Shadowborn exile a litrp.., p.6
Shadowborn Exile: A LitRPG Progression Fantasy, page 6
Silence settled in the swirling dust.
Attica exhaled slowly, his chest rising and falling in measured breaths. He felt Eve watching. He didn’t need to look to know what expression she wore.
Attica turned sharply, locking eyes with Tiago. “You.”
The youth had barely risen to his feet. His head dipped slightly, his expression caught between shame and stubborn defiance. “I didn’t know if you would—”
Attica loomed over Tiago, dark hair falling into his face. His shade snapped forward before he even realized it had moved, curling around Attica’s shoulders. Tiago cowered for a second but held his ground. Attica could feel the weight of his own fury, could sense the others watching—especially Eve.
Hadrian’s voice surfaced in his mind. Strike the ones who will carry your name forward, and they will strike in turn.
At the time, it had felt like a riddle, something the old man had said just to sound profound. But now, in the heat of his frustration, it landed differently. The Vanguard had their ways. But violence out of sheer frustration? That wasn’t their way. That wasn’t the mark of a leader.
He glanced at the other ashlings, who were all watching him intently.
Attica finally exhaled sharply and turned away, his shade deflating around him. “Do that again, and I won’t step in next time,” he told Tiago, his voice cold. “You make that kind of mistake on your own, you die on your own.”
Tiago nodded stiffly. “Understood. And …”
“And?” Attica asked, turning back to him.
“Sorry.”
Attica let it go, but his hands were still shaking. He gestured toward the flareback and unclipped his gourd. “Gather its essence; that’s always the first step. Then we can deal with its body. We’ll need its skin, at least the parts that are usable. Use the skin to make bone sacks. It’ll take time.”
“So we’ll camp here tonight?” Eve asked.
Attica answered with a grunt.
Normally, Attica and Eve would have pushed through the night and made it back to the settlement by morning. But with a trio of ashlings? Things went much slower, and it was best for them to spend as much time in the field in preparation of their trial. Out here, the Spiralrealm was alive, shifting with unseen forces beneath a red-ringed sun and a mist that concealed, a fate that could turn without warning. One misstep and it wouldn’t be a lesson—it would be a grave.
After gathering the flareback’s essence, the group got to work butchering the massive thing. Flesh was peeled from muscle, packed into sacks made of its own hide. Bones were freed with careful cuts, their edges honed for later use. Its armored plating, still warm, was pried loose—valuable, if reforged.
By the time they finished, the battlefield had grown still. The only trace of the hunt was the residual hum of energy that still clung to the air, like the ghost of the battle refusing to dissipate.
They made camp beneath an overhanging slab of ancient stone. The land settled, the air thick with the scent of earth. Attica sat cross-legged on a flat stone surrounded by the others, his gourd turning over in his hands, the essence inside shifting faintly, pulsing. Across from him, Eve leaned back against a rock, her eyes closed for a moment.
“Eat,” Attica told the ashlings. He raised his gourd, watching as the others uncorked their own. “One or two inhales.”
Attica demonstrated what he meant as he inhaled deeply, letting the raw power fill his lungs.
The metallic tang was sharp, intoxicating. It lingered in his lungs, stirring something distant. It was the smell of the Sanctum, the same scent that clung to Dayanne’s skin when she returned from long hours beneath the halls. He corked the gourd and glanced toward Eve, who did the same.
She caught his gaze, a faint smile flickering at the corner of her lips.
“I heard the Seer has an even stronger essence,” Tiago said, soon breaking the silence.
Vilken elbowed him hard in the ribs. “Quiet.”
“You’re the one that told me—”
Attica allowed himself a quiet chuckle at their bickering. He rolled his gourd once more in his palm, then set it aside. “She does.”
Vilken frowned. “But the Seer’s is forbidden.”
“It is.”
The final ashling, a girl named Ione, hesitated before speaking. “And the ritual with the Seer … we’ll be required to handle it then, right?”
Attica nodded. “You will. But not her flask, her flask is made of bone. The ritual flask is made of stone and only has a little essence in it. That said, it’s much stronger than this.”
He could feel their eyes on him—not just as their leader tonight, but as someone who had already passed the trial, as someone who had stood before the Seer herself.
A beat of silence. Then, the question he had been waiting for.
“What is she like?” Ione asked.
Attica rested his hands on his knees. He pictured the Seer as she had been that night of his trial—the heavy stillness of her chamber, her ancient form draped across the chair, her sagging skin bathed in unbearable brightness. Her voice had hung in the air, neither here nor gone, just echoing inside the light.
“She’s …” Attica started, then stopped. He thought of the first time he had stood before her, the light, the weight of her words.
“No one has really seen her, have they?” Tiago asked.
Attica ran a hand over the rough stubble on his jaw. He remembered the vision the Seer had given him when she pressed her finger into the center of his head, the settlement burning, the child of light. It was too much. “You will one day,” he finally told the boy.
Tiago shifted closer, lowering his voice like he was sharing a secret. “What about Dayanne? She’s a Spectralist. She works in the Sanctum. She could become one, you know …”
Attica’s fingers stilled. He didn’t react outright, but something in him stirred. Yet again, he could feel Eve’s dark eyes on him, her gaze sharp, but he didn’t turn to meet it.
