The sound of her own breath woke her. She blinked and forced her burning eyes open, though it was pointless — the darkness behind her eyelids and the reality around her were indistinguishable. She lay on her back, unable to tell where her body ended and the void began. Darkness was everywhere, and it seemed to move, almost breathing with her every exhale, creeping closer and pulling away, like it was toying with her. There was nothing — no light, no point of reference — just that deep, suffocating blackness.

Slowly, her awareness returned, and with it came the chill of the stone floor beneath her. She tried to move, but a wave of pain washed over her. Yet along with the pain, something else began to surface. Deep inside her mind, a foreign presence unfurled. It felt like a tingling sensation — or more like an itch she couldn’t scratch. The more awake she became, the more it writhed, twisted, and mingled with her own thoughts. Clutching her head with her hands, she curled into a ball. It felt as if her skull was expanding beyond its limits, ready to burst like chestnut in the fire at any moment. Each heartbeat sent a spike of agony to her temples, and her skin prickled, strangely sensitive and hot. Her own mind was shattering, replaced by raw images and impressions that stabbed like sharp knives, stripping her of reason.

Out, get out!

She struggled to push all the foreign thoughts out of her head, to suppress them. Through the pain, a desperate command escaped her lips.

"Stop!"

It was no more than a weak whimper, but even that one word was enough. The foreign consciousness retreated to the corners of her mind, the pain subsided into a mere tugging at invisible threads of thoughts.

She tried to sit up. Her fingers clung to the stone floor, trembling under the weight of her own body. Her hair stuck to her sweaty skin, her stomach churned as though she were adrift on a stormy sea, and a bitter taste of bile lingered in her mouth and nose. Something alien, restless, had made a home inside her, urging with a whispering compulsion: Call me, let me help you.

Memories began to return in pieces — blurred, distorted, as though seen through cracked, dirty glass. Flickers of images and sensations slowly came together — dancing shadows, the burning in her fingers, moments of helplessness, all blending and confusing her. Among them, a pair of glowing eyes emerged, and a name spoken aloud.

The realization hit her like ice water: she had done something terribly, terribly wrong. A demon. It was his presence now entwined with her consciousness. His mind. He wasn’t serving her — he was IN her.

Another tug, and the echo of laughter, soft as the rustling of dead leaves in the wind. She couldn’t tell if she truly heard it or if it was another figment of her mind. Her hands shook even more. He wasn’t just inside her; he had melded with her thoughts, quietly observing, waiting, and sensing even what went unspoken.

"You deceived me," she whispered.

The response came before she could hear it. A wave of rejection rippled through her mind, leaving behind a cold trace of displeasure.

Bitterness gripped her throat. She could no longer distinguish where her mind ended and the demon’s began. It felt so unfair. She had lost so much over the years, and now even the freedom of her own thoughts? This wasn’t what she had expected. The bitterness mixed with anger, but that too was fading, slipping away, leaving behind only emptiness.

What do I have left?

A surge of warmth washed over her, as if someone had wrapped her in a warm blanket. Another tug, another coaxing: Let me help you.

She tried to move again, to stand, but her body wouldn’t obey. She clenched her teeth. She could feel him waiting — calm, detached, yet always present. She swallowed all the bitterness like a poison burning her throat. She needed him.

"Flaethrun-"

A sudden sense of satisfaction rippled through her, like the soft purr of a cat.

In the darkness, white, glowing eyes appeared.

"What service do you ask?"

She licked her dry, cracked lips. "Light."

A flickering, corpse-like pale light slowly spread through the room, revealing the demon’s figure — he seemed smaller now, more defined, woven from shadows into the shape of a man.

"Help me stand."

The demon shook his head. "I can’t — I’m not physical. Accept me. You are still pushing me away."

Nita took a deep breath. She realized he was right — she had been fighting against his presence the entire time, as though it were something repulsive. With an exhale, she gave in.

"Fine," she whispered.

She tore down the barriers in her mind, and Flaethrun’s presence expanded within her — not as an intruder, but as a gentle, cooling wave that intertwined with her thoughts. A shiver ran through her, but this time, it wasn’t one of revulsion. It was more like the unexpected touch of something unknown, raw, and mysterious. His power, his essence, caressed and consumed her. She closed her eyes and allowed that sensation to drown out her own will. Flaethrun’s consciousness was full of contradictions — like night and day, black and white. Hope mingled with despair, gratitude with resentment, admiration with disdain, closeness with alienation.

She felt a gentle pressure around her waist, almost like an embrace. She froze, eyes wide — the tendrils of shadow swirled around her, trying to help her stand. But any foreign touch filled her with panic.

"Don’t touch me!"

The shadows tightened for a brief moment, then loosened and released her.

"You asked for my help, didn’t you?" His voice was sharp, mocking her fear. But the taunt quickly shifted into tenderness and care. "You don’t need to be afraid of me."

