Full Names

Shiiga Darlok

Known Relations

Corvus Leinor (Soul Twin)

Itze Litora (Fiancé)

Background

Shiiga is a member of the Nosteramean people, a race indistinguishable to humans.

— —

 -- Continued immediately after Corvus Leinor’s story –

“Corv!” Shiiga screamed towards the carnage of the magarüm pillar. “CORVUS!!” his voice rang against the crackling flames of his village. A village that mere moments ago lay sleeping. A village innocent in its existence raided in the dark of night by soldiers clad in golden armor. Shiiga’s eyes burned from the fusion of smoke and tears that were running down his face. His family was gone, his village was gone, and now in a chaotic explosion of purple lightning a- what was that? A flashback to the moment sprung to his consciousness as he replayed events to decipher their meaning.

Corvus had attempted to reestablish the village shield using the magekeer’s spell but it’d gone wrong. He hadn’t seen what, but a magical explosion had ripped the sky apart. The soldiers he’d been fighting had burst into purple flames as this violent chain lightning ripped from the cracked sky and jumped through the village, seemingly conducted by the golden armor of the invaders. In the moment he had spun to retreat towards Corvus, he saw his soul twin standing in the middle of the chaos, holding an oddly shaped skull in one hand as his other remained outstretched towards the triangular rend suspended in the air between the two of them. Corvus’s eyes radiated a violet so bright they pierced the smoke. They turned towards Shiiga, who lunged towards his friend, hand outstretched. The moment slowed to a time-breaking crawl. Corvus screamed towards Shiiga but the hum of the triangular object cut all audio. The triangle pulsed violently and in the moment before their hands were to meet, Corvus and the triangle were gone.

Shiiga noticed he was hyperventilating and had fallen to his knees. He’d lost a lot of blood before the walls of fire had cauterized the wounds on his torso shut. He fought to regain control of his body as the flames from his village billowed in the dark night. Anger, panic and grief paralyzed him. “Who could have done this?!” he thought.

His memory flickered back to something the soldiers had said “For Erakos, for Donovan!”. He exhaled harshly through his nose, funneling his emotions into pure hatred for a moment to have the strength to stand. Flames reflected in his pain-striken eyes. “Donovan”. He repeated the name several times as he scanned the crackling remains of his childhood home, making sure through these forged memories that he’d never forget the name of the man responsible. The man who he now silently vowed vengeance upon. “Donovan.”

Shiiga made his way to the edge of the village clearing. He scanned his memory of Erakos and of what he’d learned in school about the holy capital of Nosteram. It was across the sea, even further than Makora. It’d be a long journey. Even making it to the sea could be dangerous with half of Daba between his village and the eastern shore. Shiiga reached down and dusted off a golden torso armor, his stomach lurched at the thought of what the dust might contain, but his composure remained. The armor bore an insignia on its exterior - four wings surrounded an orb of light. He traced his ashen finger across it, feeling the grooves of the fine metalwork. Suddenly the sound of armor and a voice rang out from the nearby forest. “Check for survivors!”

His pulse raced as a profound idea struck him. Shiiga dropped to the ground and clamored to put on the armor, wriggling his body to loosely attach grieves, gauntlets and a helm nearby. He lay deathly still on his left side as the clanging of the armor got louder and closer. He closed his eyes and held his breath.

Footsteps approached him and walked away towards the origin of the blast. “No survivors!” The voice called back. Similar voices sprang from throughout the village circle, fainter and louder as the recon team scouted the decimated rubble. A footstep thumped near his head and a boot prodded his stomach, turning him over on his back. Shiiga shakily opened an eye, not needing to feign injury too much, then let his head fall to the side.

“We got one! One survivor!”

A pair of footsteps approached him. “Put him under. We don’t know the extent of his injuries and we need a record of what happened here.” commanded the closest voice. Something wooden hit the ground near head. “Steigenst sonom” a woman’s voice echoed as Shiiga’s body went limp and levitated off the ground. His weightless limbs sprawled out  and his consciousness waned as he succumbed to a deep paralyzing sleep.

- - -

A profound sense of confusion and unease filled Shiiga as he lifted his head. A think strand of his ivory white hair fell into his vision and he whisked it away with a flick of his head, realizing the armor he was wearing had been removed. He outstretched his right arm confusedly and lifted the long black and purple cloak now draped around his body with it. The cloak slipped back revealing a neon purple, ghostly transparent arm. It was jagged and angled as if it was made of rock and ended in razor sharp nails at the end of each finger. He panicked and backpedaled, slipping on something that caused him to fall on his back.