“You’re asking if she’ll become a Seer,” Attica said, his voice carefully neutral.
Tiago hesitated. “I mean … she’s already with her. Already in the Sanctum. If anyone would—”
Attica cut him off with a shake of his head. “I would hope that isn’t her fate.”
No one spoke. Even Tiago knew better than to push further. Attica couldn’t shake the thought that followed, especially with what was going on back home. I shouldn’t be out here. I should be back at the settlement …
Later that night, once most had settled into a restless half sleep, Attica sat at the camp’s edge, listening.
The Spiralrealm never truly slept.
It shifted in the dark, silent movements just beyond sight, unseen flashes of light stirring in the mist. A random beam of light flaring in the distance caught his attention, shifting just beyond reach—too far to touch, too close to ignore.
Eve approached, moving as she always did, smooth and deliberate. Her shade curled faintly around at wrists, shifting in a way Attica never quite understood. Feminine, but sharp, like the edge of a blade drawn slow.
Eve didn’t speak at first, just settled beside him, her presence slipping into the quiet.
Attica didn’t look at her. He didn’t have to.
The spark between them was there, flickering at the edges of his awareness, something unspoken, something he refused to name.
The quiet moments after battle. The nights spent too long away from the settlement. The way Eve always sat just a fraction closer than necessary. This had happened before. Attica felt it. But he never acknowledged it. Dayanne existed in his mind, in his chest, in the spaces between these long nights.
Yet he couldn’t deny there was something between them. A bond forged in battle, in blood, in nights spent at the edge of the world. Something that didn’t ask for permission. Something that had always been there.
She never pushed. Never tried to break past the lines he had drawn. But tonight, when she exhaled, resting her arms on her knees, her gaze settling on him, the silence between them felt heavier.
Attica ruined it before it could settle. “We’ll be back in the morning.”
“I know. We didn’t have to camp here.”
“I want them to have more experience doing that, especially with a fresh kill.”
“I know,” she said. “But—”
“It will be fine,” Attica said, cutting her off before she could say it. Before she could say her name. “Can you imagine at their age, taking on a flareback with a group that small?”
“Huh.”
He shook his head. “We wouldn’t have dared.”
Eve smirked. “We’re not that much older. You make us sound like Hadrian.”
He gestured toward the resting ashlings. “They’re sixteen, seventeen. The world is changing too fast for them.”
“It always does. Are you sure it’s not changing too fast for you? It will soon.”
Attica glanced at her, catching a flicker of something in her expression before she looked away. His shade stirred, an uneasy ripple against his skin. “What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean. We think the world is different now—and it is. But it was different when the others were our age too, and it will be different for future ashlings.”
Attica frowned. “Flarebacks, glintfangs, brighthowlers, emitters. Flaylights. There are more now than ever. And there will be more in the future.” His jaw tensed. “Remember the strange bones Cassian found?”
A knowing look crossed her face. “I do. Maybe that’s why the ashlings had to try for a flareback. Is it wrong for them to want to prove themselves?”
“You’re defending Tiago?”
“If I recall, you told me once you were going to take one down alone.”
“I would have.”
Eve arched an eyebrow at him. “Then why shouldn’t they?”
Attica didn’t answer.
“The next generation will be bolder,” she continued. “They might need to be.” She nudged his shoulder, her shade brushing against his—light, fleeting, the same way she had always tested boundaries.
Attica tensed.
“I’m just saying.” Her tone was playful, but her eyes were unreadable. “It’s natural to feel the way we do about them. About the future of the settlement. I never thought I’d see the day you, the Lone-Eyed Wolf, became the cautious one.”
“I’m not cautious.”
Eve’s smile faltered slightly. “That’s a ridiculous thing to say. Especially now, with Dayanne waiting …”
Attica grunted a reply.
For the first time that night, Eve looked away first. “I should try to get some sleep,” she said, standing. She hesitated, something unsaid lingering between them. But instead of voicing it, she simply added, “You should too.”
Eve left before he could stop her. The mist swallowed her whole, shifting like something alive.
Attica sat in silence, the weight of her words pressing against something deeper—something he didn’t want to name.
Chapter Twelve
Attica woke to movement. A cool tendril of darkness curled over his shoulder. Not a warning, but something familiar. Watchful.
Eve.
His shade rippled against the stone, fluid and restless, like wind skimming over a black pool. He exhaled slowly, grounding himself before opening his eye to the dim glow of the Spiralrealm.
“You’re awake,” she murmured, her voice sliding into his mind without sound. “I know you went to bed later than all of us—”
“What is this about?” Attica pushed himself up, muscles protesting after the strain of the hunt.
“Want to take a wild guess?”
“No.”
Eve paused for a fraction of a second, before stepping closer. “Tiago is missing.”
“He … what?” Attica glanced toward the two ashlings, Vilken and Ione, standing near the spoils they had stripped from the flareback. Their gazes kept shifting, shoulders tense. A subtle fear—not of the Spiralrealm, but of Attica’s forthcoming reaction.
