—Night’s room, Nyctoph Clan—
“The dead were in their caskets while he roamed the land, as if he appeared from thin air.”
Dragneel inhaled a sharp breath and leaned to place her head against the bedpost, eyes closed. Her lips pursed into a thin line, eyebrows furrowed, her brain soaking all the information.
Night stared at her face, waiting for a reply because he couldn’t contain his expectations for her. Expecting that she understood him. Because, for the first time in many years, he spoke openly about this grim topic. Hence, he expected Dragneel to make it worth his suffering.
Night said, “I lost my parents when Rael executed the heads of the opposition.”
Dragneel shifted a bit, and silence ensued. Night hesitated. Should he continue or not?
Dragneel picked up the pen and twirled it between her fingers. “I heard the Ryder King had a son, the Crown Prince. Where is he now?”
“Same as me.” Night shrugged his shoulders. “His parents got executed, and he’s under house arrest.”
He couldn’t shake off the feeling that she evaded the topic of his parents’ death. He sighed. Well, they had a deal not for him to dump his emotions on her. Also, Bloom wasn’t to be blamed because she wasn’t entitled to sympathise with him. All she wanted was ‘Info’.
“You can stop now. I don’t think I should listen any further because that’ll breach our deal. So now, I’ll tell you what I think of your situation.” Dragneel sat up and took the paper from him.
Night blinked in confusion. “But you didn’t get what you wanted!”
“I got something better.” Dragneel smirked. “Call it luck or coincidence, I have benefited already. The past you revealed has cleared doubts for me. Saved a lot of my time. Also, about our deal, I can gather the current affairs from other sources, even better versions.”
Night applauded Dragneel’s unexpected honesty with the muted touches of his fingers. He thought she only knew taunts. He hadn’t expected that level of honesty from a non-dragon, given he was betrayed by dragons themselves. Yet he hoped, this time, he wasn’t betrayed.
But then, there she was, splashing water on his feeble dreams. She said, “Don’t rebel. Hell, don’t even think about it.”
Or maybe it was too soon to judge.
“For now.” Dragneel placed her finger on his lips before he could protest. “Let me explain.”
Night clicked his tongue. What now?
“What I understood from this page, you plan to rebel when King Rael would be busy attending the Ball Ceremony for two days, during the Throne Candidature. Right? I say, preserve your plan for another day if you don’t want him to win so easily.”
“You…Why!” Night fumbled with his words at her audacity, anger touching the roof. He massaged his sinuses and sucked a breath in a hope to contain himself from exploding. “I thought you understood me!”
Dragneel grabbed his shoulders. “Look. I have nothing against your rebellion, if any more, I support it. But your plan has an immense problem.”
“And that is?” Night raised his eyebrow, finger tapping on his knee.
“Let’s say your prince rebelled, and in success, claimed his kingdom. Do you know people will side with King Rael and not your crown prince? And the reason? As dumb as it may sound, it’s his popularity. About half of the Dragonix is affected by his ideals, and the universe shivers when he sneezes. Your way of protest, though justified, will be rebranded as an act of defiance in the hours of mistaken glory. I don’t wish for such failure, not for you.”
Night lowered his eyes and lifted them again. “The prince knows it already. We’re rebelling with everything in mind.”
“Then he must know this too, that King Rael would have a plausible reason to bring him down and win over the minuscule amount of supporters left without a leader. Honestly, King Rael would win the lottery without a ticket. This is only the percentage where your prince wins. The rest ninety-nine lies in King Rael’s favour. I don’t think I need to explain what happens if you lose.”
Night’s mouth opened with a silent gasp. He furrowed his eyebrows and clenched his fists. “That’s right. What about the people? If the prince dies, where will they place their fates?” As he pondered over her words, his breath sank, his heart breaking into pieces. Hopelessness was a bitter thought. Was everything just a waste? All that time and dedication, that hope, should he never harbour them?
Dragneel sighed as she studied his face. “What I am saying shouldn’t be inherently coined as a word against your rebellion. I am suggesting you to watchout for your timing. A timely execution of this same plan would do wonders.”
Night pouted as he stood up and dusted his robes. He cracked his back, scowling. “What do you even mean by timing? There’s no time! The Ball is the only ceremony Rael would attend away from Nyctoph! How am I even supposed to fight him if I’m trapped in these four walls for the rest of my life?”
