The room was empty now, yet the weight of his presence lingered, settling over Shyla like a soft, invisible shroud. Valerian had vanished into the shadows, leaving only the memory of his warmth, the echo of his vow, and the faint pull of the bond that tethered them across distance, time, and fate.
He emerged on the other side of the veil, back within the empire's keep, cloak pooling around him like spilled ink. The moment his boots touched the stone, his legs buckled. Every muscle screamed, every rib throbbed — the toll of two crossings in one night. The shadows had carried him, but they demanded their price. Pain was nothing compared to the ache in his heart: the image of her lips forming another's name, the knowledge that Nickolas now occupied the place he had claimed in silence for centuries.
His crimson eyes burned as he sank to the floor, pressing a trembling hand against his side. Every visit… every shadow… every stolen moment… costs me a fragment of my union, a piece of my strength. The thought tightened in his chest, yet he endured it willingly. Because it is for her. Because she is worth every ache, every torment.
The jealousy that had flared when he heard Nickolas' name lingered, coiling through his veins like venom. How could another lay claim to her when he had guarded her lineage through ages, unseen and unbroken? Each whisper, each step through darkness had been for her alone — yet fate's cruel threads now threatened to pull her beyond his reach.
The pain sharpened suddenly. His vision blurred. The veins beneath his skin darkened, shadows crawling like smoke. He pressed his forehead to the cold wall, letting them coil around him like mourning veils. Wait for me, Shyla… wait…
But the body that had carried centuries of restraint could endure no more. The power he had bled into the veil, the wounds from the Council's last summons, the tearing ache from crossing twice in one night — it all converged. His breath hitched once… then failed him.
The darkness swallowed him whole.
When he awoke, he was no longer alone.
The chamber brimmed with whispers — soldiers of the Shadow Court, the air thick with incense and worry. Above them all stood his father: the former Lord of the Empire, draped in mourning silks, eyes like carved obsidian.
"What have you done, Valerian?" the elder's voice cut through the hush. "The veil reports unrest. You crossed it without sanction. Twice."
Valerian tried to speak, but his throat was sand. Shadows curled weakly at his fingertips and died. His father's gaze softened — for a heartbeat — then hardened again.
"She bears the mark of Alexander's blood," murmured one of the gathered elders. "He protects the forbidden line."
The father's jaw tightened. "That line was supposed to end centuries ago. And if any is left... she belongs to Nickolas, as Leo has seen."
Valerian's vision wavered. The chamber dimmed. Their voices drifted away, replaced by the pull of something far stronger — the bond.
He was dreaming.
Shyla stood beneath a sky he didn't recognize — city lights blazing, glass towers piercing the clouds. New York. Her laughter echoed across the street, bright and human, and beside her stood Nickolas, hand resting possessively on her back. The sight tore through Valerian like a blade.
He tried to call her name, but no sound left his throat. He tried to move, but the dream held him bound, forcing him to watch. Nickolas leaned close, whispering something that made her smile — that same soft, uncertain smile she once gave to the unseen presence in her room.
No…
The word never reached her. The dream shifted, dissolving into light. Shyla turned toward the shadows, eyes searching, as though she could feel him somewhere beyond the veil. For a heartbeat, hope surged in his chest — then she turned back to Nickolas, and the bond snapped like a taut string.
Valerian screamed soundlessly into the void.
He woke to silence. The healers had left; only his father and one trusted elder remained, watching from the edge of the chamber.
"You dream even in ruin," the elder said quietly. "If you keep this path, the veil itself will turn against you."
Valerian's voice was a rasp. "Then let it. I would burn every shadow if it meant she remembers me."
His father said nothing. Only the slow flicker of the torchlight answered, painting the walls in crimson and gold — the colors of a fading empire and a son's unyielding vow.
Finally, his father said "you love her... but you will lose her, if you continue this... and for that you cannot blame anyone, but yourself..." sigh "you know what shadow visit cost... union for mates..."
Valerian closed his eyes again, the echo of her name still burning through his veins.
Always… no matter the cost.
And the shadows, loyal to their lord, trembled in answer.