“You are me?”

  I ask the shadow, confusion plastered across my face.

  A grin barely noticeable spreads along its shadowy face. It looks wrong—too thin, too sharp, like someone carved it into smoke with a knife. Its lips don’t move, but I hear a whisper anyway, echoing inside my skull.

  ‘Closer than you think.’

  The words crawl across my mind. Before I can answer, Koln swings the door open and steps in. The shadow glances at me tauntingly, grin widening like it knows I’m powerless to chase it for answers, then dissipates. Gone—but not gone. Koln doesn’t notice it. Just me.

  But I can still feel its cold cling shrouding my awareness. It’s more akin to a mental weight than anything physical—like impending doom crouched on my shoulders. Yet at the same time, there’s a twisted familiarity to it. A tinge of nostalgia tangled with dread. Both negative and positive, glued together into something peculiar and wrong.

  “Who were you talking to?” Koln asks, his tone flat but with a faint trace of concern.

  “Myself, apparently.”

  He frowns, but lets it drop quicker than I expected. Familiarity, I assume.

  “Your father experienced the same.”

  Great. Genetics.

  “The shadows?”

  “Yes—” He cuts himself off before saying more.

  “I need to get stronger before you’ll tell me, huh?”

  “No. It’s just not mine to say.”

  Never is.

  “Oh, thank goodness. Would’ve hated to actually get answers. So at least tell me this—am I going insane?”

  He nods. Well, I already knew that.

  So I’m insane. But it’s special insanity. Yes, yes, yes—I love special insanity, for my special circumstances, in such a special world, filled with such special things.

  I sigh.

  “So, what cryptic advice are you here to deliver today?”

  “None—I have to leave.”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  “What? Where to?”

  I blurt out in surprise.

  Koln stays quiet, refusing to give an actual answer. Classic Koln-coded response.

  “Fine. Do you at least know when you’ll be back?”

  “In a month.”

  Great. He gets a month-long vacation and I don’t. Worked to the bone while he takes a sabbatical. Must be nice, just disappearing when things get messy. A month of peace and quiet, while I’m stuck with armies, shadows, and the constant chance of violent death.

  I turn toward the window.

  “Hope you enjoy your vacation.”

  When I glance back, he’s gone.

  Welp. It’s not like he was ever really here.

  ***

  It’s the afternoon. I’m meditating, legs crossed on the ground, trying to ignore the shadow. He pops up at random times, whispers nonsense, then fades. Annoying.

  He whispers mostly taunts or repeats words I’ve already heard from voices i know. When he taunts, his voice sounds eerily familiar but never quite placeable. He mainly stabs at my reasoning for doing what I do. Is it my inner consciousness telling me this? Or just another side effect of my powers? Either way, it can go fuck itself. Damned annoying pest. In fact, it’s looming over me right now.

  “You know, with that resolve you have, you’ll only end up dead.”

  I ignore it, silence stretched like steel wire.

  “Ignoring me won’t make me go away, dumbass.”

  “Tch.”

  I click my tongue. This particular episode has been going on for half an hour—constant yapping like a stray mutt that refuses to leave.

  “You only lead them because you’re scared of being alone,” it hisses.

  That one almost breaks my meditation. Almost.

  “Tch. At you, bastard.”

  “Shut it,” I snap back.

  No response. For once, quiet.

  The fortress noises bleed in as I breathe—soldiers drilling, boots clattering over stone, distant orders barked sharp and clipped. The air stinks faintly of oil, and the rot creeping in with the wind. Even silence here carries weight.

  Then—knock. Knock. Knock.

  That’s why. Thank goodness he’s shy when others are around. Hopefully it stays that way.

  “Come in.”

  The door swings open. Alfrick steps in. His shoulders are stiff, but his eyes hold something steadier than usual.

  “Sir, we’ve formalized a plan for the flood. Our chances are low, but—like sir said—we have you.”

  “Good. But tell me the details after you answer something.”

  “Sir?” he asks with a frown.

  I stand, then move to the chair by the table, gesturing for him to sit. I grab a bottle of whiskey sat on the table and two glasses—or the closest thing this world has to whiskey—and pour us both a drink. No ice. Tragic.

  “Alfrick, no disrespect, but… why do you all trust me so easily?”

  He thinks about it for a long minute. I sip my ‘whiskey.’

  “Sir… we didn’t exactly trust you.”

  “Oh?”

  “We were too terrified of you to disobey. Especially after you single-handedly defeated our whole garrison.”

  “So you all just followed out of fear.”

  “Maybe at the beginning. We didn’t have much choice. Either serve under you and protect the fortress—the most important part of our nation—or return defeated and be executed for mutiny.”

  He takes a sip of his glass, letting the burn buy him time.

  “But sir, now we follow through pride, and trust. You’ve shown more ability and leadership than any Retrevian commander I’ve ever served under. And your actions showed us you care about us, even with your… interesting language. So all in all, I’m happy—honored—to serve under you. I think sir will do great things, and I hope I will too, if I’m under you.”

  I clear my throat. Embarrassing.

  “But what if I turn evil and slaughter your whole nation?”

  Alfrick chuckles at my hypothetical.

  “How could a person like sir be capable of such a thing? You spare surrendering soldiers, shelter villagers in need, you even let us take shelter inside the fortress our previous commander left us outside in the mud. I haven’t seen sir do something that was objectively bad. Except maybe the grin you carry when fighting.”

  “My grin? It’s that bad?”

  I pull a mock offended face, and we both chuckle.

  “Alright, thanks. Now—what’s the plan?”

  “Sir, the rough gist is this—we’ll meet the flood at the border between nature and rot. From there, we’ll peel back slowly toward the fortress for our last stand. And for the big ones… sir will have to deal with them personally.”

  “Hmm. Sounds fun. Anything else?”

  “No, sir. But… thank you. Really.”

  He salutes and leaves.

  The door shuts, and I’m left with my thoughts.

  Poor guys. They’ve been through enough—chewed up and spit out by commanders who saw them as fodder. And now they’ve thrown their faith into me.

  Lucky them. Stuck with me as their shining beacon. A lunatic with a sword, a shadow for a conscience, and no vacation days.