Chapter 62

  I stepped around the corner, as quietly as possible, sword in one hand, heart in my throat. The Ice Stomper was only a few dozen paces away, still busy digging through the ground with its massive fists as if something of importance lay hidden beneath. I breathed shallowly, my steps deliberate, the snow barely crunching under my boots — and the moment its cavernous eye sockets turned toward me like searchlights, it happened.

  Something enveloped me. Not physically — not like a cloak or shield — but like a presence. A dark, damp heaviness, like thick sludge pressing into my pores, slipping into my lungs, seeping into every corner of my mind. The world dulled around me. Sounds blurred, light lost its edges, and even my thoughts grew quieter, slower.

  I could barely see, yet somehow I still knew how to move. Every step felt not quite my own, yet precise. The control remained with me — for now. I avoided a hanging icicle, ducked beneath an overhang, moved in a trance toward the massive creature. No sound, no shift in air gave me away.

  But then… I felt it.

  The black mass encasing me grew denser. Not yet a stranglehold — but heavier. Tighter. As if it was drawing in, bracing, molding to my form, adapting. And then — soft, quiet — a voice. In my head. Not angry, not furious. Just… waiting.

  "Let me in."

  Three words. And they were enough to choke me.

  A wave of power surged through my body. Hot, damp, greedy. So impatient. It wasn’t a second skin layered over me — it was being woven into me. Gravor was no longer just in my head — he flowed through my veins, pressed beneath my flesh, whispered into my bones.

  I wanted to keep moving, just get out of the creature’s light cone — but my leg gave out. I buckled, knees hitting the frozen ground with a dull thud, and the shroud tightened around me, almost tenderly, like a mother embracing her child — or an executioner checking the knot on a noose.

  I heard nothing from the Ice Stomper. No roar, no rage. Just… attention. Its presence loomed like a shadow behind me. It hadn’t seen me. Not yet. But it felt something.

  "Focus on my voice."

  Gravor’s tone was firmer now. No childish giggling. No smug amusement. This was command. Claim. Possession. And I could feel my thoughts begin to blur — an echo no longer my own. Images flashed. Foreign thoughts. Memories, maybe not even mine.

  I clenched my jaw, bit down hard until it hurt.

  Not again. Not like in the chamber. Not like back then, when I nearly gave him everything. I remembered the fight against Simon — being thrown from my own body. Vin. Her voice, her calm. I remembered myself.

  "No!"

  The scream erupted inside me. No echo. No hesitation. Just raw denial. Wild. Fierce. I shoved him out, as far as I could — and in the next instant, something broke. The veil over my senses, the guidance through his essence, the orientation. All of it vanished.

  And with it… so did my connection to the physical world.

  -

  I opened my eyes — or at least it felt like I did — and found myself once again in my mindscape. The surroundings were eerily unchanged. The marble floor gleamed dully under a pale light that seemed to come from nowhere. The tall pillars cast no shadows. The couch and armchair stood in the exact same places as before — silent, empty, waiting. The same paintings hung on the walls: fleeting fragments of my memories, imprisoned in golden frames. And even the old book lay open on the table, neat and untouched: “Calming Spells for Beginners and Adepts – From Gentle Winds to the Dream of Mist.”

  But nothing about it felt calming. The air was thicker, as if someone had dissolved anger and mistrust into it like ink in water. My rage lingered in every corner, every edge, pulsing in my veins. The mindscape was no longer my safe retreat — it was my battlefield.

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  "How could you betray me!?" I screamed, and my voice thundered through the empty hall like a storm tearing it apart.

  Gravor appeared. Not lazily in his ridiculous sleeping robe. No. This time, I saw his full form. Lanky limbs, gray and scaly, as if ash had settled on his skin. His body was too long, too thin, hunched like a half-collapsed tower. Beneath the cracked skin, veins pulsed like red-glowing snakes — his insides seemed woven from lava. The horns on his skull curled backward like dead branches, sharp and menacing. Two small flames glowed in his eye sockets — tiny, but hungry.

  And he was angry. In his own way.

  I took a step toward him, heart hammering against my ribs like I’d handed it to him to be carved. “I trusted you! And you took control!? You tried to take over!”

  His gaze flickered, but his stance remained stiff. “I told you we had to work together,” he rasped, his voice like shattered bones. “But cooperation means effort. And yours wasn’t enough in that moment.”

