Half Caff Press
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Read the prologue and opening chapter of....
sister of shadows
Thank you so much for wanting to read the opening chapters of Sister of Shadows.
Below you will find the Prologue as well as Chapter One,
If you like them you can also read AN ADDITIONAL TWO CHAPTERS by subscribing to my Author Newsletter.
I hope you have as much fun reading the beginning of Asa's story as I had writing it. Happy reading and remember to keep, making magic!
<3 C.J. Kavanaugh
Death is not a being with whom to be trifled.
Though my brother and I are children of the moon,
I must always remain in the shadows.
Prologue
Asa
The castle shudders with the force of the army as they grow nearer and nearer. Walls tremble, windows rattle. I grip my younger brother Caine's hand, squeezing tight. He’s shaking, eyes wide with fear. I swallow mine. For him. For all of us. At ten years old, he’s far too young to be facing this kind of terror.
So am I, I guess, at only fourteen. But one of us has to be brave enough to face this.
“Everything will be alright.” Mother tries to sound reassuring, but I don't miss the quiver in her words. She’s standing by the door of the throne room, ears straining for the sounds of Malak’s approaching army. Father stands beside her, his sword drawn, the glint in his eyes a terrifying yet stoic mix of determination and dread.
Shadows loom through the windows, monstrous shapes moving closer. My heart pounds. The throne room, the tallest point of the castle, our last refuge, suddenly feels like a trap. My breaths come in quick sharp bursts and my vision swims. Black spots dance in my eyes.
Caine whimpers, clutching his stuffed bear. I ruffle his hair, forcing a smile. “We’ll be okay, Caine. We’re together.”
Why is Malak doing this? Throughout my life, he has always been my father's most trusted advisor. We treated him as the closest thing to an uncle we had. What could have possibly made him betray us now?
I had asked my parents that very question at least half a dozen times since his siege began and even they didn't have any answers. The pounding feet draw closer. The door to the front of the castle, just below us, burst open.
“Quickly, this way.” Mother pushes a panel on the wall, revealing a hidden passage behind a tapestry depicting the Lunatera crest: a silvery crescent moon, inlaid with sparkling stones that seem to glow despite the darkness shrouding us.
Caine bolts into the darkness, but I hesitate, looking back at our parents. They’re supposed to come with us. “We’re all supposed to escape together. Lunatera needs its king and queen.” I want to say and I need my mother and father, but I bite it back at the last minute. Protecting our people has always been our first and most important duty, something that has been drilled into me since I was only a young witching. How are we supposed to rebuild without them? But Father’s face is set, his silver eyes lighter than Caine’s since my brother is still a young witchling—flickering with something I don’t want to understand. Fear? Regret? Love? All three?
“I can help,” I protest. My nails dig into my palms and tiny sparks of emerald magic zap from my fingertips. Mother clears her throat and glances at Father, but he doesn't seem to notice.
My chest vibrates with the swell of my magic, but I stamp it down as quickly as I can. The last thing we need is to give Malak anything else to use against us. Especially not death magic.
Father’s hand on my shoulder is gentle but firm. “We’re coming, Asa. But you need to go first with Caine. We’ll be right behind you.”
Tears burn the backs of my eyes, but my voice remains surprisingly steady. “I want to stay.”
Mother’s brown eyes, so much like mine, and only the beginning of what I inherited from her, soften, but her grip on my shoulder is firm. “You need to protect your brother. That’s your most important job right now.”
Father nods, bending down on one knee so we are at eye level. “We’ll defend the kingdom. Go, Asa. Keep Caine safe.”
I want to argue, to beg them to come now, but there’s no time. I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat as I step into the passageway, following Caine into the darkness. The panel slides shut behind us, sealing us off from the throne room.
I try to reply, but no words come out. Instead, I nod as a large lump lodges itself in my throat. Father pushes me gently toward the entrance of the passageway again. Thinking back on it now, I wish I had taken more time to relish in the feeling of his hand on my back. The closest thing to a last hug either of us would get.
Instead, I made no note of it, simply stepping into the passage, and glancing around for my brother. The panel slides shut behind us, plunging us into near darkness. A sliver of light seeps through a crack, just enough for me to see the throne room. I press my face to it, eyes wide.
The passage is cold, the air thick with the scent of stone and earth. A thin sliver of light seeps through a crack in the wall, just enough to see what’s happening outside. I press my face to it, watching, waiting.
But instead of following us, Mother and Father remain in the throne room. They stand together, side by side, their hands briefly clasped before they turn to face the doors. My heart hammers in my chest as the reality sinks in—they’re not coming. They’re staying behind.
“No,” I whisper, my breath fogging the small pane of glass. “No, they promised.”
After what seems like only a second of bone-drilling silence, the shadow army bursts through the door, led by Malak and Daris, the former captain of the guard, who is now one of Malak’s fiercest soldiers.
