother, their age difference never a barrier to fast friendship. Yet, seeing himself through Dorian’s eyes in that memory was a revelation. Dorian had looked up to him, idolized him in a way Kurt had never truly understood. He was a pillar to Dorian, someone to aspire to, someone worth emulating. The realization made Kurt’s heart ache, not just for failing to notice it sooner, but for not being the perceptive brother Dorian deserved. And, perhaps, because Kurt had never seen himself as a role model. Deep down, he wished his little brother had someone better to look up to.

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  “Wait, don’t leave the sphere,” Dorian said, snatching the stone from Kurt’s hand. His fingers brushed the two scars running from his shoulder to his heart. “They’ll see me when I go. They’ll look for signs, you see?” He positioned the crystal between his fingers, aligning it carefully beside the jagged lines.

  Dorian locked eyes with Kurt, his resolve was more unyielding than Kurt had ever known. With a curt nod, Dorian muttered, “Right.” The chamber around them blurred as the light flared, but it couldn’t muffle the anguished wail that tore from the boy.

  Breathing in sharp, shallow gasps, Dorian steadied himself and pressed the crystal into his flesh. It sank seamlessly, merging with his body.

  The reckless grin and savage gleam in Dorian’s eyes were unnerving, a haunting image burned into Kurt’s memory, and the last thing he saw before waking.

  The cold stone of the cave was offset slightly by the warmth of a fire, the crackling branches, a sign of poorly chosen wood. Then again, it was spring.

  Kurt sat up groaning. He held his hand to his head for a moment before recognizing the silhouette from before. After a moment for his eyes to adjust, he looked the woman over. Across the fire sat a woman that so resembled Diana that it made him, for a brief second, hope against hope. He knew though, despite entertaining the notion and having good reason to, he knew it wasn't Diana. Those eyes, those viciously savage eyes. The image of Dorian looking at him ran through his mind and he shook his head to clear it.

  “Who are you?” Kurt asked in a near whisper.

  A raised eyebrow came as a reply. “The real question is what are you?” A smooth voice sounded, flowing over each word in a way that made Kurt think of butter over warm bread. Her voice melted as she spoke, and it was alluring in the extreme. Not thinking, Kurt replied.

  “I am Kurt, and what I am is curious about who you are.”

  A soft chuckle at that, then Kurt noticed something. The same way Dorian used to send thoughts to him, he didn't do it with language at first. It started with little things, his pissy mood when he had to make dough or haul wood, his elation at opening a new book, or his excitement when they'd go adventuring in the Wilds. In that same way, he recognized the feel of it. Despite it feeling like his own feelings, these other feelings had a certain flavor to them that Kurt couldn't place. He knew at that point he was being manipulated, and he did everything he could to shut out all the emotions he was picking up on.

  The woman's eyes got wide, and she smiled in earnest now. Her teeth reflected the firelight as she spoke. Her delicate face off set by a feral expression.

  “And what are you to shut me out?” Her head turned and tilted as she spoke. “You can't be a broken vessel, or you'd already be walking home not sure why you were out so late. You can't have the gift, you are no rebirth, and yet I can feel the presence of Shade in you. You're not a vessel, the Gia you have is average for a living creature, so tell me. What are you?” She punctuated the last three words, adding an edge to an already sharp disregard for his question.

  “Uh-uh.” Kurt shook his head. “I asked you first, and you just manipulated that answer out of me. You want answers, so do I.” He pointed his finger accusingly at her.

  She looked sour for a moment and glared at him. Subtly, she demeanor shifted and she shrugged nonchalantly. “Fine, what would you like to know?”

  Kurt glared back, thinking. “Why do you look so much like Diana?”

  She shrugged again, “I don't know any Diana's so I wouldn't know. What are you if not a broken vessel?”

  Kurt shrugged in kind, “I don't know the first thing about what you're talking about, so I wouldn't know.” He said, putting on a flat tone. “What's your name?”

  She looked obstinate as she replied. “Quena. Wha-”

  Kurt shot up, “Q?!” He looked down at her, seeing her in a new light. She was much older now, how had that happened? No wonder he had mistaken her and Diana, they were roughly the same age now. Well, maybe not anymore.

  “Oh, shit Q, I'm sorry. I've got some bad news, though it’s good to see you.” Quena looked at Kurt, suddenly appraising him. Kurt sat back down. “Quena, it’s Diana.”