“Help!” He shouted, his voice echoing eerily as his eyes flicked skyward. Purple lightning  flashed in the distance revealing a figure above him. The figure appeared to be walking but on a different plane of existence, as if the sky was nothing but a mirror reflection of his reality, but a different one. The figure stopped and fell to the ground, scrambling to put something on. It- it was golden armor. Shiiga focused his gaze. His breath getting heavier and faster. The young adult with ivory white hair stopped moving and lay curled up in a ball on his left side. “One survivor!” echoed in the distance as a lightning storm began to vibrate the air around him. Chills ran down his back. What was this place?

The lightning quickened and the world began to tear itself apart, fragmenting the vision of his past in the sky. He attempted to lift his body from the ground but to his horror his arms had now become part of the ground and the crystals around him were beginning to grow around him. He scrambled harshly against the elements and yelled at the projection for help. As the vision fogged from the outside in onto itself the Shiiga inside it suddenly craned its head skyward looking directly at him, but the face looking back was not his own. Instead, piercing purple eyes repelled the fog of the vision and Corvus’s pained expression in his final moments shown clear as day. The previously unheard scream rang out but was decidedly distorted. “Shiiga! Is that you?”.

“Corvus?!” Shiiga croaked as the crystals began to encompass his torso now. The purple eyes retracted their light slightly, though the pupils remained blackened. A bead of fluorescent purple liquid fell from them. “Shiig, help me.” Corvus quivered. The ground cracked violently as the lightning intensified causing the crystals to pierce his side as Shiiga screamed. The image of Corvus imploded.

Shiiga jolted awake to a lurching sensation as the wagon hit a bump on the stone road. Sunlight stabbed at his eyes, forcing him to squint. A firm hand steadied him by the shoulder. "Whoa there, soldier," came a gruff voice from his right. Blinking rapidly, Shiiga took in his surroundings: he was sitting on a wooden bench at the back of a horse-drawn wagon, its wheels clattering over uneven cobblestones. Around him sat a handful of men and women in travel-worn garb. Some wore bits of golden armor emblazoned with the four-winged Erakosian insignia he recognized, while others were dressed in simple tunics with red cross armbands – medics, tending to the wounded. They all stared at him now, a mix of curiosity and concern on their soot-streaked faces.

Shiiga’s heart hammered in his chest as confusion flooded him. His last clear memory was the inferno consuming his village and the flash of violet lightning – Corvus’s spell gone awry. Everything after had spiraled into a fever dream of pain and violet light. Now, the warmth of morning sun and the jostling of the wagon felt jarringly ordinary by contrast. His muscles tensed, instinct telling him to leap up and escape, but he forced himself to stay calm. He did not know these people, and for all he knew, they were the very enemies who had razed his home hours ago.

The man beside him, a burly soldier with a bandaged head, gave a relieved snort when Shiiga focused his gaze. “Thought we’d lost you for a moment. Take it easy,” the soldier said, his tone almost fraternal. Shiiga swallowed, nodding faintly. His throat was dry as desert sand. “Where…?” he croaked, the single word scraping out. He wasn’t even sure what to ask first: Where am I? Where are we going? Where is Corvus?

“We’re en route back to port,” the medic across from him answered gently, interpreting his hoarse whisper. She was a middle-aged woman with soot on her cheeks and a kind, tired smile. “Teldan Harbor, a few hours east. From there, ship to Erakos.” She tilted her head, studying him. “You took quite a knock back there. Just rest. You’re safe now.”

Safe. The word made Shiiga bristle, and a bitter taste filled his mouth. Safe, when everyone he knew was dead? Safe, when Corvus was missing, trapped in some unknown hell? He clenched his jaw to hold back a retort. Instead, he lowered his eyes and murmured, “Thank you.” It was safer to play along, to pretend he was just another Erakosian soldier injured in the chaos. The guise he’d assumed in desperation had inadvertently saved his life; now it might buy him the time he needed.

