Makaela never thought she'd miss it.

She never imagined yearning to hear the sinister whispers in her ear. She never imagined she'd miss having the power to end someone's life with the simple swipe of her hand. She never imagined missing the feeling of losing herself in the darkness.

But there she was, sitting at the edge of her bed wishing she could call upon her inner demon's power just one more time.

When she had first learned of her maternal ancestry and her true nature, she loathed it. She hated the idea of being a monster. It made her stomach curdle and her blood run cold.

She didn't want to be the creature parents scared their children with. She didn't want to murder people to survive.

Then she tasted blood for the first time. She couldn't get enough of it. Even when in her normal state, a small, nagging voice in the back of her head begged for it.

The power that blood brought with it came after. Her first taste of that raw power had come after she killed the Shades who murdered Minerva Moreau—the woman who saved her after she tried escaping Thorian's clutches weeks ago.

Blind rage had taken over her, transforming her into something evil. Something strong and powerful.

For the first few days after her first few kills, she felt horrible. But she couldn't ignore how good it made her feel.

Now that feeling was gone. It was locked in a cell and she didn't have the key.

The power her Nightling brought was more addicting than any drug on the planet. She was a junkie for it. Whenever she shifted, the dark vitalae that surged through her veins vitalized her entire being.

But it was gone now, and she couldn't get it back. Not for more than fifteen minutes, anyway.

Ever since she arrived back at Thorian's castle from Thania following the battle, she locked herself away in her room and wept. She would drag her nails along the walls and scream, wishing for her claws to manifest. All it did was leave her fingers bloodied and ruined.

She would grab tufts of her curly, black hair and bit down on her lip, hoping the pain and anguish would bring out the monster.

Sometimes it worked. She would shift and it would be the greatest feeling in the world. But it never lasted long. And each time it happened, the harder it got. She feared she wouldn't be able to shift ever again.

When she laid awake at night, listening to the crows squawk and the gargoyles screech outside, she tried convincing herself that it was a good thing. She was free from the carnal influences and sadistic tendencies of her Nightling. She was herself again.

The other side of her brain argued otherwise. Her Nightling was her. To get rid of it was to erase a piece of her soul, her identity. She didn't know who she was anymore. She couldn't even trust her own thoughts.

Who was she really?

The question reverberated inside her mind as she buried her face between her knees. Warm tears cascaded down her sunken cheeks. They fell from her dark face and onto her bed. Her quiet sobs filled the room, bouncing off the walls like an empty cathedral.

But she had no church to confide in. No priest. No gods. Just a few psychotic magicians who were hellbent on saving the world from itself.

Their message and ideals still resonated with her. And after their battle with House Aegeon a few weeks prior, they were even closer to their final goal.

Thorian had acquired yet another Eldenarian Artifact. After killing Sirus Lombardi during the siege, he assumed ownership over the Gauntlet of the Sea, along with the sword that once belonged to House Brynjir.

The Obscurio and Illumio were already in his possession. The Spear of Fire, belonging to House Doragon and their fire queen, resided with his allies.

That only left two more artifacts to collect.

It was the only bright light in Makaela's dark mind.

The Order of the Black Lotus' next order of business surely was to obtain the pendant from House Oseda, the woodland magicians. It was the only house that hadn't either fallen to Thorian's power or allied with him. But Thorian had a plan to get them to submit.

And Makaela fully intended to help him.

Her past allegiances were gone now. Those bridges had burned in the fire that decimated the city of Thania. Her old friends were enemies now. She often fantasized about the different ways she would kill them—especially Siren Lombardi. She was the cause of her pain and distress.

Makaela couldn't wait to kill her. She would make it slow, inflicting the same amount of agony that was done to her. She would remove pieces of the girl just as how a piece of herself was taken.

But that would have to wait.

Soon, it would be time to fight again. The war that the Prophecy of Eight—the ancient premonition telling of the future of the magic community and the world they lived in—was already upon them. Death and despair lingered above the horizon like a black sun. Blood had already been spilled. It wouldn't take long until more followed.

A knock sounded on Makaela's door. Rolling her eyes, she yelled for them to go away. The person simply knocked again.

"Leave me alone!" Makaela bellowed. She snatched up a pillow and hurled it at the door.

The lock on the door began to turn. Traces of a spell could be seen around her doorknob. Sneering, she turned away from the girl who had just entered her bedroom.

"What do you want?" She shielded her eyes from the harsh light from the hallway pouring into her shadow-filled room.

Amora Thauvin, daughter of Thorian, stood underneath the doorframe with an unimpressed look on her pale face. Her wavy hair the color of midnight fell down her shoulders. She donned her black Shade robes, causing Makaela to raise an eyebrow.