Father steps forward, his sword drawn but lowered. “Malak, you don’t have to do this. Whatever grievances you have, we can resolve them without violence.”
Malak’s eyes narrow, a bitter smile twisting his lips. “Friends? Brothers?” He spits the words as if they taste like poison. “You always said that, didn’t you? But what kind of brother dismisses his sibling, undermines him at every turn?”
Father frowns, his grip tightening on his sword. “What are you talking about? I never dismissed you. You were my most trusted advisor, my confidant.”
“You never treated me as an equal!” Malak roars. “ You may have had the rest of the kingdom full, but not me. You always look down upon me because I was born without magic “I was born without magic. But every time I offered counsel, you brushed it aside. ‘Malak, you don’t understand magic.’ ‘Malak, you can’t comprehend the consequences.’ Always the same excuses. Always belittling me because I wasn’t born like the rest of you.”
My father’s expression softens, and there’s a deep sadness in his eyes. “It was never about belittling you, Malak. You were my friend, my brother. I trusted you to see things from a different perspective, to offer counsel where others could not. I never intended to make you feel less.
”
“It doesn’t matter what you intended,” Malak sneers. “What matters is what you did. You made me feel like an outsider in my own home, in my own kingdom. But that ends today. I’m taking what’s rightfully mine.”
“I can’t believe it,” The words slip out of my mouth before I can think the better of it. And I quickly slapped my hand over my lips.
Daris turns and his eyes narrow as he peers into the shadows. My blood runs cold. The guard steps closer to Malak, lowering his voice.
“There’s something over there,” he says, pointing toward the passage with his sword. “I think the children are hiding in the walls.”
Malak’s eyes flicker with interest, his expression darkening with a twisted smile. “Ah, yes. The Lunar Princess and Prince. I was hoping to avoid the trouble of finding them. It seems fortune favors me tonight.”
My breath catches in her throat. He doesn’t just want the throne—he wants our powers. Powers that can only be siphoned from a Lunar Witch while they’re still children.
“They’re just children, Malak,” My mother pleads. “ They have nothing to do with this. Let them go.”
Malak shakes his head slowly. “It’s too late for that. Their powers will ensure my reign is unchallenged. Once I have them, there will be no one left who can stand against me.”
As Malak moves toward the passage, Mother steps forward. Her eyes blaze with protective fury. “You’ll have to go through me first.”
Malak smirks, his dark gaze locking onto hers. “So be it.”
I freeze, then scurry further into the dark, pulling Caine with me. “Come on,” I hiss, “We have to go.” I turn one last time toward the battle. It hurts my heart to even say the word. The last thing I want to do is leave my parents behind. But I promised I would do whatever it took to keep Caine safe.
My tugs at my sleeve, chewing on his bottom rip as he follows me deeper into the passage. “Asa? What’s wrong?” I shake my head, unable to find the words. Instead, I hold up my arm, revealing the tattoo on my wrist—a bracelet of moon phases surrounded by swirling stars.
Caine’s eyes widen in understanding. He lifts his own wrist, where an identical bracelet encircles it. The new moon for Caine, a waxing crescent for Mother, a full moon for Father, and a waning gibbous for me. It had been infused with lunar magic by the Royal Wizard and the enchantment allowed us to always be connected to our family. As our gazes lock, the symbols on our tattoos begin to glow with a soft, ethereal light, and I feel the familiar warmth of our connection unfurl in my mind.
“They’re not coming with us.” I say pulling him closer to me.
Caine’s eyes grow wide. “What? Why not? They said they would.”
Asa: “I don’t know… I think they’re staying to fight.”
Caine’s fear spikes through the connection, and I feel it like a punch to the gut. His thoughts are a swirl of panic and disbelief, and I struggle to keep my own emotions in check.
“But they can’t! They promised we’d all escape together!”
“I know. But we have to keep moving. They’ll be okay. They have to be.”
“But Asa—”
Before he can finish, a loud crash echoes through the throne room. Our connection flares with shared alarm as we both turn to watch the rest of the fight through the small pane of glass.
Our parents meet them head-on, their swords flashing in the dim light. At first, the fight seems even. Swords clash, sparks fly. Our parents hold their ground with fierce determination. For a brief, heart-stopping moment, I start to hope.
But the tide of the battle shifts, and I can feel Caine’s growing dread echoing through our connection. His fear bleeds into me, but I push it down, focusing on the image of our parents fighting with everything they have.
“They’re strong, right? They can win this.”
“They’re the strongest people I know.”
But even as I say it, doubt gnaws at me. I cling to the connection with Caine, drawing strength from it as we watch the battle unfold.
At first, the fight seems even. Swords clash, sparks fly. Our parents hold their ground. I start to hope.