  “I don't know any Diana.” She shook her head.

  “I have a hard time believing you don't know your own sister.” Kurt replied, feeling disgusted.

  Quena got suddenly quiet, and her eyebrows grew heavy.

  “There's a plague going through what's left of Metan. I'm sorry, but it took her.” Kurt stared at the fire for a while and Quena didn't say a word.

  “I'm sorry, but I don't remember... well, anything. What would be six years ago, I woke up in the Monastery, that’s as early as I can recall. I'm only out here to... well, I'll be ascending in a few weeks.” She got quiet again and just stared at the fire. A long while passed before anybody spoke, and to Kurt's surprise, Quena was the one to break the silence.

  “So, I um, I had a sister?” Kurt nodded and may have gotten something in his eye.

  “Can you tell me about her?” She asked quietly.

  A long time passed, Kurt talking about Diana for a while, which moved to what the two sisters’ lives were like. Then he spoke about everything, about their little village in the Wilds, about where Quena had come from, about learning the staff and bow despite being a Weaver. He crammed this in over an hour before he was too parched to continue. His bags had been laid out beside the entrance to the cavern, and he got up to retrieve them.

  “I'm parched, I need a sec.” He said as he stood, “How'd you find this cave anyways? Nobody is supposed to know about it.”

  He got to his packs and finished rummaging before she replied. “I can sense it.”

  Kurt raised a brow at that. “Sense it?” He said flatly, disbelief in his voice.

  She nodded, “which reminds me.” With a flick of her hand, several bars ran across the entrance, effectively shutting them in. “Don't want any more intruders tonight, next thing you know my parents will come walking in.” She said, jokingly.

  Kurt frowned, and Quena picked it up immediately. “I don't have those, do I?” She asked pensively.

  Kurt shook his head, “no, I'm sorry. When you were young. You do have kin in Metan though. Your great aunt is the village head, she was really broken up from Diana.”

  Quena looked thoughtful for a moment and nodded to herself.

  “What is it?”

  “Nothing, it just explains some things. Long backstory, I guess. Kurt, I've been sent to the Wilds to do something about the situation down here. The Kressians, well, they've got more than just their goats now. Three Priorius have defected to them, along with several Vessels. They're trying to revolt against the Monastery, against the priesthood. They've made some bold accusations, and I can't ascend until I've stopped the fighting. For me to do that, I must stop their arcane corps.”

  Kurt stopped after taking a long pull of water. “Now, don't take this the wrong way Q, but what do you want me to do about it?”

  “Well, you're after your dad, right? You seem trustworthy enough, you know the terrain and you used to know me. What do you say we make a deal?”

  The rest of the evening divulged into food and conversation. Quena was much less aggressive now that she didn't view Kurt as a threat, and as she relaxed, so did Kurt. She was kind enough to move the stone to allow more of the smoke to flow up and out, and even “Shaped,” as she called it, a platform for Kurt to sleep on. She also expanded the room out, smoothed the walls, and somehow managed to pull water into a natural spring at the far side of the chamber. It was the most luxurious stay in a cave Kurt had ever had, and considering the awful wet outside, it beat the hell out of sleeping in the mud. Before Kurt drifted off to sleep, he wondered how much he should trust Quena. She was somebody from his and Dorian's past, but it seemed that she was only intent on ascension. When she spoke about it there was a sudden hunger, a need to leave this place. Kurt didn't believe it was the Valley she hated, judging from what she had mentioned to Dorian, Kurt suspected she hated the idea of being confined against her will. Kurt worried about what would cause someone to develop that kind of phobia, which were his last thoughts before finding sleep.

  The memory of jumping off a cliff with his older brother filled Kurt's mind. The sense of wonder, exhilaration and trust flooded his emotions. The sight of the fast-approaching water filled him with dread, and as he broke the water, his eyes opened.

  The bright light surrounding the two brothers made Dorian look like a rendition of Gwendos. Albeit short and chubby. The smoke lofting from Dorian's eyes was disconcerting, however. Then the light winked out, but the “strength” Dorian had granted him never dissipated.