As he shifted, the long black-and-purple cloak draped around his shoulders slipped slightly. Underneath, Shiiga realized, he was still shirtless, his torso wrapped in fresh bandages where burns and cuts had been tended. He caught a glimpse of his right forearm as it emerged from the cloak: to his relief, it looked normal. No jagged crystal growth, no ghostly translucence like in his nightmare. He flexed his fingers subtly; they trembled, but remained flesh and blood. Was it just a dream? he wondered. In the chaos after the blast, he’d seen his arm warped into something monstrous. Now it was merely scarred and bruised. Perhaps it had been a hallucination brought on by shock... or perhaps something more.

A dull ache throbbed in that arm and deep in his side where, in the dream, crystal shards had impaled him. The pain was real enough. He winced and pulled the cloak tighter, hiding his arm from curious eyes. Whatever affliction the Void’s touch had left in him, he had no intention of revealing it to these people. For now, he needed to remain the anonymous survivor they believed him to be. He could not afford any suspicion.

The wagon rattled on. Shiiga’s senses gradually sharpened past the initial disorientation. He became aware of the smell of smoke clinging to him, remnants of his burned village. The other occupants bore similar scents of ash and blood. A young soldier across from him had his arm in a sling and stared blankly at the floorboards, lips moving silently as if in prayer. Next to him, an older man coughed wetly and leaned against the side, clutching a bloodstained helm in his lap. These were survivors of the night’s carnage, just like Shiiga, yet utterly unlike him. They were the invaders, Erakosian troops who had slaughtered innocents on Donovan’s orders. Shiiga had to remind himself that they didn’t know who he truly was. To them, he was presumably one of their own, a fortunate comrade who lived through an inexplicable disaster.

He caught snippets of hushed conversation from the front of the wagon, where the canvas flaps were drawn open.

“...Never seen anything like it,” one man was saying, voice low and shaken. “Purple lightning that crawled like a living thing… wiped out an entire squad in a blink.”

A younger voice answered nervously, “They say the Void touched that place… the commander shouldn’t have sent us. Nost save us, we shouldn’t have stepped foot in cursed Daba.”

“Keep your voice down,” hissed a third. “We had orders. Lord Donovan will have our heads if word of disobeying the Queen gets out. He’ll handle Her Majesty… Just be grateful any of us made it back.”

Shiiga closed his eyes, absorbing every word. So, it was true.. Donovan had gone against the Queen’s wishes in attacking Daba. Even the Erakosians fear their own campaign, he thought. A tremor of anger went through him at the mention of Donovan, the name he had burned into his soul. But he forced his expression to remain neutral, slack with feigned fatigue. Inside, his hatred smoldered like hot coals. Donovan: the one who orchestrated this atrocity. The one he had vowed to kill. Shiiga’s fingers twitched toward where a sword hilt would be, but of course his weapon was gone. Patience, he told himself. Now was not the time.

As the wagon pressed on, dizziness swept over Shiiga. The sunlight and motion made his head swim. He realized he was far weaker than he’d thought; the spell that had knocked him out, combined with blood loss and trauma, had sapped his strength. His eyelids grew heavy despite his best efforts to stay alert. Eventually, with the murmured conversations blending into the creak of wheels, Shiiga let exhaustion overtake him. His chin dipped to his chest as he drifted into a fitful half-sleep.

No sooner had he slipped into darkness than visions swarmed him. Crack! He was back in that shattered mirror-world from before, the air alive with crackling energy. In the distance of this dream, he heard Corvus screaming. Shiiga’s heart pounded. He couldn’t see his friend, only jagged silhouettes against a violet sky. The Void pulsed at the edges of his mind, an oppressive presence. Searing pain lanced through Shiiga’s chest; it wasn’t coming from his own body, he realized, but from elsewhere- through his soul. Corvus. In the voidscape behind his closed eyes, he caught a flash of perception that was not his own: a glimpse of a dark, endless expanse littered with floating crystal shards. Through Corvus’s eyes, he looked down at his own hands- bloodless, shaking, fingers curled around a strange skull with glowing runes. Corvus’s voice echoed, ragged and desperate: “Shiiga… Shiiga, please…!”

Shiiga jerked awake with a stifled gasp, nearly tumbling off the wagon bench. A medic steadied him again. The wagon had come to a halt. Twilight had fallen, the sky above streaked orange and purple. Around them, a busy port bustled – Teldan Harbor, presumably. Dockworkers shouted orders, and the briny scent of the sea mingled with woodsmoke in the cool evening air. They had arrived while he slept, and now the soldiers were disembarking, limping or being helped off the wagon one by one.