But then the tide turns. Malak’s forces, clad in black armor, move with ruthless efficiency. They press forward. My father is trampled to the ground, the sharp edge of Malak's sword pressing against his throat. “Any last words, my king?”
I hold back a gasp as a small sob bubbles its way out from between my lips. I slap my hand over my mouth just as Caine's small hand tugs on the hem of my white nightgown glittered with silver stars.
“Asa?” he whispers. I spin around to shut him, and my heart aches. His black hair is sticking up every which way—as if we needed more evidence that we had been yanked from our beds mere hours ago—and his eyes are wide and terrified. His tan-skinned knuckles turn white from his grip on my dress.
Mother glances around, desperation in her eyes. And then… she raises her hands.
Emerald magic flows from her fingertips, outlined with a dark, eerie glow. Necromancy. My breath catches. Father’s eyes widen. He didn’t know. He's never known about either of us. Mother didn't want to risk him turning on us. Not that I ever believe, father would do that. Necromancy may be illegal, but he would never give up on his own family.
Malak’s forces seize the opportunity, closing in.
I try to summon my powers, but nothing happens. A tiny green flame flickers to life in my palm for the briefest of seconds before disappearing again. And no matter how many times I try, it doesn't get any stronger. Frustration burns within me. I press harder against the crack, willing myself to do something, anything. The air hums with an eerie resonance, thick with the scent of earth and decay. Mother’s hands glow with a sinister green light, her necromantic power pulsing in time with her heartbeat. As she chants in a low, urgent tone, the ground beneath the enemy’s feet begins to crack and shift. From the cracks, skeletal hands claw their way to the surface, gripping the ankles of Malak’s soldiers and dragging them down into the cold earth. The soldiers struggle, their faces twisted in fear as the undead rise from the shadows, their eyes glowing with the same malevolent green light that emanates from Mother’s hands.
A horde of spectral warriors materializes around her, their ghostly forms shimmering with an emerald hue. They charge forward, their ethereal weapons slicing through the enemy’s ranks. The soldiers’ cries of terror echo through the throne room as the spectral blades pass through armor and flesh alike, leaving behind nothing but cold, lifeless bodies.
Mother’s magic doesn’t stop there. With a wave of her hand, the fallen soldiers begin to rise, their lifeless eyes now glowing with that same unnatural green light. Reanimated by her power, they turn on their former comrades, striking with a terrifying, unyielding force. The air is filled with the clash of steel and the guttural moans of the undead as they overwhelm the living.
But the enemy is relentless, their numbers seemingly endless. For every soldier that falls, another takes their place. Mother’s face is a mask of concentration and strain as she pushes her magic to its limits. The green light around her intensifies, casting an otherworldly glow over the battlefield. Vines, blackened and twisted by necromantic energy, burst from the ground, wrapping around the enemy’s weapons and limbs, tearing them apart with a ferocity that matches the desperation in her eyes.
The spectral warriors fight valiantly, their ghostly forms flickering in and out of existence as they are struck down, only to rise again at Mother’s command. But even as she raises the dead and summons the forces of the underworld, the enemy presses forward. They are unyielding, driven by a dark will that matches her own.
Mother’s breath comes in ragged gasps as she draws more and more power from the ancient magics she commands. The room is alive with the hum of her spells, the very air vibrating with the intensity of her necromancy. But the strain is evident; sweat beads on her brow, and her hands tremble as she continues to weave her dark magic, pushing herself to the brink.
Despite her power, the enemy forces are closing in, their resolve unbroken. The tide is turning, and even the undead warriors she commands falter under the relentless assault. The green light of her magic flickers, dimming as exhaustion sets in. Yet she fights on, a lone beacon of defiance in the face of overwhelming odds.
But she cannot hold them off forever. As the last of her strength begins to wane, the green light that once burned so brightly in her eyes starts to fade, the tide of battle shifting against her.
“Come on Asa!” Caine pulls me away from the crack, eyes wide with panic. “We need to go!”
My resolve hardens. I know he's right, but I can't leave. I did that once. I won't make that mistake again. “No!”
Without warning, I burst through the passage. A torrent of green magic pours from my hands, an uncontrolled surge of power. But it’s too late.
By the time I enter the throne room. Father is already on the ground, a pool of blood spreading beneath him. Malak’s sword is buried deep in his chest. Mother is surrounded, and her magic falters. She fights with every ounce of strength she has left, but it’s not enough.
The soldiers close in, and in a final, desperate act, she unleashes a powerful blast of magic that sends them reeling.
But the effort is too much. Her knees buckle, and she collapses beside Father. I scream, the sound ripping from my throat. I move to rush forward but Caine pulls we back as Malak and his remaining soldiers surround us.
I start to rush forward, but Caine pulls me back as Malak and his remaining soldiers surround us.
