Chapter 35: The Shadow That Wears My Face
The moon hung full and heavy in the sky, casting silver light over the forest clearing just beyond the Academy grounds. Trees bent in the cold night breeze, their limbs creaking like they knew something dark was coming.
Andrew stood still, Ashren at his side, every instinct screaming that something was wrong.
Then he felt it.
A ripple in the air—like the world exhaled. A shift. And then, without warning, the shadows lengthened and bled into each other, swirling like black water until a figure emerged.
Noir Caelum.
Or rather, Andrew… from another life.
He stepped forward, calm, confident, like a king in a foreign land. "So this is the vessel chosen by fate," he said, voice smooth as velvet and sharp as broken glass.
Andrew raised his blade. "You shouldn't be here."
The other Andrew chuckled. "And yet here I am. You brought me here, in a way. Each time you reached deeper into Ashren… you tore the veil a little thinner."
They circled each other slowly, the grass hissing beneath their boots.
Noir spoke again. "This world is weak. The people follow kings they fear, gods that ignore them, and heroes who bleed for nothing. But we? We could be gods."
Andrew narrowed his eyes. "So you came here to rule?"
"To liberate," Noir replied. "Power like ours was never meant to be shackled by mortality. Imagine it—you and I, united. Not just one kingdom, or one continent. All of it. Remade in our image. No death. No failure. Only obedience."
Andrew tightened his grip on Ashren. "I'm not interested in being a tyrant."
"You already were," Noir said. "And I'm offering you the chance to become more. All you have to do…"
He stepped forward, extending a hand.
"…is give me the sword."
Ashren pulsed angrily in Andrew's hand, the shadows around its edge flickering in agitation.
"I'd rather die with it than let you take it," Andrew growled.
For a moment, Noir just stared.
Then he smiled. "Pity."
The clash came like thunder.
Ashren met its twin in Noir's hand—a version of itself corrupted, shaped by a godless world and a merciless will. Shadows exploded around them with each strike, the clearing torn apart by the raw force of their blows.
Andrew fought harder than he ever had. But Noir… was faster. Stronger. More experienced.
"You hesitate," Noir hissed between blows. "You fear the power inside you."
"And you drowned in it!" Andrew roared back.
Their swords locked, shadows curling like serpents around them both. Noir pressed closer, eyes burning. "Let me train you. I know every rhythm of the shadow. I am the master of it. You could be greater than any hero this world has ever known."
Andrew spat blood but didn't back down. "You don't want a student. You want a puppet."
The shadows flared between them. For a moment, they both stood frozen—swords locked, breath ragged.
Then Noir… stepped back.
Just like that.
His blade vanished into smoke. The forest wind returned. The night grew still.
"You're not ready," Noir said quietly. "But you will be. The shadows in your blood won't sleep forever."
He turned away, shadows licking at his cloak.
"One day, you'll come looking for me," he said. "When the gods betray you. When your strength fails. When you realize the world is not worth saving."
He looked back once more.
"And when that day comes… I'll be waiting, Andrew."
Then he disappeared—vanishing into the night as if he were never there.
Andrew dropped to one knee, breath ragged, Ashren humming softly in his grip.
He had won nothing.
Only delayed the war.