Shadow Slave: Foreign shadow

The sun was once again retreating behind the jagged peaks, casting long, bruised shadows over the camp.

​A man in his late twenties sat with the shaft of his spear wedged between his shoulder and the crook of his right elbow. A crimson cloak shield him from the snow’bites. In his hands, he held a piece of weathered wood and a small paring knife. He was carving a wooden horse.

​Suddenly, a heavy, affectionate slap on the shoulder nearly sent the knife skidding across his palm, almost taking two fingers with it.

​”Hey, you old fart! What are you doing? Still playing with toys?” a longtime friend chuckled, dropping down to sit beside him.

​”No. I’m working the wood. It’s for my daughter,” the man replied, showing the half-carved figurine to his companion. ”She was barely two months old when we marched out of the village.”

​”Oh,” the friend said, handling the small carving with uncharacteristic care before handing it back. ”Listen! Word is the next village has a brothel with some very cute fairies. Why don’t we pay them a visit?”

​The man looked at his friend for a long moment before answering. ”You do remember I’m a married man, right?”

​His friend snorted and rolled his eyes. ”Oh, come on! Do you honestly think your woman is spending her days weaving a shroud while you’re out here breaking your back? Live a little!”

​The man sighed, choosing not to respond. He and the other soldier had been like brothers since childhood. His friend had a good heart, but he was undeniably tactless when it came to certain matters.

​At that moment, the friend’s gaze drifted toward the path. The new recruit was passing by, accompanied by a smaller figure—likely another new addition to the militia, judging by the crimson mantle.

​”Hey, Orua! Come join us!” the friend called out, waving him over.

​The recruit, the young man known as Orua, turned toward them and offered a stiff wave. ”My apologies, but I’m currently executing a direct order from the Commander. I’ll join you later.”

​With that, he quickly hurried away.

​Auro could feel the little demon he was escorting trembling with suppressed laughter under his hand.

​”Orua? Let me get this straight,” the little wretch whispered, his voice dripping with mockery. ”You took the single Rune that makes up your name and just... Pffft! flipped it? Is this the famous treachery of the Nine?”

​”Shut. Up.” Auro hissed through gritted teeth, his grip on Sunny’s shoulder tightening.

***

Of all the crooked lessons the Outskirts had beaten into Sunny—with honorable mentions going to pickpocketing, swindling, and street brawling—the most vital was: always bite first!

​He hadn’t intended to kill anyone before the Nightmare Creatures made their inevitable appearance. He knew shedding blood so early would kick up a needless hornets’ nest. But if the alternative was becoming the plaything for that lecherous old wretch, he had to act.

​The plan to lift the dagger from Auro and stage a mutual killing between the slave and the soldier who had lashed him had been a stroke of desperate, heat-of-the-moment brilliance. Even now, he felt a flicker of grim pride for pulling off such a feat twice in one night.

​But when Auro had ordered him to don a disguise and follow him to the Commander’s tent, Sunny’s heart had skipped a violent beat. Until a single, nagging question clawed at his mind: ’If he caught me, why didn’t he just denounce me right then and there, in front of everyone?’

​The answer could be anything.

​Curiosity warred with anxiety. He had no inkling of what the enemy was plotting, but he leaned on one scrap of logic like a lever: if Goliath hadn’t executed him on the spot, there had to be a reason.

​”Give me back my dagger, thief,” Auro muttered, his voice thick with suppressed rage as they walked.

​Sunny reached into the pocket of his tunic, hidden beneath the leather armor. He drew the weapon and offered it back to Auro hilt-first, holding the blade daintily between two fingers. ”Here. For the record, I didn’t steal it; I merely borrowed it,” he said coolly.

​Auro snatched the dagger and sheathed it cautiously, not deigning to offer a reply. Sunny waited a beat before adding, ”And for what it’s worth, I took it for self-defense. That old wretch intended to rape me.”

​Auro’s gaze snapped back to the boy. At the news, a fraction of his anger flickered out, replaced by a clouded expression. ”Why didn’t you speak up? I could have protected you.”

​”And you truly believe I would have trusted my own slaver?” Sunny replied, his eyes fixed dead ahead.

​Auro opened his mouth to retort, but the words died before they could form. He looked away, a heavy sigh escaping him as the grim logic of Sunny’s words hit home. After a moment of silence, he looked at the boy again. ”Who are you, really? What do you know about the Nine?”