Shiiga’s skin was clammy, his heart racing from the nightmare. The psychic aftertaste of Corvus’s terror clung to him. He pressed a palm to his sternum, willing the shared pain to ebb. It did, slowly, but not before leaving him with a stark reminder: Corvus was alive, trapped in some void between worlds, and he was suffering. Shiiga’s resolve hardened further. He had to save his soul twin somehow. But for now, he had to concentrate on survival and what lay ahead.

“Alright, let’s move, let’s move!” A captain barked orders as the wagon was unloaded. Lantern light flickered across weary faces. Shiiga slid down from the back of the cart, his boots hitting the cobblestones. His legs almost buckled, stiff from travel, but he steadied himself. He pulled the dark cloak tighter around his body, instinctively concealing the bandages on his torso and any telltale sign of the strange corruption he feared might lurk beneath.

The harbor was alive with activity. Two large galleons bearing the Erakosian crest were docked nearby, sailors and soldiers ferrying supplies aboard. Injured troops were being guided up the gangplank of the nearest ship. Shiiga merged into their line, keeping his head down. Nightfall was a mercy; in the dim light, no one paid him much attention. He was just another silhouette in a tattered cloak. As he shuffled forward, he overheard fragments of conversation in the salty air:

“...Her Majesty’s own ship, can you believe? She sent it as soon as word reached the capital.”

“She must be livid with Donovan. Gods help us all when we get back…”

“Quiet, fool. Just be glad she cares. Most queens wouldn’t lose sleep over a few lost soldiers.”

Her Majesty’s own ship? Shiiga risked a glance up the gangplank. Lanterns hanging from the ship’s rails illuminated its name in gold script: Shimmerwind. Crewmembers hurried people along, and on the deck above, an officer with a plumed helmet oversaw the boarding. There was no sign of any “Her Majesty” at the moment, likely the Queen wasn’t actually on this vessel, just dispatched it for the wounded. Still, the fact that the Queen of Erakos had intervened personally was intriguing. What kind of ruler was she, if she truly cared about the lives of foot soldiers? Donovan, by contrast, had treated them as disposable pawns.

Under other circumstances, Shiiga might have felt a sliver of gratitude that the Queen had sent aid. But his emotions were too raw, too polarized between grief and fury to allow much else. He held onto the anger. It was easier that way. Anger would keep him sharp and ready. Vengeance was the beacon that guided him now, vengeance for his family and for Corvus. And the path to that vengeance led ever eastward, across the sea, into the heart of Erakos.

The journey by ship took the better part of two days. The Horizon Sea was mercifully calm, but Shiiga’s nights were anything but. Each time he drifted to sleep in the hammock crammed below decks, he was assaulted by nightmares that were not entirely his own. More than once he woke biting back a scream, the phantom echo of Corvus’s agony on his tongue. A few of the other wounded stirred at the noise of his thrashing; Shiiga excused himself with mumbled apologies, blaming pain from his injuries. In truth, the pain in his body was far less troubling than the pain in his soul. Something dark was spreading inside him, he could feel it in the feverish heat that would creep up his neck and in the moments his vision swam with purple tint. It was as if a fragment of that void had lodged itself under his skin. When these spells came, he would sweat and shiver, clutching the pendant he still wore under the cloak (a simple trinket Corvus had gifted him years ago). Focusing on that small familiar object and on his hatred for Donovan grounded him, kept him from spiraling into panic. He told no one of these symptoms. To the Erakosian crew, he was simply a quiet, haunted young soldier, one of many traumatized by the catastrophe in Daba. It was a convenient mask that hid his true turmoil.

On the morning of the third day, the capital of Erakos finally came into view. Shiiga stood at the ship’s railing as they sailed into the vast harbor, and his breath caught despite himself. The city of Aurora’s Reach spread across the shoreline and climbed a gentle hill, its alabaster stone buildings shining in the dawn light. Tall spires and domed towers rose proudly, glinting with gold accents. At the highest point loomed a grand citadel, crowned by a radiant beacon crystal that bathed the city in a soft luminescence even in daylight. It was a city that looked blessed, peaceful… the Kingdom of Light incarnate. How bitter that such a serene vista hid the cruelty he had witnessed. This beauty is a lie, Shiiga thought, gripping the rail until his knuckles whitened. I will make them see the darkness they’ve sown.

