[If you are an old reader, I've made huge changes to the st 10 chapters, and will be posting regurly now. Thank you for reading my fic.]

  “What the fuck is going on?” Kyle blurted, his voice cracking with both anger and confusion as he stumbled forward.

  His mother’s head turned sharply toward him. “Kyle, stay inside!” she called, her voice ced with urgency.

  “No!” Kyle shouted, rushing closer. “Why are you taking her? What’s happening?”

  One of the soldiers, a stocky man with a thick beard, stepped forward, his gaze hard and unflinching. “Step back, boy. This doesn’t concern you.”

  “She’s my mother!” Kyle shot back, his fists clenched. “What has she done?”

  Kyle's world tilted as the bearded soldier stepped forward, his cold gaze boring into him.

  “This morning,” the soldier began, his voice gruff and filled with authority, “the Viscount’s son was found dead.”

  Kyle froze, his breath catching in his throat. “What?” he managed to whisper.

  The soldier continued, his tone sharp. “He was killed using shadows. We’ve been tracking the remnants of elemental shadows ever since.” He gestured toward a man standing off to the side, dressed in dark clothes and exuding an ominous presence. “That man there is a specialist. He can trace residual elemental energies. His abilities led us here.”

  Kyle gnced at the dark-clothed man, who stood silently with his arms crossed, eyes scanning the surroundings like a predator sniffing out prey.

  The soldier’s voice grew harsher. “From here, the trail led us to a clearing in the woods where we found what was left of the sve caravan.”

  Kyle’s stomach churned. The image of the chained sves from yesterday resurfaced in his mind.

  “It seems,” the soldier went on, his words slow and deliberate, “that the caravan was attacked, probably by a Monster. The Shadow Sves escaped. They came here, got their curses removed, and then used their regained abilities to kill the Viscount’s son.”

  “That doesn’t make sense,” Kyle blurted out, shaking his head. “How would you even know—”

  “We know,” the soldier interrupted, his gre silencing him. “Because the curse is no trivial matter. Only a very skilled mage or healer can remove it. And we’ve already confirmed that your mother is capable of doing just that.”

  Kyle felt a cold pit forming in his stomach. “Who told you that?”

  “Barns,” the soldier said with a sneer. “The old foggie who lives on the entrance of the vilge. He admitted she removed the curse from his sve.”

  Kyle’s fists clenched, his nails digging into his palms. That old bastard had betrayed them.

  “So let me get this straight,” Kyle said, his voice trembling with barely contained anger. “You think my mother healed them, and they just went off and killed the Viscount’s son? That’s insane!”

  “She’s the only one in this vilge who could’ve removed their curses,” the soldier said firmly. “The evidence speaks for itself. She harbored criminals, healed them, and now a nobleman’s son is dead.”

  Kyle’s heart pounded in his chest as he looked at his mother. Her expression was calm, almost resigned, though her eyes carried a glimmer of sadness.

  “Take her,” the soldier barked, signaling his men to move.

  “No!” Kyle yelled, stepping forward, but the soldiers immediately drew their weapons, halting him in his tracks.

  His mother’s voice cut through the tension. “Kyle,” she said softly, “don’t. You can’t fight this.”

  Kyle’s jaw tightened, his body trembling with rage and helplessness. As they dragged her away, the sunlight seemed colder, and the world around him darker.

  And in that moment, as he colpsed to the ground, only cold thoughts took over him.

  Kyle sat on the cold dirt, staring bnkly at the ground where his mother had stood moments ago, now gone in the soldiers’ carriage. The world seemed muffled, the vilgers’ murmurs blending into an unintelligible hum around him.

  “Kyle!” Sebi’s voice broke through the haze as she knelt beside him. Her parents followed, their faces painted with concern.

  Sebi’s father tried to reason with the soldier leading the detachment, but the man dismissed him with an indifferent wave. The vilgers merely watched, their whispers circling like vultures around a dying animal. No one stepped forward to help.

  The soldiers marched off, the cttering of the carriage wheels growing distant. Kyle’s chest felt hollow, his breath shallow. His legs gave way beneath him, and he colpsed to the ground, his mind spinning. ‘When did this happen? How could this have happened?’