Malak smirks, his eyes gleaming with cruel satisfaction. “There you are,” he says, his voice smooth as he stalks toward us, hands outstrethed like claws. “Your parents are gone, but you don’t have to share their fate. Join me, Asa. Together, we could rebuild this kingdom, stronger than it ever was.”
I hesitate. For a split second, I’m tempted. Maybe if I stay, I can protect Caine, from the inside. Maybe I can…
Caine tugs on my arm. “Asa, you promised,” he whispers. “You promised you’d keep me safe.”
His words snap me back to reality. I made a vow to protect my brother, no matter what. I can’t let him down, not now, not ever.
“We have to go,” I whisper, and without another glance at Malak, I pull Caine with me, rushing towards the hidden passage.
We dart through the narrow corridor, the walls closing in around us as we move deeper into the passage. The shouts of Malak’s soldiers echo behind us, growing louder by the second. My heart races, but I force myself to stay calm for Caine’s sake.
Finally, we reach a small corner, barely large enough for the two of us. I push Caine into the alcove, pressing myself against him to keep us hidden. The guards' footsteps thunder past, their heavy armor clanking as they search for us. I hold my breath, praying they don’t find us.
When the noise fades, I pull Caine along once more until we reach the end of the passageway—a solid stone door with a complicated puzzle etched into its surface. The door is adorned with carvings of all the moon phases arranged in a circle, with the Lunatera crest in the center.
Caine’s eyes widen in panic as he stares at the door. “Asa, what are we going to do? We’re trapped!”
I place a hand on his shoulder. “It’s going to be okay,” I assure him. “Father showed me this door a few days ago.” Though he had prayed, I would never have to use it. . “We’ll get out of here.”
Taking a deep breath, I focus on the symbols. My father had told me there was a specific sequence to unlock the door in case of an emergency. I reach out and press the full moon symbol—Father’s moon phase. Next, I press the waxing crescent—Mother’s moon phase—and then the waning gibbous, my own symbol.
Caine watches me with wide eyes as I press the new moon, his symbol, and the first lock comes undone.
The sound of soldiers approaching grows louder. Caine’s breathing quickens, and he clutches my arm. “Asa, hurry!”
I focus, my fingers trembling as I press the moon phases in order. New moon, waxing crescent first quarter, waving gibbous, full moon, waning gibbous, third quarter and waxing crescent. A second lock frees itself.
The soldiers are almost upon us, their shouts echo down the passage. I place my hands on the lunar symbol at the center of the door. and repeat our family motto—the ancient phrase passed down through generations of Lunar Witches, a phrase of power and protection. “Per la lumiere de la luna, nous etes liante; en la umbra de la nuictje, nous etes liberte.” By the light of the moon, we are bound; in the shadow of the night, we are free.
I take one last look at the crest before pressing it with both hands. The final lock disengages, and with a heavy groan, the door swings open. Without a second thought, I push Caine through the doorway, but as I turn to follow, I catch a glimpse of the chaos in the throne room—the bodies of our parents lying still, the flames of magic flickering out.
I hope you enjoyed the Prologue of Sister of Shadows
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<3 C.J. Kavanaugh
Chapter One
Asa
Green lightning zips from my fingers, singing the curtains to dust on the opposite side of my bedroom. The smell of burned fabric fills the air. I clutch my hands to my chest, trying to calm my racing heart. The room is dim, the first light of dawn creeping through the window.
Caine is still asleep in his twin bed near the door, oblivious to the sparks and the nightmare. I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. The memories of that night—four years ago, though it feels like yesterday — flood back, sharper than ever. I didn’t even make it into the room. We ran like cowards while our parents stayed and fought, giving their lives to protect our people.
I glance at my moon phase tattoo. Ever since the day our parents died, two of the symbols have faded, leaving only empty spaces on my wrist where the waxing crescent and full moon once shone brightly.
Now, only the new moon and waning gibbous remain, representing Caine and me. The empty spaces are a painful reminder of what we’ve lost—of who we’ve lost. I trace my finger over the missing symbols, a deep ache settling in my chest. Caine is all I have left, the only family I have in this world. I’d do anything to protect him, to keep him safe. I can’t lose him too.
I couldn’t do anything then, and even now, my powers are still wild, unpredictable.
The church bells ring, signaling it's seven in the morning. My 18th birthday. The same day my parents died. I’ve had the dream every birthday since we fled. It’s always the same, but this year it hit harder. If we were back home, I would be getting ready to be crowned. That is, if no one had found out about my necromancy by then. I would be picking flowers and wearing a beautiful gown and working on the speech I would give when my father passed the crown to me.
But that life is long gone. It died four years ago, along with my island and most of my people; at least those that didn’t swear their loyalty to Malak.