​”Me? I’m just a shadow,” Sunny said, still staring at the path. ”As for the Nine... I know enough. Everything that matters, at least. I know there are nine of you. I know the Children of War took everything from you—my condolences, by the way. I know about your mission. And I know you are all slaves to fate.”

​Sunny turned his head then, meeting Auro’s eyes with a smile that wasn’t mocking, but heavy with a jagged kind of pity.

​Auro’s shock was instantly replaced by a flash of indignation at the final remark. ”Slaves? You think we are slaves to fate?”

​Sunny scoffed, returning his gaze to the road. ”Oh, please, Auro! Do you expect me to believe that one day the Nine just gathered around a table and unanimously decided, ’Yes! Let’s avenge our fallen homes by killing every last God’? Hmm?”

​Auro struggled to find a rebuttal. ”You can’t understand! You don’t know what it feels like to-”

​”I’m sure I don’t!” Sunny cut him off, his voice suddenly sharp with a cold, jagged edge. ”After all, your lot only razed the temple where I was born and raised, and slaughtered everyone I ever cared for.”

​Auro fell silent. The weight of the boy’s bitterness felt like a physical pressure in the air between them.

​Finally, they reached the large command tent. They had arrived at the place where Goliath had commanded the boy be brought.

​Sunny stepped away from Auro to enter, but before crossing the threshold, he paused. He turned one last time, locking eyes with the young hero.

​”Try to think for yourself for once.”

​’Please, just take the bait,’ he thought as he turned.

​Leaving the young hero alone with his doubts, Sunny stepped into the lion’s den. He had woven truth and lies together, planting a seed of uncertainty in Auro’s heart. Now, he only had to wait for it to sprout.

***

Crossing the threshold, Sunny had braced himself for a grim interrogation chamber—a table, two chairs, and Goliath pressing a cold blade against his throat to make him talk. He had imagined a litany of tortures so vivid they made him curse his own imagination.

​Instead... ’What in the Spell-’

​The table and chairs were there, but the scene was anything but hostile. Goliath’s massive greatsword was propped carelessly against a cot piled high with furs from gods-know-what abominations at the back of the tent. The Champion of War himself was seated at the table, which was laden with a spread for dinner. With his remaining hand, he was calmly pouring a dark, reddish wine into two wooden goblets.

​As the giant looked up and saw the boy, he gestured toward the empty seat. ”Well? Don’t just stand there like a post. Please, sit.” He spoke with an unnerving gentleness, setting the wine pitcher down.

​It took Sunny a second to shake his head and compose himself before accepting the offer. Keeping his eyes locked on the giant—whose tempered metal armor and crimson mantle seemed to fill the tent—he reached the chair opposite his captor.

​What confused Sunny most was Goliath’s current aura. The first time he’d seen him, the man looked like a war-crazed zealot whose only purpose was slaughter. Now, he seemed like an entirely different person. He radiated a friendly, almost trustworthy presence.

​Sunny felt a flash of visceral disgust at the sensation. Trust? This was the man who had led the raid on the Shadow Temple. He was the reason the twins, Gaston, and his Thene were dead. And yet, Sunny couldn’t deny that the man’s sheer mass and power demanded a primal sort of respect.

​”Are you hungry? Please, help yourself,” Goliath said without a hint of malice, his voice unusually steady.

​Sunny didn’t look at the food. ”What became of Thene’s body?” he asked, his voice tight with a sliver of sorrow.

​Goliath exhaled slowly. ”Don’t worry. No one laid a finger on her. I buried her body myself—as immaculate as the moment she drew her last breath.”

​Sunny lowered his gaze, his throat tightening. He touched neither the food nor the wine. A heavy silence filled the space between them.

​Goliath broke it first. ”You know, boy? You are unusually calm for someone who has just killed for the first time.”

​At the words ’killed’ and ’first time’ in the same sentence, Sunny almost opened his mouth to retort, but he caught himself at the last second and refused to speak.

​Goliath noticed the hesitation, but his calm expression didn’t flicker.

Silence descended once more, the conversation feeling like a one-way street until the giant picked up his wine goblet. A wide, knowing smile spread across his face—a look that briefly recalled the ferocity of the Champion of War.

​”Tell me, boy. Satisfy my curiosity,” Goliath murmured, leaning forward. ”Why does a Temple Slave of Shadow God possess [the Heart]?”