CHAPTER 79: THE SHADOW’S CONVERSATION (2)

Soren held his ground despite every nerve screaming to retreat. The shard against his chest burned cold enough to ache, though Valenna remained silent.

"What do you want from me?" he asked, hating how his voice wavered.

Sylas’s mouth curved in what might have been a smile on a normal man. On him, it looked like a predator baring teeth. "Want? An interesting question. What does the sculptor want from uncarved stone? What does fire want from wood?"

He circled slowly, movements fluid and precise as he studied Soren from different angles. Not threatening, evaluating, like a butcher appraising livestock.

"I see it in you," Sylas said, stopping directly before him. "Genius buried beneath mediocrity. Potential hidden beneath constraints you don’t even recognize." His green eyes narrowed slightly. "You carry a weight you do not yet understand."

The words struck Soren like physical blows. He fought to maintain his composure, to not show how deeply they resonated. How could this killer see what he himself could barely articulate, the sense of something greater just beyond his grasp, the constant feeling of carrying a burden whose shape remained unclear?

"You know nothing about me," Soren said, though the words sounded hollow even to himself.

Sylas’s laugh held no humor. "I know what it means to be shaped by forces beyond your control. To be molded into a weapon when you might have been something else." He gestured toward the distant camp.

"These nobles you serve, they’re part of a system that has been rotting for centuries. They play their little games of politics and power, never realizing they’re already irrelevant."

He stepped closer, close enough that Soren could see the flecks of darker green in his inhuman eyes. "The noble houses will fall. Not because I kill them, though I do, but because they have outlived their purpose. Their kind always does."

The casual certainty in his voice chilled Soren more than any threat could have. This wasn’t boasting or ranting. This was absolute conviction, stated as simply as one might observe that water is wet.

"Strike me," Sylas said suddenly.

Soren blinked, certain he had misheard. "What?"

"Strike me." Sylas spread his arms slightly, leaving himself open. "One free attempt. I won’t defend."

The offer hung in the air between them, impossible and terrifying. Soren’s hand tightened on his sword hilt, the familiar grip offering no comfort. This was madness. This man had cut down seasoned knights without apparent effort. Had shattered Kaelor’s blade with a single stroke.

Still, something in him responded to the challenge. His arm tensed. His breath quickened. For a heartbeat, he saw himself drawing the blade, striking with all the skill Kaelor had beaten into him over months of brutal training.

Then the full weight of Sylas’s aura descended, just for an instant, a crushing pressure that made his knees buckle and his lungs seize. Not the full force that had flattened the camp, but enough to remind him of what he faced.

His hand froze on the hilt, unable to complete the motion.

Sylas nodded, as if confirming something he had already known. "Not yet," he said quietly. "But perhaps... someday."

The shard against Soren’s chest burned suddenly cold, Valenna’s presence surging forward after hours of silence. "He sees what you cannot," she whispered, her voice like winter wind through dead branches.

Sylas’s head tilted slightly, his eyes narrowing as if he had heard, or sensed, something unexpected. For a moment, tension hummed in the air between them, a silent communication Soren couldn’t fully comprehend.

Then it passed. Sylas stepped back, his aura receding to that muted pressure that merely made the forest feel smaller rather than actively hostile.

"We will meet again," he said, the words carrying the weight of prophecy rather than threat. "When you understand what you carry."

And then he was gone, not with dramatic flair or supernatural speed, but simply turning and walking into the deeper shadows between the trees. One moment present, the next absorbed by the forest as if it had reclaimed one of its own.

Soren remained frozen, heart hammering against his ribs, the shard pulsing cold against his chest. Had that actually happened? Or had exhaustion finally broken his mind, conjuring the killer from his fears?

But no, the lingering pressure in the air, the cold sweat on his skin, the trembling in his limbs... those were real. Sylas had been here. Had spoken to him. Had offered him a chance to strike, knowing he would fail.

He forced his legs to move, to carry him back toward the camp. Each step felt like wading through mud, his body suddenly leaden with the aftermath of terror and confusion. What had Sylas meant about a weight he carried? About understanding?

The camp appeared through the trees, torches guttering in the pre-dawn breeze. Soren paused at the forest’s edge, his lungs still tight from the encounter. He carried no wood. The excuse had long since evaporated from his mind, replaced by the echo of Sylas’s words.

’A weight you do not yet understand.’

He stepped from the treeline into the camp’s dim light. The moment he emerged, conversations halted. Heads turned. Eyes fixed on him with renewed suspicion.

Harrick stood among a cluster of Trescan knights, his finger pointed accusingly in Soren’s direction. "Where’s the wood you went to gather?" he called, voice pitched to carry across the camp. "Or did you have more important matters to attend?"

Soren ignored him, moving toward where Kaelor still lay unconscious. He felt the stares following him, heavier now, sharper with fresh suspicion. His back itched as if expecting a blade between the shoulder blades.

"He returns unharmed," someone whispered loudly. "While our brothers lie dead."

"Marked," another voice added. "The killer marked him somehow."

Soren knelt beside Kaelor, checking the bandages more to escape the stares than from necessity. The Swordmaster’s breathing had steadied somewhat, but his skin burned with fever. Another bad sign.

"What did you see out there?"

The question came from behind him.