  Sebi and her parents helped him up and guided him back into his home. Inside, they sat him down and handed him a cup of water. Sebi’s mother pced a hand on his shoulder. “Kyle, please, calm yourself. We’ll figure this out.”

  But her words were meaningless to him. He could barely hear them over the chaos in his mind. His mother was gone. Accused of something she hadn’t done—or at least something he couldn’t imagine she had done.

  Without a word, Kyle pushed past them, heading to his room. His movements were robotic, his mind set on a singur purpose. He grabbed his bag, hastily stuffing it with supplies.

  “Kyle!” Sebi called after him as he moved toward the door. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going to save my mother,” he said, his voice hollow but resolute.

  “And how are you going to do that?” a familiar voice rang out.

  Kyle froze, his eyes darting to the doorway. Albert stood there, leaning against the frame, his scarred face unreadable but his gaze sharp.

  Kyle’s lips parted, but no words came. He didn’t have an answer. He didn’t know how he was going to save her.

  Albert stepped inside, crossing his arms. “If they’ve taken her, she’s on her way to the Barony’s prison in Fenwick. That’s where the Baron’s estate is. And trust me, it’s not a pce you can just walk into unprepared.”

  “I don’t care!” Kyle snapped, his frustration boiling over. “I have to do something!”

  Albert narrowed his eyes, his tone calm but firm. “And what’s your pn, kid? Storm in there with no clue what you’re up against? That’s not bravery, it’s suicide.”

  Kyle clenched his fists, his resolve faltering.

  Albert sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Look, I’m heading to Fenwick myself. I have something to report to the Baron. Why don’t you come with me? We’ll talk to him together. Maybe we can figure something out.”

  Kyle hesitated, the weight of his desperation battling his uncertainty. He gnced at Sebi, who gave him a small nod, her eyes pleading for him to listen.

  “Fine,” Kyle said reluctantly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll go with you.”

  ***

  Kyle’s feet carried him toward the edge of the vilge, but his thoughts were heavy, swirling with anger and frustration. As he passed Barns’ house, he couldn’t stop himself from gring at the worn wooden structure. He imagined the old man inside, oblivious to the chaos his loose tongue had caused.

  Kyle clenched his fists. If Barns had been outside, he wasn’t sure he could’ve restrained himself. His body buzzed with raw rage, a wildfire barely contained. But Barns wasn’t outside, and Kyle forced himself to keep walking.

  At the vilge's outskirts, Cragmere came into view, and with it, Albert. The scarred man stood next to two horses, his usual calm expression in pce.

  “You ready?” Albert asked as Kyle approached.

  Kyle nodded, gncing at the horses. One was a sleek bck, its coat shimmering faintly under the morning sun, while the other was a sturdy dark brown.

  “Where are your other party members?” Kyle asked, scanning the area.

  “They’re resting,” Albert replied. “As your mother suggested. Things got worse for them overnight.”

  Kyle’s jaw tightened at the mention of his mother, but he didn’t respond.

  “You’ve ridden a horse before?” Albert asked, leading the bck horse toward Kyle.

  “Yes,” Kyle said as he mounted the horse. “Only once, though”

  Albert raised an eyebrow. “You sure? Only once, huh?”

  Kyle shifted uncomfortably, his hands adjusting on the reins. “I’ll manage.”

  Albert gave a skeptical shrug before mounting his own horse.

  “You are going there to inform the Baron about the Wyvern right?” Kyle asked.

  “So, you know,” Albert said as he sat on the horse.

  “Yeah, mom told me,” The thought of his mother once again saddened him.

  As they rode out of the vilge, Kyle felt the rhythm of the horse beneath him, natural and fluid. He guided the animal with surprising ease, matching Albert’s pace effortlessly.

  After a while, Albert gnced over. “You’re riding like you’ve done this a hundred times. You sure it’s just once?”

  Kyle hesitated, his grip tightening on the reins. “Yes,” he said, but his voice cked conviction.

  The truth was, he had never ridden a horse before.

  The skill came from the visions.

