Several moons had passed, creating a daunting wake for Draven—the anticipation for each day of training remained dreadful. He wished he could enter his rift and be free of his shackles, but Civet knew better than to let him do as he pleased.

Despite all the negative emotion, he had noticed a considerable amount of progress in his fighting; even the use of his magic has become efficient, more potent than he could imagine. He never knew that he was capable of such abilities, but one thing weighed him down—he would use them to end a life eventually.

Draven wandered the halls of the training grounds. Not too far away, the castle of Nasherux stood eerily under heavy red miasma and the looming dark gray clouds that threatened to rain hot ash. Its pointed towers like spears that threatened the heavens if it came any closer.

Most of the hallways of the training grounds had open ceilings. Rain was never a problem in Nasherux—if it ever came. The heat was immense from the volcano, but over time he grew used to the burning temperatures. As Civet would put it, the heat served as part of the discipline training.

He approached the doors to the designated training room and stood at the front for a moment, collecting his thoughts and his will.

"You can come in!" Civet's voice said, muffled by the door between them.

Draven opened the door and found Civet sitting at a table pouring a drink elegantly into a delicate ceramic cup. A click sounded as the door shut, piercing the silence in the room. Civet gestured for Draven to sit across from him and poured another cup.

"Surely this isn't training," said Draven, ready for what was to come.

"No," he simply said, allowing silence to envelop them like a fog. Civet didn't have his usual listlessness or cynical smile. His expression was rather calm and readable for once. "What do you think this war has to offer?"

Draven wasn't expecting a question such as that. Civet's desired answer seemed so delicate—if he answered wrong, he'd be killed, most likely.

"Well, it's hard to say." He hoped that leaving the answer open would buy him time.

The clink of Civet's cup sent a sharp shiver up Draven's nerves as the silence got drawn out.

"Do you know what Akari'sutar is?" He asked another question.

"I don't recall learning about that."

"By steel, a crucible of flame and coal. By warrior, a trial of blood and death. Akari'sutar is a formal battle between two demons. Commonly done within the Thirteen."

Draven began to piece out why he was here. His palms began to sweat, his heart threatening to beat out of his chest. "Are you saying—"

"No, dear boy." Civet took a sip from his cup. "However, Grimoire will ask for your audience. And you will be performing Akari'sutar with one of the Thirteen to solidify your standing. It would be beneficial to have your Source in the upper echelon of the army."

He threw his cup away; the fragile ceramic shattered upon impact with the ground. Civet got up and walked towards the exit, extending his arm at an acute angle beside him. Draven hurried to be beside him, and they left the training room. It was odd for Draven to feel normal around Civet. His whole persona changed, and he was no longer the Civet he knew to fear and loathe. There was something off about the day, and Draven didn't like the calm before the storm.

· · ─ · ◯☽✵☾◯ · ─ · ·

Draven walked through the familiar black-ribbed hallway just before Grimoire's room. This time the obsidian guards weren't alert—they stood poised at their positions along the wall. Civet knocked on the door and opened it. He peeked his head in and gave Draven a quick nod to enter.

Remembering his past experience with The Grand Prexy, his nerves fired with reluctance. But he knew he would see her one way or another. He stepped into the room, expecting Civet to follow, but he closed the door without entering himself. The door groaned then clicked into place.

Silence followed the echo of the shutting door. Draven stood, frozen in place. He couldn't help but observe more of the room. The walls were pinkish at this time of day—the sun beaming surprisingly bright through the tall windows on the other side. All of the floor, however, remained dark with white speckles every now and then.

The capacious room held little to no furniture, let alone design. On the other side sat a long desk, accompanied by a chair with a tall, ornate backrest. To his left, a tall arch revealed another room beyond the wall. While the other wall had tall windows on each side of another arch leading out to a balcony.

Grimoire entered the commodious room from the balcony, her posture as she walked was graceful. Her dress this time was different—silky white with red petals to accommodate her crimson eyes. Her hairstyle and ornaments remained the same; even the jaw of the lizard still sat snug around hers, seemingly a part of her.