Disembarking at Aurora’s Reach was a blur. Dock officials and royal stewards met the ships to organize the returning soldiers. Names were called, assignments given. Shiiga tensed when a steward with a ledger asked for his name, he hadn’t anticipated this so soon. Thinking fast, he recalled the name stitched on the torn tunic he still wore beneath the cloak (it must have belonged to the soldier whose armor he’d taken). “Arran,” Shiiga lied quietly, using the surname he’d seen on the inner collar: “Arran Korliss.” The steward nodded and ticked a list, too harried to scrutinize. Shiiga was herded along with a group of other uninjured or lightly injured soldiers, away from the stretcher cases. Apparently, he would not be going to any infirmary; those who could stand were expected to report in for debriefing and further orders.

His group was guided up wide marble steps from the docks into the lower city. Sunlight poured over immaculate courtyards and polished statues of past Erakosian heroes. Shiiga’s eyes darted everywhere, absorbing the layout- the gates, the guard posts, the towering walls etched with runes of protection. Every detail might be useful for what he intended. No one paid much attention to the quiet man in the back of the squad, cloak hood now drawn over his distinctive white hair. He kept his head down, the very picture of a humble soldier, even as his mind churned. When I arrive at the heart of their power, he resolved, I will find a way to get close to Donovan.

They passed under an archway into a manicured garden plaza adjacent to the main barracks. The air here was cool and fragrant with blossoms climbing trellises. A gentle splash of water sounded from a fountain in the center. It was a strangely tranquil place within a fortress city. Many of the soldiers around Shiiga visibly relaxed upon entering the plaza, knowing they were back on familiar, safe ground. For Shiiga, however, tension coiled in his gut. The last time he’d seen so much as a flower had been before the attack, now any peace felt undeserved, almost mocking. He was an intruder in this oasis.

As the group marched through, an officer out front was droning on about scheduling debriefs and leave rotations. Shiiga hung near the rear, half-listening. His senses, attuned by grief and paranoia, pricked at something else- the faint sound of lilting laughter carrying on the breeze. He turned his head toward a side path flanked by rose hedges. Beyond them lay a smaller courtyard under the open sky, where a beam of sunlight cut through, illuminating dust motes in the air. And in that sunbeam was a figure unlike any other.

A young woman knelt on the flagstones next to a line of bedridden soldiers, the worst of the wounded who must have been brought here from the harbor. She wore an ivory gown belted in gold, simple yet elegant, and her long hair fell in waves of pale silver down her back. Shiiga could only see her in profile, but something about her presence made his chest tighten. Soft golden light emanated from her hands as she held them over a burn-scarred soldier’s leg. The man gasped in relief, color returning to his ashen face. It was healing magic- potent, gentle, and unlike the harsh battle spells Shiiga had seen flung about in war.

He slowed his steps, falling a few paces behind his group, unable to tear his eyes away from the scene. The woman moved with grace and compassion, speaking quiet words to each injured soldier she tended. Shiiga couldn’t hear what she said, but he saw the effect: even the gravely wounded relaxed in her presence, fear and pain easing if only for a moment. She glowed in the midday sun, not just the healing aura, but the way her very being seemed to catch the light. To Shiiga, who had known only darkness and fire for what felt like an eternity, this vision was almost unsettling. A curious mix of warmth and wariness bloomed in him.

He edged closer without thinking, drawn toward the small courtyard. With every step, he felt a slight pins-and-needles sensation prickle through his right arm and along the scars on his side. The closer he came to that gentle golden glow, the more a part of him seemed to recoil – as if the void-touched darkness in his blood reacted defensively to the light. Shiiga inhaled sharply, pausing in the arch of the hedge. He realized then that two royal guards in white cloaks flanked the entry to this healing space. Neither had noticed him yet; their gazes were respectfully fixed on the woman. But Shiiga knew he was technically not meant to stray. He wavered, awareness of his mission warring with an inexplicable urge to step forward.

Just then, the woman stood, finishing with the last patient, and one of the guards spoke softly, “Your Majesty, you should rest. You’ve done enough for now.” Your Majesty. Shiiga’s eyes widened. That young woman was the Princess of Erakos, Itze Litora, the Shimmer Seraph herself. He had expected perhaps an older matron or a distant, imperious figure on a throne. Instead, here she was: tending to common soldiers with her own hands, her expression one of earnest care.