After arching my back in a cat stretch, I get out of bed, careful not to wake Caine. My legs feel like lead. I glance at the scorched curtains; they were an accident, but what I wouldn’t have given to have such an accident that night. I sigh, pushing the thoughts away.
I have work to do—artifacts to catalog, shipments to schedule, an antiquity shop to run. But as I run a finger over the cracked spine of an ancient grimoire, the leather rough against my skin, my mind drifts elsewhere. I remember my parents teaching me to read the archaic language, patiently sounding out each word until the verses danced off the page. It feels like a lifetime ago.
A raven lands on the windowsill, its glossy black feathers ruffled by the morning breeze. A small scroll is tied to its leg. I untie the message and unroll it, scanning the elegant script. A new client, seeking a rare amulet rumored to have protective properties. According to the direction it's being delivered to Aljuvia’s capital tower tomorrow night.
The pay is generous, but my hands tremble, and not from the chill in the air. I'm not sure I'm ready to venture out again, to don The Shadow’s cape again. Not after how close I came to getting caught on my last heist. And even when I was at my bravest I never dared venture near the Tower. My parents always said it was built by the first Lunar decendents who fled here long ago—before the Isle was even founded, back when magic itself was feared.
Even as the Shadow, I’d never dared do anything that would risk a connection to my true identity. Though I owned an antiquity shop, Caine and Raz, my childhood best friend were the ones who knew I was cataloging a collection of our history.
But just As I am about to crumple up the note and write a refusal I catch sight of the drawing. My breath catches as I trace the outline of the charcoal. The equinox moonstone. It’s even more beautiful than I remembered. My mother used to wear this during every lunar festival. I had thought Malak had claimed it in the coup. How did it get here?
A current of power rumbles in my chest again, but I stamp it down before it can make its way to my fingertips. As much as it is going to pain me to sell a family jewel, our survival is more important than sentimentality. And no matter what, my necromancy will not be a liability. Not again.
***
The clash of metal echoes as I slice my blades through the air. sharpening their silver edges until they gleam in the morning sunlight. I'm careful to avoid knocking over the scattered utensils and ingredients on the table next to me. The blacksmith returned them days ago, but I need every advantage for tonight's heist. My movements are precise, honed from countless hours of practice, but the kitchen is cramped, and every swing feels perilously close to disaster.
I remove the kettle from the burner and rummage through the pantry until I find a small, dusty tin of tea leaves hidden behind empty canisters. I run my fingers over the faded label adorned with moon phases, a relic from our past life. I carefully pry open the lid and inhale the earthy scent. It’s been so long since I allowed myself this small luxury, but this morning feels different. After last night’s failed mission and the swirling rumors, I need something to steady my nerves.
Once the water boils, I measure out a spoonful of dried leaves and pour them into a chipped ceramic teacup, following with a generous helping of warm water. The steam billows out in soft puffs, and I wrap my hands around the warm, cracked surface, letting the heat seep into my chilled skin.
I've grown accustomed to the quiet, almost eerie stillness of early morning. The world seems to hold its breath before the chaos of the day sets in. It’s the only time I allow myself to relax, even if just for a moment.
A sharp creak echoes through the room, and I spin around, already searching for my daggers. My shoulders relax when I catch sight of my brother, now fourteen, stands in the doorway, rubbing sleep from his eyes and blinking blearily at me.
“Morning, Asa,” he mumbles, his voice thick with sleep. “Happy birthday.”
I freeze. My stomach drops and my heart contradicts, but I swallow and force a smile. “Thanks, buddy.”
He nods, giving me a small, sad smile before paddling over to the pantry. “I know how much you hate your birthday, he says quietly, leaning against the counter. “ But I really think mother and father would want you to be proud of the woman you've become, especially today.”
I nod as a sudden witness burned the back of my eyes and a lump lodged itself in my throat.
I hope against hope that he's right that they really would be proud of me, Despite and maybe even because of everything I've done over the past four years, but if I dwell on it too long… The celebration, the milestones, Every last shred of our childhood that we were robbed of thanks to Malak and his wretched betrayal.. My chest constricts. My vision turns red. I grew up there with the table just to avoid falling to my knees.
Dwelling on this day will crush me.
It may be my birthday, but it's far from something to celebrate.
A cabinet above the small wooden stove creeks open and Caine frowns when he looks inside. My stomach dips. I haven’t made a good haul in three weeks. Tonight has to go as planned, or we may not eat for another month.
I nod, my grip tightening on the teacup. “Is that the last piece of bread?” I ask, eyeing the lone slice in his hand.
He scratches his head and offers a sheepish grin. “Uh, yeah. Sorry.”
I shake my head. “No matter how many times I tell you to be careful with the food rations, you never listen.”
“I know, I know,” he says, But I’m a growing boy. I need to eat.”
