The days blurred into one another… shapeless and fevered. Adrian could not tell when night ended or when dawn began. The curtains remained drawn, the room heavy with the scent of burnt oil and sweat. The Shard's light no longer rested beneath his skin… it throbbed, alive, pulsing like a second heart.
At first, he mistook it for power. It whispered strength into his bones, sharpened his vision until he could see the dust floating in shafts of faint sunlight. He could hear the faintest breath behind the walls, the heartbeat of his servants as they lingered outside his chamber door, whispering prayers they barely believed in. It was intoxicating… it was divine.
But divinity, he soon learned, was only a beautiful disguise for something cruel.
On the second night, he woke choking on smoke that wasn't there. His throat burned as if he'd swallowed fire. He tore open his shirt and saw the golden light crawling beneath his flesh… a living thing slithering through his veins. It shimmered with each beat of his heart, and when he pressed his fingers to his skin, it burned him.
He tried to wash it away. He dragged himself to the basin and plunged his hands into water. Steam rose instantly, hissing like a serpent. The scent of scorched flesh filled the air. Yet when he lifted his hands, they were unmarked. The pain had vanished, but the light remained.
By the third day, his reflection had changed.
The mirror was cracked from the fire that had scarred the manor, its surface warped and dull. Still, he could see enough to know that the man staring back was not the same one who had sworn to protect Elara. His eyes glowed faintly, gold seeping from their depths like liquid metal. His skin had lost all warmth, pale and cold as marble. His veins shimmered faintly beneath the surface, a web of burning light.
Adrian did not flinch. He smiled.
"Lucien…" he whispered, voice rasping. "…you thought you were a monster… you haven't met me yet."
He dressed slowly, his movements measured, precise. The fabric of his collar scratched against skin that felt too tight, as if his body was straining against something greater than it was meant to hold. Each breath filled his chest with heat and light. Each step left a faint echo that wasn't sound but pressure… power pressing against the walls of the world.
When he opened his chamber door, the corridor outside was empty… except for the priest.
Father Marcellus stood waiting at the end of the hall, his pale hands folded over the black rosary at his waist. His face was unreadable, though the air around him seemed colder, as if the light itself recoiled from his presence.
"I warned you," the priest said quietly. His voice carried easily, though it was barely more than a whisper. "Power without restraint…"
"…consumes," Adrian finished, stepping into the faint glow of the torches. "You say that as though I didn't choose it."
Marcellus's eyes drifted over him, calm but calculating. "You're changing, Lord Alderidge. The Shard was never meant for mortal flesh. It's rewriting you."
"Good." Adrian's tone was sharp. "Then let it. I'll use every part of it to destroy him."
The priest studied him, unmoving. "And what of the girl?"
For a brief, fragile instant, something human stirred in Adrian's gaze. The memory of her laughter… soft, bright, like sunlight through water… rose unbidden. Elara's smile, her defiance, her eyes that once mirrored his own resolve. Then the memory turned bitter, replaced by fire and screams.
"She's already lost," he said. His voice trembled for the first time, though he forced it steady. "But I'll save what's left of her. I'll burn him from her mind… from her blood."
Marcellus's expression darkened with a kind of quiet pity. "You speak like a man in love. Yet your love sounds like war."
Adrian met his gaze, and this time, there was nothing human left. "Then war it is."
He walked past the priest, down the long corridor where portraits hung blackened from smoke. His boots struck the stone in rhythmic echoes… hollow, final.
The night outside greeted him with cold wind and silence. The courtyard lay in ruins, the fountain at its center cracked and dry. Once, it had been beautiful. He remembered the first time Elara had stood there, sunlight catching in her hair, laughter spilling freely as she splashed him with water. The memory should have hurt. It didn't. It only fueled the heat that now lived inside him.
He approached the fountain and reached in, letting the stagnant water pool around his fingers. It hissed faintly as his touch met it. The golden veins beneath his skin brightened, burning through the reflection that rippled across the surface.
"See what you've made of me…" he whispered. "…you wanted a hero. Instead, you've created something far worse."
A sound broke the stillness. A faint rustle beyond the gate… a whisper that did not belong to the wind.
Adrian stilled. His senses sharpened until he could feel the heartbeat of every living thing around him. But this one… this pulse was different. Slow, ancient, deliberate. It brushed against his mind like a memory he did not own.
The Shard's light surged, reacting to the presence. A golden tremor ran through his chest, pulling him toward the forest.
He smiled.
"Lucien…" he breathed. "…I can feel you."
He drew his sword from its sheath. The blade shimmered faintly, its edge alive with the same golden fire that lived within him. The very air around it seemed to hum, vibrating between holiness and something that no longer belonged to either realm.
He stepped through the broken gates and into the dark. The forest loomed ahead, its trees skeletal and silent. Each footstep left a faint trail of gold across the ground…brief glimmers that vanished as quickly as they appeared.
With every step, he could feel Lucien's presence stronger, closer. The bond between hunter and prey… light and shadow… pulling them toward collision.
He no longer feared it. He welcomed it.
Behind him, at the manor's threshold, Father Marcellus stood in silence. The torches flickered against his pale face, and though his expression remained composed, his hands trembled beneath the folds of his robe.
"The balance is breaking," he murmured to the empty air. His words were a prayer… or a confession. "And when light corrupts… even darkness begins to bleed."
Adrian's silhouette disappeared into the trees. For a moment, the night seemed to breathe again…until the wind shifted, carrying with it the faint sound of something unnatural. The cry of a beast… or the birth of something divine in ruin.
And in that whispering dark, the forest itself seemed to bend toward him… as if the world knew a new kind of monster had just been born.