Princess Itze brushed a strand of hair from her face, and for the first time Shiiga saw her fully as she turned. He felt his breath catch. Her features were beautiful, yes- high cheekbones, gentle eyes the color of a clear summer sky, but it was the aura of sincere kindness that disarmed him. In her eyes flickered weariness and concern as she regarded the wounded men, but also a resilience, a quiet strength born of empathy. Shiiga found himself instinctively stepping further into the courtyard before he could think better of it. A twig snapped under his boot.

Both guards snapped to attention at the noise, and Itze’s lifted toward Shiiga. In that moment, Shiiga’s heart thundered as if he were caught doing something forbidden. He straightened reflexively. What am I doing? he chided himself, suddenly acutely aware of how out of place he must look- unkempt, draped in a tattered cloak, staring at the Princess. He should bow, or salute, or something. But under her direct gaze, he felt rooted to the ground.

Itze Litora stepped forward, waving off her guards as they tensed. “It’s alright,” she murmured to them. Her voice reached Shiiga’s ears- a soft, melodious sound that nevertheless carried authority. She approached him with a few unhurried strides. Up close, he could see faint dark circles under her eyes. She looked exhausted from hours of healing, but her smile was gentle. “You don’t need to lurk in the shadows, soldier,” the Princess said kindly. “Come, is there something you need?”

Shiiga realized he had been unconsciously half-hiding behind a hedge post. Heat rose to his face whether from embarrassment or the strange tingling discomfort that her proximity stirred in his void-tainted wounds, he wasn’t sure. He lowered his eyes respectfully. “Pardon me, Your Majesty… I–I was just” he stammered. How long had it been since he’d spoken to anyone of importance without hatred in his heart? Words failed him. He couldn’t exactly tell the truth: that he had been captivated by the sight of her healing magic. Instead he grasped for a plausible reason. “I was ensuring the area was secure,” he lied awkwardly, still not meeting her gaze. “I heard voices and thought… we might be needed.”

Itze tilted her head, and Shiiga braced for suspicion or anger at his intrusion. Instead, she chuckled softly, a sound like a delicate chime. “Ever vigilant. I appreciate the thought.” To his surprise, she reached out and gently clasped his forearm in gratitude. The gesture was informal and sincere. Shiiga tensed under the unexpected touch. A warmth pulsed from her hand through him, and for an instant the dull ache in his side and the dark clawing anxiety in his mind both eased. It was as if a cool breeze swept through the fever of his soul.

He finally dared to lift his eyes to hers. Up close, those sky-blue eyes were studying him with an open, disarming sincerity. Shiiga felt exposed, as though those eyes might see straight through the false armor of identity he wore. Did she sense the darkness coiled in him? Did she somehow know what he truly was? The thought made his stomach flip. He quickly averted his gaze again.

“You’re hurt,” Princess Itze noted softly. She had noticed the edge of a bandage peeking from his collar where the cloak had fallen back when he straightened. “Please, sit.” Without waiting for an answer she guided him toward a stone bench by the wall. Shiiga’s mind screamed at him to object. He didn’t want her attention, much less her healing, anywhere near his corruption, but he found himself complying, knees buckling into the seat. It had been so long since someone had shown him gentle concern that it nearly unraveled him.

One of the guards started forward, perhaps to protest the Princess exerting herself further, but a single glance from Itze held him at bay. She knelt slightly to examine Shiiga’s state, close enough that he caught a subtle scent of jasmine. Shiiga’s pulse raced with anxious confusion. He felt cornered by kindness. “It’s nothing, really,” he managed to say. His voice was taut despite his efforts to sound casual. “Just a few scratches.”

Itze gave him a half-smile that told him she wasn’t fooled. “Even scratches can fester if left untended.” She raised her hands, and that same soft golden light began to radiate from her slender fingers. “May I?” she asked, ever polite.

Shiiga’s throat went dry. Panic coiled in him at the thought of that light invading his body would it burn away the void’s stain, or expose it? He almost pulled back, but realized how suspicious that would look. He had no choice but to nod. “...As you wish, Your Majesty.”

She hovered her hands just above his ribcage where a bloodstained bandage peeked out. Shiiga braced himself. A gentle warmth bloomed there, sinking through cloth and skin. It was a cool warmth, paradoxically, like standing in the morning sun after a cold night. He felt it seep deeper, soothing the torn muscle and bruised bone beneath. A faint sigh escaped his lips before he could stop it- the relief was immediate and overwhelming. In that same heartbeat, though, a sharp stab of resistance kicked in from the void corruption. The purple taint coiled around his soul flared in instinctive defense, sending a jab of icy pain through Shiiga’s nerves. He inhaled sharply, and Itze misread it as pain from the wound.

