The night after the battle was too quiet.No cries. No clash of steel. Just the whisper of wind slipping through the burned-out rafters of the western gate.
Aloysius sat alone on the chapel steps, hands resting on his knees, his sword lying beside him. The wounds on his arms throbbed in rhythm with his heartbeat. He had fought without calling on the voice yet it still felt like something inside him had shifted.
He noticed it first when a candle sputtered nearby. His eyes snapped toward it faster than reflex should allow. He could see every detail: the curl of smoke, the ripple in the wax, even the subtle distortion in the air above the flame.
You are learning, the voice murmured from the depths of his mind.
"I didn't summon you," Aloysius muttered.
I don't need to be summoned to exist. You've opened the door wider than you think.
Aloysius closed his eyes, trying to shut it out. But when he breathed in, the air was heavy with scents ash, blood, the faint sweetness of crushed flowers. He could hear the slow, steady beat of a villager's heart from inside the chapel.
He stood abruptly, unnerved.
That's when he saw it a faint shadow clinging to the edges of his own, like a darker outline, moving with him but not quite in sync.
Do you feel it? The world shifting to accommodate what you could become?
His fingers twitched toward the hilt of his sword. Not because of danger because the motion felt right, like muscle memory from a life he had never lived.
The chapel door creaked open, and a young boy peeked out. "Mister Aloysius… the healer says you should rest."
Aloysius forced a smile, stepping into the lamplight. The shadow behind him dissolved into the ground.
"I'll rest soon," he said softly.
But inside, the voice chuckled, low and certain.You've already started changing. And change, my dear Aloysius… is irreversible.