She took several deep breaths before she calmed down and nodded. "Help me."

"Of course, my lady."

The hiss in his voice was laced with venom, but the shadows lifted her gently, holding her steady so she wouldn’t fall again. Her head spun — she couldn’t tell if it was from exhaustion or the opposing waves of Flaethrun’s emotions.

"See? I care for you," he said softly, his voice balancing between ironic satisfaction and something almost nurturing.

Nita shivered. Why had she summoned a being so full of contradictions? She could feel his amusement.

"How long… how long have I been lying here?"

Flaethrun made a gesture that resembled a shrug. "Hours."

Her throat burned, and her insides twisted painfully. Bruises began to rise on her wrists, and her bare feet were crusted with dried blood. She felt filthy, not just on the outside, but inside as well.

"I need to wash."

Flaethrun nodded and helped her out into the corridor with his shadows. His movements mimicked human steps, though he didn’t touch the ground, and his steps made no sound. In contrast, her own footsteps echoed softly with each shuffle. Every movement sent pain through her body, and without Flaethrun’s support, she wouldn’t have been able to walk. She didn’t head toward the shared bath used by the other apprentices — instead, she went to the abandoned, half-collapsed part of the catacombs, where no one ever went. There, among the old chambers, was a cistern—a simple stone basin, wide and deep, carved directly into the floor. Above it hung large iron rings, from which ropes once dangled with buckets to draw the water. The ropes had long since rotted away, but the water that filled the cistern remained fresh and as cold as death. Nita wasn’t sure where it came from.

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She stopped at the edge of the basin.

"Can you warm it?"

He sent her nothing but a feeling of refusal.

"Then what can you do?"

She sat down, disappointed, and gingerly dipped her legs into the water. Tears sprang to her eyes as the cold pierced her skin like needles.

"I can do many things… like manipulating shadows, space…" he let the rest of the sentence hang. "Are you going to bathe fully clothed?"

She blushed. Flaethrun’s voice was calm and quiet, yet carried an undertone of amusement. She wanted to snap at him, but realized that he had already read her thoughts and sensed her protests. Privacy no longer existed for her — shame had no place.

"No," she gestured for his help to rise again and removed her clothes.

Her dirty, sweat-soaked clothes fell from her, and Nita cautiously and slowly stepped into the cistern. The cold water gripped her body tightly, stealing her breath. The icy pain bit into her skin, but it also cleansed her, as if it were drawing out every trace of her suffering.

She washed away the blood and filth, along with the remnants of dark thoughts. Finally, she submerged herself completely, allowing the water to fill her nose and mouth. The chill sharpened her mind, and when she resurfaced, she found new strength within.

She climbed out of the bath, struggling to dress again. Flaethrun watched her in silence the entire time.

"How is it that I can see you? Other warlocks don’t walk around with their demons trailing behind them."

Nita couldn’t tell if Flaethrun was smiling or frowning.

"You see me because I am a part of you. Other warlocks' demons are...different."

Nita pressed her lips together. The way Flaethrun answered filled her with frustration and confusion. The demon continued, his voice tinged with amusement, as if mocking her. "I am more than just your demon. I am your shadow. I am your strength. And I am also your greatest enemy."

"What do you mean by that?" she asked sharply.

Flaethrun smiled broadly and tilted his head. "Don’t you want revenge? Don’t you want to rid yourself of weakness by ridding yourself of them? I can help you with that. I will destroy them. But in doing so, I will destroy the part of you that still hopes you can be human. And with that, you will gain freedom, power."

"Get lost."

Disappointment and amusement. The demon’s form dissolved, but his thoughts lingered, like invisible temptation.

I can’t leave, I’m a part of you. Think about it. I know you’re tempted.

"No."

So you will forgive them?

Nita froze. Forgive? The word echoed in her mind. Forgive? Could she look them in the eye and forgive them? Just the thought of it made her stomach churn. Her hands balled into fists, nails digging into her skin, but she couldn’t find the answer.

And then Flaethrun slipped the memories into her mind. Uninvited, sharp, and agonizing like fresh wounds. The hiss of arrows and her brother’s blood. A sword gleaming with her father’s blood. Pain and helplessness.

Will you forgive even this? Flaethrun’s voice inside her was soft, but carried a faint undertone of triumph. It sounded like he already knew the answer, as if he were waiting for her to admit it to herself. You can forgive, become a suffering martyr… Take their sins upon yourself, forgive them. Be human.

Human?! She felt something shift inside her, a part of her soul hardening and closing off. She took a deep breath and let the anger grow within her like a poisonous weed.

You said you don’t want to be weak. To never be a victim again, to have strength... they should fear you. I know where they are — I can take you to them.

The demon’s voice fell silent, but his presence still pulsed within her, tempting her.

