The soldier's footsteps echoed lazily, as if the stones beneath his boots were soft.
Each echo was a knife for Kael.
A reminder. An invisible scar vibrating in his new flesh.
The lantern drew closer. Its light was dim, yellow, but enough.
Enough to see his face.
That face.
The corners of Kael's mouth tightened. He recognized him.
The soldier was a few years older, better fed, more self-assured.
But Kael hadn't forgotten.
The eyes were the same.
He remembered the exact image—curled up in the mud, while this man stubbed out a cigarette on his chest, laughing.
"Since you're trash anyway, be useful: hold my ember."
Kael felt his teeth clench.
The soldier stopped a few steps away. He hadn't recognized him yet.
— "Is someone there?"
The voice was deep, used to giving orders, not asking permission.
Kael didn't answer. He just stepped out of the shadow. Slowly. Too slowly.
He looked like someone else. A living statue, carved from flesh and dressed in darkness.
— "Hey… are you from my unit?"
He stepped closer. And saw him. Clearly. Fully.
Kael smiled.
A broken smile, lipless. Not out of joy. But from the pleasure of the pain he was about to unleash.
— "You know what I don't remember?" Kael said, voice low.
— "Your name. But that cigarette… yeah. I still feel that."
The soldier frowned.
— "What—?"
Kael raised his hand. A black flame flickered across his fingers. It wasn't fire. It was liquid, alive—like blood, evaporated.
From the shadow behind him, something stretched out. Like a hand torn from a nightmare.
A black, translucent tentacle, with traces of a spine inside.
"Seraphine, open the door."
And the shadow opened. Like a mouth. With teeth. With ancient voices.
The soldier let out a short sound. A step back. Then another.
But the floor didn't catch him.
Kael raised a finger.
The shadow surged forward, coiled around the man's legs, and dragged him to his knees.
— "You lost your ember," Kael said.
And from the shadow's chest, a needle emerged — long, metallic, rusted. It stopped just a few millimeters from the soldier's eye.
— "What if I give it back?"
Seraphine's voice rang in the back of Kael's skull. A cold caress.
"Don't rush, master. Flesh learns to speak if you teach it to sing."
Kael smiled. A tear ran down his cheek — but not from pain.
It was an old tear, left there from a time when he could still cry.
— "You said I was trash. Look at me now. Tell me… how much pain do you need before you understand what I've become?"
The scream never reached the surface.
The shadows held him tight. Swallowed his mouth, bit down on his words.
And as blood pooled warm around Kael's feet, he felt something he hadn't known in a long time:
Control.
The body went still. No more trembling. No more breath.
The flesh was soft, without will.
An old garment. An empty shell.
Kael stood motionless. Fingers still wet with blood, staring at his reflection in the trembling puddle.
His eyes no longer belonged to him. They were black, with red threads pulsing to the rhythm of his heartbeat.
Seraphine's voice didn't come from outside. It was inside his chest.
Like a thought with fangs.
"Beautiful. You made him silent forever."
Kael didn't answer. His mouth was tight, jaw clenched, like he was holding back a scream.
"You want more, don't you? You want the shadow to obey. Not just to hurt… but to serve."
She appeared behind him, floating, without steps.
Her tattered dress hung around her like the skin of a starving animal.
Kael looked up.
— "Say what you want. No games."
Seraphine smiled.
— "I want a memory."
— "I've already given you enough…"
— "No. I took. Now I want you to give. Freely. A memory that hurts. One that keeps you up at night. One you've never told anyone."
Kael hesitated.
And in that second of silence, the image appeared in his mind.
The little girl.
A dark room. A small body, eyes hollow. Himself, hands bound.
And the man in uniform, laughing.
Kael clenched his fists.
— "If I give it to you… what do I get?"
Seraphine drew closer. Too close.
She touched his temple with a frozen finger.
— "One invocation. The Submissive Shadow. A soul bound by your pain."
He closed his eyes.
Breathed hard.
— "Take it."
And she did.
Suddenly, the memory was torn away. Not erased—not a forgetting.
But a mental violation. A cut. A deep void.
Kael fell to his knees. His mouth opened in a silent scream.
And from the wound left in his mind… something else burst forth.
**
The floor cracked.
From the soldier's dead body, a form rose: distorted, limbs twisted, and a mouth sewn shut with wire.
A creation born not of magic, but of concentrated hatred.
The Submissive Shadow.
The first. But not the last.
Kael raised his gaze. His eyes burned.
— "There are more to come…"