"You're pathetic," she said while looking around the messy room. She kicked a pair of stray underwear across the room. "Like seriously pathetic."

"Fuck you, Amora."

"I would if you'd let me," the girl joked.

Makaela scoffed. Turning around, she glared at her. "What do you want?"

"My father has called a meeting," Amora revealed. "He wants us downstairs in thirty minutes. I suggest you take a shower. You reek."

Makaela scowled. She discreetly took a whiff of her underarms and nearly gagged.

She might have a point, she told herself.

"Noted." She narrowed her gaze at Amora, who was still standing in the doorway. "You can go now."

Amora didn't move. Her dark stare had softened a bit. A weary expression covered her sharp features. Makaela shifted uncomfortably on her bed. Her heart skipped a few beats in anticipation.

"Look," she began, "I know this whole thing is hard for you and whatever, with losing your demon and all. I'd probably be in shambles if that happened to me too. But you've got to get your shit together, you hear me? We don't have any time for you to be moping around and feeling sorry for yourself. You were a good caster before your Nightling, and you'll be an even better one without it."

Makaela blinked a few times, her lips slightly parted. She was too stunned to form a reply.

The scary part was that she believed the girl's words. They seemed heartfelt and genuine, which only confused her even more. Amora was rarely nice to her. And whenever she was, there was always some ulterior motive beneath her faux kindness.

Now she was getting pep talks from her. It wasn't making any sense.

Maybe I'm hallucinating. I have been in this room by myself for a while.

Amora shook her head at her. "Close your mouth and go take a shower. I'll see you soon." She turned around and prepared to walk down the hallway.

Before she could, Makaela cast her eyes to the floor and mumbled something.

Amora glanced at her over her shoulder. "What?"

Makaela cleared her throat and lifted her eyes. "Thank...you." She nearly had to force the words out her mouth.

Amora nodded. "Don't mention it. I still hate you. But we're on the same team now. And Shades look out for each other."

And with that, she left, leaving Makaela alone in her room once again with her own thoughts.

⟐ ⟐ ⟐

Makaela heeded Amora's advice and took a warm shower.

She felt her troubles seep out her pores and down the drain beneath her. Sighing, she rested her head on the wall and stood under the water as the steam swelled around her.

After washing up, she stepped out of the shower and got dressed. She wrapped her wild hair into a messy bun behind her head before walking over to her large closet, which wasn't full enough to justify its size. She stood in the doorway and stared at the black robes hanging across from her.

Her silver gryphon's mask hung above it. Shaking her head, she retrieved them both and put them on.

She took her time getting to the basement. While her shower had helped a bit, she still didn't have much motivation to do anything. Her legs seemed to be filled with lead and her mind was weighed down with a million different thoughts.

She knew Thorian didn't tolerate weakness, but she didn't really care. It wasn't like he would do anything to her. She already felt like dying anyway. His threats and punishments didn't scare her anymore.

Dragging her feet along the stone floor, she brushed her fingers against the walls as she approached the basement stairs. Torchlight flickered in the darkness. The smell of fragrant candles burning reached her nose. Exhaling, she began her descent.

Despite the fact that she wanted to do nothing besides sulk in her bedroom, she had to admit walking felt good. Her stiff legs were beginning to loosen up and she felt her body beginning to unwind.

Maybe Amora was right. Perhaps it was time for her to pull herself out her slump.

That was easier said than done, though.

Upon entering the meeting room, she noticed everyone was already in their seats. Judging by the clock on the wall, she had made it just in time to not be considered late. Ten sets of eyes followed her as she made her way to her seat, which used to belong to Ulrich Thauvin—the magician she killed weeks prior.

The Order had yet to fill its last remaining spot in Thorian's guild of knights. There were meant to be twelve at all times. There currently eleven. Makaela had been the last added member to replace a fallen Shade.

Their numbers had also dipped a bit after their battle with House Aegeon. Quite a few of their Shades had been injured or killed altogether during the siege. If they were going to stand a chance at taking down their enemies, they would need more help.

That must be why he called this meeting, she thought.

At the head of the long, black table sat an ashen Thorian Thauvin, head of House Tenebris and the Order. He had also been the most recent leader of the Eldenarian Council, but after his recent actions, Makaela figured that wasn't the case anymore.

The council was in shambles anyway. Once Thorian finished his quest, he would dismantle it and establish something else. Something better.

Makaela smiled at the thought.

"Someone finally made it out their cave," Delsin Thauvin, one of the other knights at the table, mumbled under his breath. A few of the others snickered. She simply rolled her eyes at his attempt at a joke.