Though meant in jest, his words send a pang through my chest. Only then do I notice how frail he is, with bags under his green eyes, father's eyes, despite being the only one who can sleep through the night. Though strong for his age of fourteen, he’s still too gaunt. His clothes, which I bought only months ago, now hang off his frame. Yet, despite that, his eyes sparkle, and his mischievous grin never fades.
Even after everything we’ve been through, he’s still just a witchling. So am I, I suppose, though I hardly feel like one anymore. I ruffle his hair as he passes by, and he swats my hand away with a laugh. The sound echoes through the room, a brief respite from the heavy silence that usually hangs over us. Despite everything, he maintains a sense of normalcy and childlike wonder. It’s one of the things I love most about him. If only we were both that fortunate.
After our meager breakfast, I help Caine gather his things for school, ensuring he has everything he needs before we venture into the waking city. If we were back in Lunatera, he’d be preparing for his apprenticeship test, wielding his magic and learning which moon phase strengthens it most. He’d be showing off and making bets about who would perform best at the lunar festival.
I clench my fists until my nails dig into my palms. No, I can’t think like that. I don’t have time for could-bes or might-have-beens. Not when we’re just trying to stay alive.
My eyes scan the cluttered table. After a moment, they land on a small, ornate bracelet nestled in a velvet-lined box. The metal gleams dully in the candlelight, and I trace the intricate design with my finger. My breath hitches as a plan takes shape. It’s the last remnant of my previous heist over a month ago now. I used to go nearly every week, but with the rumors of the guard swirling like freshly kindled smoke, I can’t take any chances of anyone discovering my identity.
Not unless I have to. I bite my lip. Selling it is risky, incredibly risk. What if it’s recognized as a family heirloom? But it’s my only chance to find out if the equinox moonstone is really in Aljuvia.
I close the box with a soft click and tuck it into the hidden pocket of my cloak, my fingers brushing the cold metal for reassurance. With one last glance around the room, I extinguish the candle and slip into the shadowed hallway, putting a glamor spell—the one lunar spell my mother allowed me to learn for my own safety—before on both of us before we leave the house.
***
The cobblestone streets are mostly empty, though here and there we pass a vendor setting up his stall or a guard finishing his night watch. The lanterns cast long shadows across the pavement, adding to the eerie silence. I keep my head down and hood up, avoiding eye contact with anyone we pass.
Some houses are built into the trunks of ancient trees, their branches reaching out in welcome. Others are perched high on stilts above the forest floor, offering a bird's-eye view of the bustling city below.
We eventually emerge from the narrow alleys into Gran Plaza, the heart of Aljuvia. It's a bustling hub filled with cafes, taverns, and meeting halls. The air is alive with chatter in various languages as people gather to share stories over steaming cups of tea or engage in lively debates.
Despite my efforts to remain unnoticed, I'm drawn to the vibrant energy around me. The sharp scent of spices and fresh produce mingles in the air, while sweet perfumes waft from flower stands as visitors pause to admire their beauty. The melodic hum of voices washes over us.
For a moment, it almost feels like I could be back in Lunatera. Like I'm a princess once more, and this bustling market is part of my daily routine. But reality sets in, and I remember who I am now—an outcast on the run from those who would see me dead.
“See you tonight, Asa,” Caine says, pulling me from my reverie. I blink and focus on him, offering a small, tight-lipped smile.
“Be careful,” I say, ruffling his hair. He returns the smile, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“You too.”
I watch him disappear into the crowd before heaving a heavy sigh and turning back toward the winding streets. Nostalgia has no place in our harsh reality. The sooner I remember that, the better.
I press on, my jaw set in a firm line. The scent of roasting chestnuts and spiced cider envelops me as I reenter the market. I blend into the crowd, my hood pulled low to conceal my features, and let the ebb and flow of bodies carry me where I need to go.
My first stop is a small apothecary in the corner of the square. The bell above the door tinkles cheerfully as I slip inside, and the rich scent of dried herbs and flowers wraps around me. The shopkeeper, Kiran, a stout woman with kind, crinkled eyes, greets me with a warm smile. I peruse the shelves lined with glass jars and vials before getting to the real reason for my visit.
“Any news of a rare, upcoming shipment of goods to the Tower?” I ask in a low murmur, examining a delicate porcelain mortar and pestle. The woman clucks her tongue and gives me a knowing look.
“Why would I be privy to such information, dear Asarin?” she asks, using the name I've chosen to conceal my identity. I meet her gaze and offer a small shrug.
“You know how people like to talk in these parts. I thought you might have heard something that piqued your interest.” She hums and turns back to straighten a few stray cloths.
“I've heard whispers, but nothing concrete. Why do you ask?”
I return the smile. “No reason. Just trying to stay ahead of the game.” My words are casual, but my patience wears thin. If even Kiran is keeping silent, that does not bode well for my plans.