  "Cooperation!?" I got right up in his face, fury burning in my throat. “That only works if I can trust you! If I’m more to you than just a damned host! Not a victim. Not a body you slowly seep into like poison in a well.”

  My voice cracked. I hated that. I hated him. I hated myself. And yet — there it was. That one tear sliding uncontrollably down my cheek. I didn’t wipe it away. It was meant to be seen. He was meant to see it.

  And Gravor… laughed.

  Not loudly. Not mockingly. But softly. Drawn out. A scraping, dry sound that existed more in my head than in the air. Then he stepped back. His voice grew calm. Clear. And bitter.

  "You speak of trust?" he said, almost gently. “While you place your trust in people you've known for less than a week?”

  I opened my mouth — but he gave me no chance.

  "An ash fanatic? A cleric who might just be hallucinating gods? And what about Reyn? A saint? A king? A liar with a polished smile who kills barbarians with a wave of his hand — and you don’t even ask how?”

  I wanted to argue. But nothing came out.

  "And me — me — you don’t trust, even though I know you better than anyone. I know your memories, your thoughts, your pain."

  I gritted my teeth. “Because you take them from me!”

  "Because you won’t share them with me!" Gravor snarled back, and his body trembled. “Because you shove me into a corner until you need me. And then you scream when I act just to survive! I’ve carried you through battles. I’ve kept you alive far longer than you think! I gave you power when all you had was bleeding wounds and broken ribs!”

  "You’re a demon!"

  "And you’re a coward who thinks he’s strong because he hesitates!" Gravor roared, and now the entire mindscape shook. The pillars trembled. One painting shattered. The sofa caught fire.

  I stood still.

  And then I whispered: “I won’t trust anyone who plans to devour me.”

  Gravor stared at me. Long. Wordless.

  Then he spoke quietly, almost like someone who didn’t quite believe his own words. “If I devour you…” His voice was rough, raspy — but not threatening. “…then it would be over. Not just for you.”

  I frowned, ready to argue, but something in his tone stopped me. Something real. Then he lifted his head and looked straight at me. No anger in his gaze. No sly glint. Just… clarity. Maybe even remorse.

  “We’d become something,” he said slowly, almost thoughtfully, “that’s even more abhorrent than I am.” A faint, self-mocking laugh escaped his throat, dry as sand. “And I don’t want that. Even less than you do.”

  He stepped closer. Just one step. I didn’t move back. I could have — the impulse was there — but I didn’t. Something about him had changed. Or maybe something about me. The mindscape, which had moments ago quaked with rage, grew stiller. The burning at the edges faded. The jagged pillars calmed, and the light softened.

  Gravor raised his right hand and held it out to me — open, unguarded, demanding and yet pleading. The long, bony fingers trembled slightly.

  “I made mistakes,” he said. No empty phrase. No mask. No mockery. “I damaged your trust. Destroyed it. Because I fed on your rage. Your fear. Your pain.” His voice grew brittle, like ancient parchment. “And because I influenced you. Because I could. Because… it was easy.”

  He was so close now that I could have felt his breath — if he breathed at all. Only a few fingers’ width separated our faces.

  “But I also give something back,” he continued. “I give you power. No illusion. No drug. Real, raw, dangerous power. Without it, you would’ve fallen already. In the chamber. In the city. In the snow. You need me, Luken. Just like I need you.”

  I stared at his hand. It was still outstretched. Unmoving. No tricks. No dark aura. Just his hand. And my thoughts… raced. Doubt. Anger. Hope. Fear. Memories. Voices. All at once.

  How often had I postponed this decision?

  How often had I hoped it would resolve itself?

  Finally, I slowly raised my head. Looked him in the eyes. Or rather — into the glowing sparks where his eyes should have been.

  “What happens…” My voice sounded strange, almost small. “…if I take your hand?”

  A strange smile flickered across his features. Not a mocking grin. Not a demonic smirk. More like… the faint smile of a creature trying to make a promise — or clinging to one itself.

  “Then… we’ll finally become a Paladin,” he whispered. “But not just any. One like the world has never seen.”

  He extended his hand a little further. Not demanding. Just there. Waiting.

  “And I swear to you,” he said slowly, and every word sounded like a seal, “by all that was ever sacred to me…”

  His voice dropped to a near whisper, but every syllable burned into my memory.

  “You will have the control.”

  No pressure. No force.

  Just his hand.

  And then… mine.