“Almost done,” she assured gently, misinterpreting his reaction. She closed her eyes in concentration, and the golden aura flared brighter for a moment. Images flickered unbidden in Shiiga’s mind. His memory of the violet lightning, the moment Corvus vanished, the crystal arm in the dream- each one seemed to snarl against the touch of her light. He bit down hard on the inside of his cheek, forcing himself not to flinch away. Sweat beaded on his forehead. After a few agonizing seconds, the opposing forces within him settled. The healing light receded, leaving a dull ache but notably less pain than before.

“There.” Itze opened her eyes and gave him a reassuring smile. “That should help.”

Shiiga exhaled slowly, releasing a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. The pain in his side had indeed lessened significantly. Beneath the bandages he felt new skin knitting where there had been open burn wounds. She had healed him… at least physically. He ought to have been grateful, and part of him was, oddly. Yet another part of him, the part still screaming for revenge, felt wrong-footed and defensive. He mustered a respectful bow of his head. “Thank you, Your Majesty. You’re... very kind.” The words felt inadequate, foreign in his mouth. Kindness was not something he associated with Erakos, not after what happened. It was disconcerting to find it here in the form of this soft-spoken princess.

Itze rose to her feet, clearly a bit tired from the effort, but she nodded in satisfaction. “Get some rest when you can, soldier. That’s an order,” she added lightly, as if making a small joke. “We need you and all your comrades back on your feet. Hard days lie ahead.” There was a weight to her tone at those last words, a shadow of worry that crossed her face. Shiiga wondered what troubles occupied her mind, beyond the recent debacle in Daba that she’d only just learned of. If only you knew the half of it... he thought bitterly. Hard days indeed were coming, for all of them.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” he replied quietly. As she stepped back, Shiiga hesitated, then dared to ask, “Your Majesty... why are you doing this personally?” His eyes flicked to the rows of injured men lying on cots, now sleeping easier thanks to her intervention. It had been gnawing at him: why would a royal tend to lowly soldiers herself? It didn’t fit the image of the callous Erakosian leadership he’d envisioned. “Surely there are royal healers… you needn’t exhaust yourself.”

Itze regarded him with gentle surprise, as if the question had never occurred to her. “They are my soldiers,” she answered simply. “My people. How could I do otherwise?” That earnest answer hung in the air between them. Shiiga had no reply. The concept of a ruler who thought this way left him momentarily at a loss. Donovan’s rallying cry to his troops had been for conquest and glory; this princess’s devotion seemed of a completely different nature.

A call from down the path interrupted them: a liveried attendant was hurrying toward the princess. “Your Majesty! The council is assembling. Lord Donovan has arrived and requests your presence.”

Shiiga went rigid at that name, his hands instinctively balling into fists beneath his cloak. Donovan... here. Though he longed to whirl around and set eyes on the man who had destroyed his life, he forced himself to remain still. Disguise, he reminded himself. He was a faceless soldier now, not a vengeful villager.

Itze gave the attendant a weary nod. “Very well. Inform him I’ll be there shortly.” The attendant bowed and scurried off. She then turned back to Shiiga, oblivious to the way his posture had stiffened at the mention of Donovan. “Duty calls, it seems,” she said with a rueful smile. “Take care of yourself…?” She trailed off, realizing she didn’t know his name.

Shiiga’s mind raced. He had almost given his real name out of habit, but caught himself just in time. “Arran, Your Majesty,” he lied smoothly, using the same name he’d given the steward. The falsity tasted strange, but he couldn’t risk the truth. Not here.

“Arran.” Itze repeated it kindly. “Rest, and recover, Arran. I have a feeling Erakos will need strong men in the days to come.” With that, the Shimmer Seraph inclined her head in farewell and turned to depart, her silk gown whispering over the stone floor. Her two guards fell in step behind her as she made her way out of the courtyard and up a grand stairway toward the council chambers. In a few breaths, she was gone from sight, the glow of her presence lingering like sunspots in Shiiga’s vision.