  Kyle’s mind drifted to the strange phenomenon that had shaped much of his life. These visions came unbidden, like fragments of memories that weren’t his. In them, he was someone else, someone with different experiences. He had ridden horses in these visions, wielded daggers with precision, and haggled in bustling markets.

  He had learned so much from them: how to fight, how to survive, how to do daily tasks.

  And yet, he couldn’t expin them. They weren’t dreams or mere imaginations. They were too vivid, too real.

  It was as if they were glimpses of past lives, fleeting echoes of who he might have been before he was Kyle.

  But now wasn’t the time to dwell on that. He focused on the road ahead, the forest giving way to open pins. Fenwick was still hours away, and Kyle’s thoughts returned to his mother.

  He would save her. No matter what it took.***

  The heavy clinking of metal echoed through the passage as Kyle’s mother was led deeper into the prison by two soldiers. The corridor grew darker with every step, the dim torchlight from the main prison fading until it disappeared completely. Only the sound of their boots on the stone floor and her restrained breathing filled the air.

  At the end of the passage, a single iron door loomed, its frame rusted and worn, standing as a gateway to the abyss beyond. One of the soldiers fumbled with a set of keys, his movements impatient, before unlocking the door with a grating creak.

  “This is your stop,” the soldier muttered, stepping aside to allow her through.

  She didn’t resist as they pushed her forward into the pitch-bck room beyond. Her Shard, faintly flickering with life within her, allowed her to see just enough to make out the narrow stone walls and the crude bench in the cell. The smell of damp and decay filled her nostrils as the soldiers smmed the cell door shut behind her, locking it with a loud click.

  Their retreating footsteps faded, leaving her in oppressive silence.

  She turned to face the wall, her breathing shallow but steady. Yet, she wasn’t alone.

  A familiar sensation prickled at her senses, a presence she knew all too well. Her lips curled in disgust as she spoke, her voice sharp and venomous, “So it was you.”

  From the darkness behind her, a low, mocking chuckle rumbled. “Of course, it was me,” came the response, the voice as slimy and vile as its owner. “Who else would go to such lengths to fuck you?”

  Her eyes adjusted, and she saw him—Rowan. He was lounging casually on the bench as if he owned the pce, his smirk visible due to the night vision her Shard granted her.

  “Now, come on, Ilria” he said, leaning forward, his tone dripping with condescension. “Lift your dress, and let’s get to work.”

  Her stomach twisted, and her fists clenched at her sides, but she refused to look at him. Her heart pounded, not out of fear but from a boiling rage that simmered beneath her calm exterior.

  She took slow, deliberate steps toward Rowan, her bare feet soundless against the damp floor.

  She stopped a step away from him, her expression still void of emotion. Her voice, when it came, was soft but steady, carrying a hint of steel beneath its calm tone. "You think this makes you powerful, don’t you?"

  Rowan raised an eyebrow, intrigued by her words. "I don’t think it, darling. I know it. Look at you, standing there, ready to do as you're told. I’ve already won."

  Her lips twitched, almost imperceptibly, as if suppressing a bitter smile.

  Rowan’s eyes narrowed, his smirk faltering for a fraction of a second. "What are you pying at?" he asked, his tone hardening.

  She leaned down slightly, just enough for her face to come level with his. Her gaze locked onto his, and for the first time, there was a flicker of something in her eyes, not fear, not submission, but defiance.

  "You think this is power?" she said, her voice quiet but cutting. "You're nothing but a parasite, Rowan. Feeding on those stronger than you because you can’t stand your own weakness."

  His smirk disappeared entirely, repced by a scowl. "Watch your mouth," he growled, his hand darting out to grab her wrist.

  She didn’t flinch. Instead, she leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Go ahead. Hurt me. Use me. Do whatever you think will fill that void inside you. But know this, Rowan, you're already dead. You just don’t realize it yet."

  "You’ve got a sharp tongue for someone in chains," he said, though his voice cked its usual bite. "But it doesn’t matter. You’ll break, like everyone else."

  She straightened, her composure unshaken, and took a step towards him. "We’ll see," she replied calmly as she began to lift her dress up.

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