"Civet tells me you've improved faster than he anticipated," she began, making her way to her desk. "That's good. We can make preparations for the next step."

"I thought that all I needed was training?"

She sat at her desk, her legs crossed with her hands resting prissily on her knee. "Your vision is too wide, Draven. You see so much yet so little."

"I'm sorry, your highness, but I still don't understand."

"What is it you desire?"

There it was again, that question he couldn't entirely answer the last time. "I'm still incapable of answering that question."

Grimoire chuckled. "You take me for a fool?" Draven shook his head, hoping the gesture would save him the pain he endured on his last visit. "Everything we do, we do with purpose. For personal gain, for a relationship, even selfless acts have something to them deep within their reason.

I am asking you, what makes you motivated to live? Last I asked, you perked up at the idea of love." Her voice curled at the word. Draven felt the blood warm his cheeks and the tips of his ears. "I can sense something in your heart," her voice whispered in his ear. Her cold hand canvassed his shoulders as she walked from behind him. "There's someone who prevents you from reaching your true potential. I can help you unlock that potential; I can help you protect her."

"This isn't about her; this is about what I can do for you—for this kingdom."

Draven blinked, and her sharp crimson eyes stared into his, inches away from his face.

"This kingdom requires a shadow, able to do my bidding. Many have tried, but no one has ever filled that role until now." Just with a shuffle of his eye, Grimoire appeared behind her desk again, staring out her window. "Will you be my shadow? The hand that moves in my stead? The blade that spills blood on demand?"

"I can do my best."

"Your best isn't good enough," the room became shrouded in darkness. His hips now buried in the floor that had kept their shine and reflections. However, in the void-like space, red eyes began to appear—staring at him, drilling inside him an insanity that scratched at the surface of his thoughts. "I need you at your best. With my interests. So I have a proposal."

"What is it?" He asked through gritted teeth. Fear had struck his imagination, drowning him under the hard surface of the floor.

"I take away your heart," her voice echoed in his mind. "And I won't hurt those you cherish within it. Easy, no?"

"And if I refuse?"

He felt her presence behind him. "I still take your heart and kill those you love anyways."

Who was he to reject her offer in this situation? No matter his choice, she dangled the lives of those he cared about in front of him, threatening to shred their existence if he chose differently at any point. With his decision, he knew that it would be the safest option for them.

"I agree to become your shadow."

"I knew you would," she said, her fingertips pressed under his chin. He no longer was entrapped in the stone, as if she lifted him out. The feeling in his head eased, making him able to hear his thoughts again. "Now here comes the hardest part, especially for me."

Her cold, pale hand pressed against his chest, right where his heart would be. He felt her presence within him, tearing away at something he couldn't put his finger on with every beat of his heart. Memories of how the Father found him and gave him a home, when Namon discovered his pitiful character and took it upon herself to mentor him, the family that he had created at House Kel. He watched them as they began to fade within the darkness. Lastly, he saw the red strands of hair that flowed like a fiery wind; it was Lyra—her worry, her laugh, her smile—all of it began to dissolve. Draven reached out as if he could catch them, but it only made them disappear faster.

When his eyes focused, Grimoire still stood in front of him with her hand over his heart. Tears streamed down her face as she was able to see what he would be leaving behind. He tried to recall the feelings and memories; nothing came to him. Only names and faces.

"Now on your knees," Grimoire demanded. Draven followed her command. "Henceforth, you will serve as my shadow. With this curse," her taloned fingernail pierced the surface of his forehead. A red circle formation formed upon contact, spinning like gears in a machine with intricate magic glyphs and symbols. "You will be mine to do with as I please."

Draven felt the powerful binding spell envelop him, tightening a chain around his neck. "First," she continued. "You will need to eliminate the thirteenth general, Xalurahn, harbinger of the cold, in an Akari'sutar. Prove yourself to me."

"Yes, your highness."