Shiiga remained seated on the bench, staring at the empty space where Itze had just been. His heart thudded in his chest, adrenaline belatedly coursing now that the encounter was over. He flexed his healed side gingerly; there was only mild soreness. The throbbing in his head had quieted too. For the first time since that horrific night, Shiiga felt... steadier. The Princess’s brief touch had somehow tempered the raging tempest inside him. Yet it also sparked confusion in his soul. He had expected to infiltrate a den of monsters, to steel himself against cruelty and evil. Instead, he had been met with compassion and light in the form of Itze Litora. It clashed with his hatred, complicating the clear lines of vengeance he’d drawn.

As he sat there in the dappled sunlight, Shiiga replayed the encounter in his mind. One thing was clear amid the haze of conflicted feelings: Itze stood out. In a castle likely filled with cunning lords and hardened warriors, this young princess shone with a purity that both unnerved and captivated him. He could still feel the slight tingling in his arm where she had held it- whether the sensation was from healing magic or his own nerves, he wasn’t sure. He only knew that when she looked at him, he felt seen in a way that made him uncomfortable, as if she touched the very core of him that he was trying to keep hidden.

Shiiga drew a slow breath and rose from the bench. Distantly, a trumpet sounded from the council hall above, signaling the start of some official proceeding. Donovan would be there with her now. The thought of that man under the same roof sent a flash of rage through Shiiga, but he mastered it. There would be a time to face Donovan, blade to throat. But that time was not yet. First, he needed to find his place in this kingdom, to navigate its hierarchy and earn trust where he could. And now he had a promising path to do so.

He glanced once more toward the path where Princess Itze had gone. She was his enemy’s daughter and perhaps his enemy’s greatest weakness. If Donovan had Itze’s ear, then Shiiga would get close to her, closer than any mere soldier had a right to be. He would become her confidant, maybe more, if that’s what it took. Through Itze, he could gain access to the highest levels of Erakosian power, right into Donovan’s inner circle. And when the moment was right, Donovan would fall by his hand, brought low from within his own house.

As Shiiga stepped back out into the main plaza, melding into the stream of soldiers headed toward the barracks, he pulled back his hood. The midday sun caught in his ivory-white hair and for a second, he felt the warmth on his face. Despite everything, a tiny smirk found its way to his lips. Fate had thrown an unexpected opportunity in his path. Meeting the Shimmer Seraph was not something he could have planned, but it changed everything.

“Donovan…” Shiiga whispered under his breath, tasting the name like poison. You’ll get what you deserve. But this time, he would not charge in blindly fueled by rage. No- he would wear a mask of loyalty, use their own faith against them. If earning Itze’s trust was the key to getting close enough to strike, then so be it. Shiiga would play the devoted soldier a little longer. He would stand in the radiant light of Itze Litora, even if it singed the darkness inside him, and he would wait for the shadows to converge on Donovan.

With a final, steeling breath, Shiiga strode off with the other men, his posture tall and confident. In his mind’s eye flashed the image of Itze’s kind smile and Donovan’s name spoken in the same gentle voice. The contrast was startling, and useful. Stay close to her, he told himself as determination hardened within. Watch, learn, and when the time is right… strike.

And so, in the heart of the Erakosian capital, beneath a sunlit sky that felt strangely at odds with the darkness he carried, Shiiga began to lay the first quiet threads of his plan. Little did anyone suspect that behind the solemn, pale-eyed soldier who had earned Itze’s notice, there stood a man envisioning the downfall of a kingdom. Shiiga’s path of vengeance had found an unlikely beacon and he would follow that light until it led him to Donovan’s shadow. Only then, with all pieces in place, would the real reckoning begin.

For now, Shiiga bowed his head and marched onward, a loyal protector in appearance, his true intentions hidden in the close guard of his heart. The stage was set and the game of trust and betrayal had begun, quietly, in the very halls of those who believed him an ally. And with each step he took deeper into Erakos, Shiiga felt one step closer to fulfilling the vow he made under a burning sky, the vow that kept him alive when all else was lost. He allowed himself one brief, final glance toward the distant tower where Itze and Donovan convened, and then he let the mask of earnest obedience fall over his face completely. The destroyer in him would remain waiting in the wings, patient, patient... until the moment destiny offered him Donovan’s life.

That moment was still on the horizon- but now at last, Shiiga could sense how he might reach it. His dark purpose and the princess’s shining path were bound to intersect, and when they did, nothing in Nosteram would ever be the same again.