He huffed, gasping for air. His shoulders never felt so light, and he never knew he had it in him to scream. Then, a sudden realisation dawned on him. “Damn! Was I shouting?” He scurried to the door and opened a creak. Night was glad that none had noticed him shouting. He turned towards her and said, “Phew! I have been so out of character ever since I met you.”
Bloom smirked. “Heh! Whatever.”
“Why do you say we have a chance when all we can do is put a hand over the other and watch Rael at play? What am I supposed to do when I can’t get out of this house arrest?” Night pointed his accusatory finger at her. “You better tell me!”
“The Ball Ceremony will change many things for better, for worse; but Night, if what you want is for Nyctoph’s betterment, Throne will help you.”
Night squinted his eyes. “Why will Throne?”
“Because King Rael is Throne’s enemy. When the candidates are ordered their first mission, Throne is bound to favour your side irrespective of the candidate, for the sake of Nyctoph. That will give you the chance, a chance to move out of these four walls. King Rael won’t touch you then, because he would need to win you over, amicably, at least on the surface.”
A blush ran over his face, ear to ear. He opened his mouth and then closed it. Why didn’t he think like that? He found a hope beyond his horizons. And for the first time, Night was smiling genuinely.
Someone knocked on the door.
He glanced at her and nodded as a signal. Bloom stepped back and hid in a corner. Night walked to the door and twisted the knob to see his trusted maid outside.
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“My lord, the training room is ready.”
Night nodded and bent his head towards Bloom and said, “I will be back in a moment. Try not to make any noise. I am locking the door from outside.”
Bloom nodded in agreement.
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Boot clicked across the halls as Night marched back to his room from the training hall. The maid trailed after him with her hands clenched on the pristine cloth of her uniform, fidgeting fingers, eyes darting around. She wasn’t the bravest of the bunch, yet could do anything for her lord.
“My lord,” said the maid in a hush-hush as she hesitated to speak further. “Is it a good idea to help that lady?”
“I don’t know.” Night stopped and faced her. “There’s no use crying over spilt milk. I have pondered it countless times, and I would have aided her, regardless.”
Night glanced at the chandelier hanging above the central courtyard, then at the stairs spiralling upwards. His mood-o-meter was as grey as the paint on the walls as he couldn’t help but worry about his situation. Keeping their recent encounter in mind, he was fully convinced that Bloom couldn’t be left unattended in his room. Who knows what she might unearth next?
The maid ran her eyes over her surroundings. “How are we going to help her escape?”
“Tomorrow’s inspection. So, when the staff will be busy licking the claws of Rael’s sissies, we’ll sneak her out of the mansion. Remember the Telegate in the storeroom? It activates tomorrow, and Bloom can teleport to the Ivory realm.”
“And are we taking her to the training hall right now?”
“Yes. Can’t leave that non-dragon alone upstairs. You bring the towels, water, and the other necessities to the hall. I will bring her with me.”
“Yes, my lord.” She strutted away in another direction, away from Night, and vanished across a corner.
Night stared at her diminishing figure before he turned towards the stairs. His heart jumped up his throat. The head butler, in impeccable attire, stood before him on the stairs. Night composed his shoulders, switching into a facade.
“Master–” The head butler placed his palm on his chest. “–I hope you’re enjoying a nice day.”
“Nice day? My ass.” Night cursed him in his thoughts.
With a charming fake smile, he said, “I wish the same to you, head butler.”
The head butler bowed to show respect to Night and then went his own way.
Night just stood at his place and stared at the head butler with cold eyes. He didn’t hear their conversation, right?
All of his sincerity was fake. The head butler had always been King Rael Ozmer’s lap dog. Night never trusted him a bit. How could he, when the very head butler orchestrated his parents’ assassination? Night could never forget that same professional, stoic face of the butler, the expression he wore at his parents’ funeral.
Night clenched his jaws to contain his murmurs. “You just wait. I will burn you all to death.”
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Night slipped past the door with caution, and his eyes searched for the redhead. He spotted the scarlet head near the bed, eyes closed.
“Let’s go,” he said.
Bloom opened her eyes and tilted her head. “Where?”