A slow breath left him, measured, controlled.
Eve continued: “I’ve already checked the perimeter,” she said. “He left before dawn. I can track him, but someone needs to stay with the others.”
“Agreed.”
“I don’t know how far he’s gone.”
Attica dragged a hand down his face, wiping away the last dregs of sleep. “I’ll handle it. Take Vilken and Ione back to the settlement. We’ve pushed them far enough.”
Eve inclined her head and stepped past him. She paused, just within reach. For a moment, her shade stretched ever so slightly toward his, a brush of something unsaid, something felt but not spoken. The tension coiled tight before it broke. “I’ll see you back there.” Then, without another word, she turned and left, leading the others away, their packs heavy with the spoils of the hunt.
Attica watched her go, exhaled, and turned toward the horizon. His shade shifted restlessly, mirroring his irritation.
Tiago. If that idiot has gotten himself killed …
Attica crouched, pressing his palm to the cold stone. “Find him.” His shade stretched forward like a second breath, rippling forward.
A second sight. A second awareness.
Attica’s consciousness wavered, untethering ever so slightly, a disorienting sensation creeping in. And then—whispers. Faint. Fleeting. Not voices, not fully. Just scraps of sound, too soft to form words, too persistent to be ignored. They had always been there, lingering at the edges of his senses. He had never understood them, had never even been certain they were real.
He didn’t let himself linger on them now as he moved on, following Tiago’s tracks.
The climb down was easy. Years ago, scaling the walls of the Spiralrealm had been a feat in itself, but now, his shade anchored him effortlessly, extending and retracting like muscle and sinew.
Attica moved fast, silent, his anger simmering beneath the surface.
He has no right to do this. To just vanish and leave the others without a word, acting like he isn’t responsible for anyone but himself! Attica clenched his jaw. “Reckless. Stupid,” he muttered.
His fingers curled tighter as he landed on a lower ridge, scanning the mist. He knew this feeling—the part of himself that had once been young, reckless, and unafraid.
He wanted to tear into Tiago, to make sure the youth never made the same mistake again. But then he spotted the boy crouched on a narrow ledge, silhouetted against the shifting mist. Not panicked. Not lost. Watching.
Attica frowned. He scaled down in an instant, his shade flickering over the stone.
Tiago didn’t flinch. Didn’t move.
“Tiago—” Attica spit the name out through clenched teeth.
The boy didn’t even glance at him. He simply passed his monocular to Attica. “Look. Between here and the third tier.”
Attica hesitated, then took the instrument. He raised the monocular to his eye and saw it.
A floating shield—no, not a shield, but something shaped like one—hovered just above a lower ledge. The thing was massive, easily twelve feet tall, with dark chitinous plates wrapped around a glowing, pulsating core of light. It drifted weightlessly, suspended by forces Attica couldn’t begin to understand. The light at its center burned steadily, controlled, precise—nothing like the wild, erratic bursts of a flareback.
“Have you ever seen something like it?” Tiago whispered.
Attica lowered the monocular. “I have not.”
Tiago’s grin widened. “A new one!”
“This is not the cause for celebration you think it is.”
“Should we try for it?”
“Wh-what?” Attica’s instincts warred with caution.
If Eve were here, they would do it. She would flank left, Attica would go right. The two would maneuver in sync, like they always did. But Tiago wasn’t Eve. And Tiago wasn’t ready.
“No.”
Tiago blinked. “Why not?”
Attica handed the monocular back to him. “Did I ever tell you what happened to my eye?”
“The others did.”
“Do you not see the lesson there?”
“There are two of us,” Tiago countered.
“We will report it to the other Vanguard and send a party out. We don’t go to the third tier.”
“Why not?”
Attica had often wondered that himself. “It is more dangerous,” he finally said, the words automatic, an answer that closed rather than invited.
“But it was on the second tier when I spotted it. I was up before everyone. My shade …” Tiago hesitated. “It wakes early. Sometimes it forces me to work out. It heals me faster too; I can’t explain it.”
Attica gave him a long look, finally taking in the boy properly. Now that he was paying attention, Tiago seemed stronger than he had been at that age. Leaner, but with more definition.
Attica ran a hand over his jaw. “Be that as it may, you left the group without waking any of us—”
“I just wanted a better look,” Tiago admitted, shoulders rolling back. “And then … I kept following it.”
Attica let out a slow breath, tension draining. He had been angry, but looking at the boy now, he felt something else. Understanding. If it had been him, years ago … would he have done any different? Probably not. He sighed, rubbing his temple. “We’re going back and will report what we’ve both seen to the others. Understood?”
“So we’ll send a party out?”
“We will.”
“And I can be the one that tells them about it?”
“You can, but only if we leave now, Tiago. Some tasks aren’t meant to be tackled blindly.”
The journey back to the settlement stretched longer than Attica liked—mostly because Tiago wouldn’t shut up. It wasn’t that the boy was slow. If anything, his energy was expected. But after hours of travel, the endless stream of questions wore at Attica’s patience.
“What do you think the Seer is actually like?” Tiago asked for what felt like the tenth time.