I continue through the market, purchasing what food I can afford from the grocer with the last of the coins in the bottom of my satchel and picking at random items as I engage with other vendors who have been clients of mine in the past. A length of midnight silk, rare dried flowers, a small intricately carved wooden box. With each transaction, I ask subtle questions and fish for information, but no one seems willing to share. Frustration simmers within me, but I cling to patience. I’ll find what I need. I always do.
As I make my way toward the last stall on my list, a familiar voice calls out from behind me, cutting through the bustle of the market.
“Asa, is that you?”
I turn to see Raz, his dark eyes twinkling with mischief as he weaves through the crowd to reach me. His tall frame is as lean and wiry as I remember, his skin a shade darker than my own, with the same deep brown hue that marked all of us who once called Lunatera home. Though only a couple of years younger than me, he towers over me, wearing a broad grin as he stops in front of me.
“Raz,” I hug him, unable to suppress the small smile that tugs at my lips. “What are you doing here?”
He chuckles, brushing a hand through his short, tightly curled hair. “Oh, you know, just passing through, trying to scrounge up some decent food. Same as you, I’d bet.” He glances down at the items in my hands, raising an eyebrow. “Midnight silk, huh? Planning to make a dramatic entrance somewhere?”
I laugh softly, shaking my head. “No, just picking up a few things. You know how it is.”
Raz’s grin widens, and he leans in closer, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Speaking of dramatic entrances, I heard about that little mission you pulled off a while back. What was it? Taking out those thugs on the docks? Something like that?”
I stiffen slightly, glancing around to make sure no one’s listening. “Raz, shh! Keep your voice down,” I hiss, but there’s no real heat in my words. He’s one of the few people who knows the truth about me, about who I really am—and who I used to be.
He laughs, a low, rich sound that draws a few curious glances from passersby. “Relax, Asa. No one’s paying us any mind.” He winks at me, his expression playful. “Besides, it’s not like they’d believe me if I told them the infamous Shadow was here, buying silk like some common noble.”
I roll my eyes, but I can’t help the small smile that slips through. “You know I’m not doing that anymore,” I say, though the words feel heavy on my tongue. It’s true—I’ve tried to leave that life behind, tried to focus on keeping Caine safe. But hearing Raz talk about it, part of me almost misses it. The thrill, the purpose, the way it made me feel like I was doing something that mattered.
Raz’s smile fades slightly, and he gives me a more serious look. “Why not? You were good at it. Better than anyone I’ve ever seen. What happened?”
I hesitate. “You know why, Raz. I have other things to worry about now. Caine needs me, and… well, it’s just not safe.”
He nods slowly. “I get it. But you know I’m always here if you need me. For anything.” He gives me a meaningful look.
Suppressing a chuckle, I lay a hand on his shoulder. “Thank you, Raz. I don’t know what we’d do without you.”
He waves off my gratitude with a dismissive gesture. “It’s nothing. Just doing my part. Besides, you know how much I care about Caine. That kid’s got a lot of potential. I’d hate to see him go down the wrong path.”
A warmth fills my chest at his words, and I reach out to clasp his arm briefly. “He’s lucky to have you watching out for him.”
Raz shrugs, but there’s a hint of pride in his eyes. “We all do what we can, right?” He pauses, then adds with a sly grin, “And don’t worry, I’ll keep your secret safe. But if you ever do decide to pick up that cape again, you know where to find me.”
I click my togue. “You’re impossible.”
He gives me a mock bow, the smile never leaving his face. “At your service, Princess.”
“Raz!” I scold playfully. But his use of the title, even in jest, brings a lump to my throat. He’s one of the few people who still calls me that.
He straightens up, the grin softening into something more genuine. “Take care of yourself, Asa. And Caine too.”
“You too,” I reply, my voice quieter now, more serious. “Stay safe.”
With one last nod, Raz turns and disappears into the crowd.
After an exhaustive circuit of the market, I finally reach the last stall on my list. The vendor, a weathered man with keen eyes, nods in greeting as I approach. I weigh my mother’s amulet in my palm, testing its balance before meeting his steady gaze. The bracelet , a small, intricate piece with the emblem of our house, glints faintly in the sunlight—a reminder of the past I can’t afford to dwell on right now. I hope I don’t have to murder with it, but right now I’ll do anything I need to to get my desired information.
“What do you know about the upcoming shipment to the Tower, Erianu?” I ask, leaning one arm on the stall and fixing him with the most menacing glare I can muster, the kind my father used to use to terrifying effect. The old man flinches slightly but recovers, quirking a brow as a sly grin tugs at the corner of his mouth.
“What’s it to you?” he replies, his tone teasing, but there’s an edge of caution in his eyes. Erianu is too old to be careless, and he knows better than to give away anything without the right incentive.