She wanted to respond, but the words froze in her throat. Flaethrun felt her hesitation and gently, yet insistently, wove himself into her thoughts.

I will lead you to them so you can decide.

Without a word, she followed the subtle pull that led her through the maze of corridors. And then she heard them—their laughter echoed down the hall, stirring fresh waves of anger within her.

Crush their carelessness... or don’t. Let them live and watch their repentance.

For a moment, she stopped and closed her eyes tightly.

It’s up to you. You hold their fate in your hands.

"Shut up," she hissed.

Flaethrun laughed at her, but fell silent.

She stepped into the room where they were. It was one of the scriptoria, smaller rooms reserved for working with books and scrolls. The walls were lined with tall shelves filled with dusty tomes, and the heavy smell of old paper hung in the air. In the corner, at one of the wooden tables, sat the two.

She realized she didn’t even know their names. For a moment, they fell silent when they saw her. She looked them over. Barely older than her, fellows who seemed calm and innocent at first glance, laughing over a half-written scroll.

"Back for round two?"

The taller apprentice laughed mockingly, standing up from the table and walking toward her.

Have you decided? Flaethrun’s voice echoed in her head, cold and steady. Waiting.

Suddenly, she felt light. She could see in their faces that neither of them regretted what they had done to her. Human corruption and lust twisted their features.

Yes, she nodded internally.

The young man reached her and placed a hand on her shoulder. Nita didn’t flinch. Instead, her eyes narrowed, her breathing deepened, and her mouth twisted into a smile. The apprentice tried to say something, but no words came from his throat. She didn’t even need to speak her thoughts; Flaethrun sensed her desire. Her fingers burned, while dark shadows began to creep around the boy’s body, wrapping around him like a cloak. The space around his throat tightened mercilessly, squeezing tighter and tighter. She stared into his bulging eyes, wondering if they might burst like bubbles in sea foam.

He thrashed, trying to free himself from the invisible grip, and kicked her leg as he fell to the floor. Nita only curled her lip.

Make it quick.

Bones cracked, and his limbs pressed tightly to his body. Or what had once been his body.

"What the-"

The second apprentice, who had only stared in disbelief until now, squeaked in terror and cringed against the wall. He didn’t even try to summon his demons for help – his fear paralyzed him.

Do you want to finish him, or will you show him mercy? Flaethrun’s voice sounded malicious.

"Finish him. "

Those words were the only command he needed.

The shadows quickly coiled around the second apprentice, squeezing him like a noose. A choked gasp escaped his lips as he felt his body compressing, as if the very air around him was crushing him. Bones snapped.

Nita took a deep breath, feeling a strange pleasure spread through her body. Her fingers trembled as she touched her cheeks and realized she was smiling.

The silence in her mind exploded. Flaethrun said nothing, though she could feel his pleased presence. The two lay still, a heap of oddly contorted flesh wrapped in bloodstained cloth.

She wiped her forehead and stared in disbelief at her slick fingers, as if she couldn’t comprehend what had just happened. Her thoughts moved slowly, sluggishly.

Flaethrun’s consciousness tugged at her, and Nita realized there was someone else in the room.

Nicholas.

He stood leaning against the shadowed doorway. She couldn’t see his face, but from his relaxed posture and arms folded across his chest, she knew he had been standing there for some time. He had seen everything.

"Clean up after yourself."

That was all he said. His voice was filled with anger, but there was something else — something she couldn’t identify until he stepped away from the door and the light fell across his face.

She blinked in surprise. It wasn’t just anger. Though he tried to hide his emotions behind a stoic mask, Nita read him like a book. He was angry at her, yes — for succeeding, for managing to control her first demon and his upper lip curled with contempt for her achievement. His eyes narrowed with mockery, but the furrow between his brows told her he was already thinking about how to use her. He would never accept her as his equal.

He knew.

That realization chilled her more than the cold water of the cistern. Her breath caught for a moment, and she straightened. He knew what had happened to her. What they had done to her. Perhaps he had even suspected it beforehand, but he hadn’t bothered to intervene. And now, there was not an ounce of regret in his eyes. In her mind, she dared him to say something, to deny her suspicion, but Nicholas remained silent, his penetrating gaze locked with hers.

He didn’t deny it. He didn’t play innocent. He was silent, and his silence was a confession.

Nita felt something inside her break again. Flaethrun trembled with delight as all her rage and frustration morphed into cold hatred... and calm. She exhaled, and all emotions vanished from her face.

Nicholas’s gaze never wavered, and in that silent duel, his eyes now challenged her. But Nita gave him no reaction. Suddenly, she saw through him more clearly than ever before – his manipulation, his lies, his mockery, and his underestimation of her… And in that moment, she realized that he had lost his power over her, though he was too blinded by his own arrogance to know it yet.

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