"It is nice to see you, Makaela," Emile told her. Makaela smiled at him.

Thorian cleared his throat. Everyone immediately began to quiet down. Makaela directed her gaze to his face, which was littered in wrinkles. The dark veins that grew from the edges of his left eye—which was a solid, black color—were more prominent than ever. His mauvue charm was beginning to take its toll.

No one said anything about it.

There was nothing to say. The man knew the risks when he acquired the charm a decade ago.

"I would like to congratulate everyone again on our victory in Thania," Thorian said. "While we lost many people on both sides, we are one step closer to changing this world for the better. However, the Eldai now know about our plans. Soon, they will band together with House Brynjir and House Aegeon to take us down. We cannot allow them to stop us."

The Shades nodded and murmured in agreeance.

"The Prophecy of Eight predicted war and I fear that conflict is almost upon us. Of course, I didn't want this to happen but an old friend of mine told me you can't stop a prophecy." The man glanced at Makaela.

She clenched her jaw and glared at the ground. He had quoted her father. He had been a firm believer of letting things run their course. Everything that was meant to happen would happen—that was his philosophy.

It made him weak. Vulnerable. Spineless. It got him killed.

"We're going to need reinforcements," Amora said.

Thorian pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "Do not interrupt me again, child." The threat was vague but everyone in the room felt the sting of his sharp words.

With her face reddening, Amora hung her head. "Apologies, father."

Normally, Makaela would have enjoyed seeing her get reprimanded like that, but after the kindness she displayed earlier that morning, she felt a little sorry for the girl. She was always being disciplined and cut down by her father—despite her best efforts to impress him. But he never seemed to notice her accomplishments. Only her shortcomings.

"As I was saying," Thorian continued, "we will need to add to our ranks. House Doragon is the only house to have pledged their allegiance to our cause. The gargoyles and Redfangs have also shown their loyalty to us. But I fear they won't be enough."

"What about House Oseda?" Makaela asked. "Don't we have someone working on the inside to get them on our side."

Thorian nodded. "Our spy is having trouble convincing his people to turn against their chieftain. We will have to intervene directly if we want to get her out of the way."

"Naidini is a stubborn woman," Igor, one of the other knights, grumbled. "It'll take a lot to get her to give up control of her house."

Makaela vaguely remembered who House Oseda's chieftain was. She had met Chieftain Naidini once during The Marking ceremony ten years ago, though, she barely spoke with the woman.

She had no idea what to expect from her.

"Who else can we ask for help then?" someone asked.

"What about the Solairs? If we can play to their sympathies and highlight the council's weaknesses, maybe we can get them to join the cause?" someone else suggested.

Makaela's eyes widened. It was a good idea. Solairs made up the majority of the magic community. Eldairs—while more powerful and skilled with magic—weren't as large in population. If they could get the Solairs to turn against the council, it would give them a major advantage.

Thorian seemed to realize this as well. "Good idea, Cassara. I'll be sending you and a few others as ambassadors to Solair havens around the world."

The Shade, Cassara, bowed her head at her orders.

"In the meantime, I have a mission for some of you," Thorian said. The magicians in the room exchanged wary glances. "I have received word from a prison guard in Nyghtmir about two recent inmates who could prove themselves valuable to the fight. They're Nightlings from somewhere in eastern Europe and they've been locked away in Nyghtmir for about two years now."

Makaela sucked in a breath. Had she heard him right?

"Why are we breaking out Nightlings from the most secure prison on the planet?" she asked, her eyebrows raised.

"All nightlings, full and half, are born with a unique ability," Emile explained. "We've gotten word that these Nightlings have abilities on a scale that could tip the tide of the war in our favor."

"It is crucial that we bring them to us as soon as possible," Thorian added.

Amora shook her head. "But Nyghtmir? Is that even possible?"

"You will be assisted," Thorian promised.

His daughter blanched. "Me?"

He nodded, a small smile on his thin lips. "You will be accompanying Emile on this mission." The girl said nothing. He shifted his dark gaze to Makaela. "You will be going as well."

She blinked, confused. He couldn't be serious. There was no way they would be able to break into Nyghtmir. It was essentially a suicide mission. And why was he sending her? She was still recovering from her own Nightling being shoved into the farthest corners of her mind, never to see the light of day again.

After taking a deep, shaky breath, she asked him when they were scheduled to leave. He told her soon.

She struggled to swallow the hard lump of anxiety lodged in her throat. She rubbed her clammy hands against her black robes. Her heartbeat thumping in her ears, blocking out every other noise around her.

Uh oh.