“Training Room,” he whispered back.
A few minutes later, they were on the pavement of the garden. Their lucky stars shone like anything in the past twenty-five hours because Bloom was yet to get caught.
Bloom said, “You are allowing me to observe your Dragon Art; won’t that be a problem?”
He met her gaze. “Well, if you can pick up the essence in just a day, then maybe.”
She stopped in her tracks as Night walked away. “What if it takes just a day to pick up the essence?”
Night abruptly stopped and stared at her as if he saw a pig fly. “Then you might be a genius.”
Bloom followed his shadow like a duckling and her mother and they stepped in front of a tall construction, standing on pillars with massive circumference. A slanted roof on top, no windows and marble embellishments on the grey rocks. But it had some ventilation outlets on a height for air circulation.
Night walked up to the huge double doors and placed his hand on it. Pastel black with unifying golden dragons outlined and a setting Ra in the background.
When Ra sets, the rule begins.
Dragneel settled in the far corner of an enormous hall in pitch black darkness. Night smiled to himself as he imagined Bloom’s confusion when she would spot absolutely nothing of his Dragon Art in the dark. Well, he didn’t trick her into believing that she would see something. So, according to that logic, Night never lied. But who would tell him that the apparent blind had a special vision?
Night bent to light the lantern his maid brought for him. It was the only glowing ember in the hall, or that was what he thought until he saw Bloom’s unblinking eyes, her midnight blues shining like stars in the sky.
Creepy
Night took his stance in the middle, eyes shut, his mind focusing his concentration between his brows. He released his muscles loose and his breath was even.
The flame encased in the lantern devoured the oil with greed as it grew, casting a sheen of light on his ashen skin. His shadow came into existence on the ground, nice and tall. The flame flickered; a shadow under the base of the lantern.
Then it moved. The shadow under danced along the flame of the lantern and plopped into Night’s shadow.
Night’s right leg traced the smooth floor clockwise. He raised his arms forward, palms half-closed, knuckles outwards and thumbs perpendicularly upward. He relished the Pravāha coursing through his veins. The Pravāha, along with his heartbeat, created the Naād, the rhythm for the Shadow Arts.
The universe is a stage,
I the dancer,
Manatan, the dance of my being.
Pravāha, the flow,
Naād, the rhythm,
And Kannu, the molecules that respond to the Naād.
The walls vibrated along the Naād, transcending beyond the boundaries of the ears. His shadow stood straight behind him, as Kannu built networks to lift it up. The first level of Manatan, the Shadow Arts.
Night’s movements gathered momentum as he kindled Kannu into the shadow. The shadow followed Night’s swift footwork without lifting his feet off the floor for an instant. Night’s hands wove the shadow of the walls and converted it into the black mist that always hid under his robes.
Shadow Arts followed the principality of an all-rounder. Seven levels, out of which Night had mastered only three. How he wished to master all of them! He recited the levels in the back of his mind.
Shadow Manipulation
Manipulation of surrounding shadows with the aid of Kannu
Night’s shadow danced to his tunes, fulfilling his orders.
Stealth
Ability to hide and commute through shadows
It was forte for sure because, without its mastery, he could never roam around his mansion in secrecy.
Silent Impact
Ability to attack without a sound
Just like the shadow, which never made a single sound wherever it passed upon, Night’s feet only created craters with impact, but not a single blare.
Night ended his session at the third level. He panted softly as sweat streamed down his back. His fourth and fifth levels were unstable, nowhere ready for use. The sixth and seventh felt way out of his league.
Pravāha Shadow Manipulation
Controls shadows directly, using Pravāha, the direct source of energy. Mastery over it allowed formation of perfect shadow clones down till personality.
Shadow Domain
The craft of creating a space where the practitioner’s wishes were the rules
Shadow Split Consciousness
The ability to spread out one’s consciousness through shadows
Ananta Chaya
The God of Shadows
Night shook his head and cleared his mind. Wishing for those levels wouldn’t help him. He wiped his face on the towel his maid handed him and glanced over at Bloom sitting in the corner.
Her eyes were still sparkling like before and he imagined her smiling in the dark. Showing off the Shadow Arts to her was a gamble he made. And the consequences were for him to bear.