I killed seven men yesterday.
At least, that's what they told me. I don't remember it. Again.
Apparently, I walked into the tent of a rebel warlord—unarmed—and emerged five minutes later with a clean coat and not a scratch on me. The warlord and his guards? Unrecognizable.
Burned. Crushed. One was found frozen, somehow. In a desert.
The report just said: "Kael acted without hesitation. Target eliminated. Zero casualties on our side."
I'm starting to realize something very dangerous.
I don't know who I'm more afraid of—the people around me… or the person I become when I black out.
The Staring Problem
People don't speak to me unless I speak first. That's not an exaggeration—it's policy.
Servants enter with eyes lowered, place things on tables, and leave silently like they're sneaking out of a predator's den. Officers only deliver reports in writing. Even the Black Tyrant, my own boss, doesn't speak casually.
Which is a problem, because I have so many questions.
Like:
How do I activate shadow magic on purpose?What even is shadow magic?Why does my body keep murdering people when I panic?
But I can't ask anyone. Because to them, I'm Kael the Shadow—the Tyrant's wrath given form. The man who burned down a cathedral just to kill a priest who insulted our army once.
(Which, for the record, I definitely did not do. That must've been the other guy—my creepy subconscious twin.)
New Orders
The summons came at dawn. A sealed scroll, delivered by a boy who looked like he'd aged ten years just from standing outside my door.
The seal was the Tyrant's. The message was short.
"Escort the Fifth Legion to Fort Varn. Take command. Leave no rebels alive."
I reread it twice, then stared at it like it might catch fire on its own.
Me? Command a legion?
That was thousands of soldiers. A full-scale deployment. Fort Varn was in contested territory—enemy saboteurs, wild mages, beasts from the outer woods. A bloodbath waiting to happen.
What was the Tyrant thinking?
Why send me?
...Actually, never mind. I knew exactly why.
Because I'm terrifying.
Because the sight of Kael on the field is worth more than a dozen siege engines.
Because, to everyone in this world, I'm not a person. I'm a walking symbol of fear.
"If Kael is coming, the battle's already lost.""Pray the Tyrant spares you. Fear the one behind him."
I've heard it all. But now I have to be it. Without dying. Or screwing up. Or letting the thing inside me take over and turn me into a real monster.
So yeah. No pressure.
The Journey to Varn
We rode out the next day.
The Fifth Legion was already assembled—row after row of disciplined soldiers in black steel, banners of the Tyrant's sigil fluttering in the dry wind: a single red crown, cracked down the center.
They didn't cheer when I arrived. They bowed. Every last one of them.
Some refused to make eye contact. A few looked away like I might kill them for blinking wrong.
I nodded once. Silent. Controlled. Just like the old Kael would.
Inside, I was screaming.
Introducing Captain Renn
There was only one person brave—or foolish—enough to approach me directly.
Captain Renn.
"Lord Kael," she said, saluting as I dismounted. "Captain of the forward scouts. I'll be leading your vanguard."
She had short-cropped dark red hair, a blade at each hip, and eyes like a hawk mid-hunt. Calm. Sharp. Professional.
But not afraid.
That put me on edge instantly.
She waited for a response. I gave her a slight nod, then turned toward the map table they'd set up by the main tent.
"Trouble?" I asked, keeping my voice low and clipped.
Her eyes lit up—not with fear, but with curiosity. "Scouts spotted rebel banners near the canyon path. Could be a trap."
"Expected," I said.
She tilted her head. "And your recommendation?"
I stared at the map for a second, heart pounding. I had no idea what I was doing.
Kael was a military genius. Cold, brilliant, merciless. I was a guy who once failed high school math.
Still... I'd read Reignfall. I remembered some stuff.
"Let them think it's working," I said. "Send three squads to circle behind. No signal. Move at dusk."
She raised an eyebrow. "Silent flanking. Risky."
I looked her dead in the eyes. "Do it."
She smiled.
"As expected of the Shadow."
Wait, was that admiration? That was admiration. Crap.
Nightfall and Blood
The trap was real.
An entire rebel company was waiting in the canyon—archers, mages, even a few mercenaries with enchanted gear.
They wanted us funneled in and burned alive.
What they didn't expect was the three squads behind them—silent blades in the dark.
The rebels were torn apart before they even knew they were flanked.
The moment our forces surged in, I stayed back, acting like a general. Observing. Cold. Detached.
And then—
A whistle. High. Sharp.
Then boom.
A crater opened under my feet.
I remember pain. Heat. Falling.
Then—
Nothing.
The Awakening
I came to surrounded by shadows.
Not metaphorically. Literally.
Black mist clung to my limbs. My coat was glowing faintly with runes I'd never seen before. And I was holding something—
A blade. Made entirely of darkness. Flickering like flame. Screaming, silently, into the void.
All around me were corpses. Dozens. Rebels. Mages. Mercs. Torn apart by something brutal and precise.
My men stood at a distance. Staring. Not one dared speak.
Captain Renn was among them. A gash across her cheek. But she was still standing.
"You... moved like a beast," she said softly. "Fast. Efficient. But your eyes…"
She trailed off.
My hands were shaking. I dropped the sword. It dissolved before it hit the ground.
I looked at her.
"What did I do?" I whispered.
She didn't answer.
The Fear Inside
That night, I sat alone by the fire, far from the soldiers. Everyone gave me space—more than before.
Because now, they'd seen it.
The real Kael. The one I keep locked away.
The one that isn't me.
Every time it happens, I lose more. The gap between who I am and who they think I am widens.
I'm afraid that one day, I won't wake up at all.
That "Kael" will stop being a mask and become my only face.
Am I the monster pretending to be a man?Or the man pretending not to be a monster?
The Tyrant's Message
When we returned, a raven was waiting.
A letter. Sealed in black wax.
"Good work, Kael. But be careful. You are remembering too much."—A.
A.
Auren Velstrade. The Black Tyrant himself.
What did that mean? Remembering?
Was he talking about the old Kael? Was the real Kael's mind still buried in this body, fighting to take over?
Or worse—was he helping it?
I crushed the letter and burned it.
Then I sat on the balcony of my chambers, staring into the black sky.
Closing Reflection
Every day I survive is a victory.
Every order I follow is a test.
Every battle I win without dying—or losing myself—is a miracle.
But I know this won't last.
One day soon, something will push me too far. The enemy. The Tyrant. Myself.
And when that day comes…
I don't know who will be left standing.
But it won't be me.