  Dorian sat flat and rolled into a fetal position. Kurt moved to help him up when the screaming started in earnest. Dorian writhed on the floor shouting guttural nonsense. The agony he was experiencing had to be severe, Kurt had never seen Dorian behave like this. It was unsettling to see his little brother gasping for breath, convulsing uncontrollably, shaking and twisting his limbs unnaturally. It felt like a stone had just settled in the pit of Kurt's gut, especially as Dorian's eyes rolled upwards and his head turned. He twitched and contorted, turning the stone in Kurt's gut to pure dread.

  Kurt moved to get Dorian up, but Moder came out of the shadows eyeing Kurt.

  “Stop.” Moder croaked.

  Kurt looked angrily at the creature, bile forming in his gorge. “You just try and stop me.”

  “You must leave him, or it’s for nothing. Don't even touch him.” Moder's face was alarmed, so Kurt paused. Seeing something so inhuman with a very human expression was like seeing a snake smile. The rock in Kurt's gut got larger.

  With a sneer, Kurt backed away, hearing Dorian wail even harder. “Then what am I supposed to do?”

  A cracking noise that Kurt interpreted as a chuckle sounded from Moder. “You were here just now, weren't you? You are bound.”

  “I don't know what that means. What about Dorian, how do I help?”

  Moder shook his head. “You don't. He is the holder of the bond, there is a price to pay, and this is it. It will go on for some time, but it will fade. In the meantime, it’s time to start your training.” Moder brushed something off his robe and gestured for Kurt to follow. It didn't sit well with Kurt to leave his brother there, but he followed Moder against his better judgement.

  “What training? You know, the ominous creature bit is already getting old. Be forthcoming, or I take my brother, and we leave.” Kurt's face must have been stone because his statement seemed to take.

  Moder nodded once and spoke as they walked. “Your brother is quite special, young hunt. I'm very old, and though my freedom has been limited for a long time, I have never met anyone that could hope to contend with our oppressor, Bacchus. His real name is lost to time, but know this without doubt, he has no sanity left to himself. He seeks to do something, of which I don't know. What I do know is that he requires death to achieve his goals, and soon your small village will be just another sacrifice to his ends. If you wish to prevent this fate you will help your brother with all that you have.” Moder came to a wall and gestured with his hand. A doorway opened and he quickly moved through it as though this was an everyday occurrence. Perhaps it was.

  “You are bound now, so pray your brother isn't as brash as you are. I've wagered fifteen millennia on him, so I also pray you are ready for the task.” Moder stopped and chuckled for a moment, all cackling and croaking. “Of course you're ready for the task. You've already wagered your life on it.”

  Kurt looked curiously at the thing. “What do you mean?” Kurt asked, sounding unsure.

  “You're bound now, Kurt Hunt. I suggest you get trained in your new skills with all haste, because there will be a time when your little brother may die.”

  “And you've somehow convinced him to risk his life for you?”

  The cackling doubled, this time in earnest. “No, you fool, he's simply acting on the information he has, working with me has already increased his chances. He's acting because you, your family, and every other creature in the valley will remain here until Bacchus fails. You are all cattle to him, your lives are lies. There is no shortage on Steelfyre, there is no food shortage, and there has never been a reason for war. These are all the ways he controls you, keeps you confined, keeps you here to die and feed his precious engine.” At this Moder looked disgusted. He paused before a new doorway. “I will take it upon myself to train you, as your bond mate won’t be available for some time. Fool boy, he'll scar from this, he should have split the burden. He carried the pain himself, for you.” Moder looked at Kurt contemptuously. “But you shouldn't be the one to learn alone, seeing as you've bet your life on the outcome.” Moder walked through the doorway and Kurt followed. They were back in the arena.

  “What do you mean I've bet my life on the outcome? What did I say about being forthcoming? Don't take my flippant behavior as absolute, I will take my brother and go.”

  “Oh, yes. You were quite clear about that before, and I reminded you that you are now bound. If your brother dies, so do you.” Moder's twisted smile matched his twisted face in a horrid amalgamation of some kind of disturbed nightmare, but for his eyes. His eyes shone bright with pity.

  Kurt woke on his cot and sat bolt upright. He felt like he was going to be sick, and not just as an expression. He headed towards the cave entrances, finding his path to be barred. So, as to be polite, he emptied his stomach in the most immediate corner. “Good morning, Quena.” Kurt said, and promptly continued heaving.