“I need information on the contents. Will this be enough to satisfy you?” I reach into my pocket and slip the bracelet into his hand. He turns it over, letting it glitter in the morning sunlight as he inspects it from every angle under the scrutiny of a magnifying glass. After what feels like an eternity, he finally pockets it with a sharp nod.
“True enough. I did hear a rumor about a rare moonstone making its way to Aljuvia's main tower. But that’s all I know, I swear.”
My breath catches, and I narrow my eyes. A moonstone? It’s not much, but it’s something. Moonstones are valuable, especially one being transported to the tower. But the way he says it, with that glint in his eye, tells me there’s more he’s not sharing. I thank him, but as I turn to leave, he leans closer, lowering his voice.
“Word of advice, girl,” Erianu murmurs, his tone suddenly grave. “If you’re thinking of chasing after that shipment, you’d best tread lightly. Word on the street is this isn’t just any shipment. They’re supposed to be ringing, bringing with them relics from an ancient vampire treasure. Said a crown is meant to be among them. Cursed, they say. Guarded by darker magic than you’ve ever seen.”
I freeze, the name ringing in my ears. The Shadow Crown. It’s a name spoken of in hushed tones, more legend than reality—a relic from a time when vampires ruled all with fear and power. Some say it’s the source of that power, a crown that can control the shadows themselves. But it’s always been just a story, something parents tell their children to scare them into behaving.
“What makes you think I’d be after something like that?” I try to keep my voice steady, but the unease creeps in despite my best efforts.
Erianu shrugs, but his eyes are sharp. “People talk. And they speculate. That shipment… it could be anything. But if it’s the Crown… well, let’s just say I’d keep my distance if I were you. Treasures like that are never unguarded, not by traps, not by curses, and certainly not by the hands that seek to possess them.”
I nod slowly, absorbing his words. The idea of the Shadow Crown lurking somewhere out there, its dark power waiting to be unleashed, sends a chill down my spine. But I can’t afford to dwell on it now. I thank Erianu again, mentally reviewing the maps and information stowed in our tower as I walk away. I need to stay focused. The moonstone is my priority.
I glance around, but no one is paying me any mind. The heat of my necromancy tingles against my skin, making the hair on my arms stand up. A tiny ball of emerald green energy bursts forth from my palm, flickering like a dying flame. It feels so good to finally let it loose. Like freedom. Like the last connection I have to my mother.
I curl my fingers inward, stamping it out with a dying hiss. I can't afford to be careless. If anyone saw that, they'd know my secret, and I'd be as good as dead.
I need another way to defeat Malak. I need to be smarter, more resourceful. And I need to be strong enough to protect my brother and reclaim our honor. Until I figure out how, we have to remain in hiding. One heirloom from the Tower could feed Caine and me for a year. My stomach growls, and his gaunt frame flashes in my mind. I promised my parents I’d protect him and keep him alive. Even if it means risking my own.
As I turn to leave the market, a group of townspeople catches my attention. They’re gathered in a tight circle, whispering fervently. I edge closer, straining to hear.
“…the Lunar Guard… why here?”
“Maybe they’re searching for someone?” one of them asks.
“I heard they’re looking for fugitives…” Another says. Her gaze darts over to me and I slink into the shadows as my heartbeat hammers in my ears. “Apparently Malak isn’t convinced he wiped out the last of them.”
The Lunar Guard, here? They must be looking for Caine and me. But why? Were we spotted?
We’ve been safe in hiding for the last four years. I knew it wouldn’t last forever but how did he track us here?
Panic surges in my chest. Sparks of green magic flicker at my fingertips. No. Not now.
I force myself to breathe, to stay calm. I have to get out of here. I push through the crowd, ignoring the curious glances, and make my way back to the house as quickly as possible.
Once inside, I lean against the door, my heart pounding. The reality of our situation crashes over me. We’re not safe. Not even here. The Lunar Guard is closing in, and it’s only a matter of time before they find us.
As the sun climbs higher and the crowd swells, I make my way back to our tower. I wind up the narrow staircase, my steps silent and sure. At the top, I pause and glance up and down the dim hallway. Faded wallpaper peels off the walls, and the scent of damp wood and neglect hangs heavy in the air. It’s not much, but it’s ours. Or it was. Now that the guard has found us, I'll have to find another place for us to go. But where?
I slide the key into the lock and push the door open, holding my breath as the hinges groan.
The scent of aging paper and dust wraps around me like a security blanket. Sunbeams filter through the heavy curtains, casting golden rectangles on the threadbare rug. I restock our cabinets and fridge with the meager food supply, I managed to purchase, though now I'm not sure we'll be needing it. If this heist goes well, we should be able to leave by tomorrow morning.
I spend the morning lost in my work, carefully unrolling ancient scrolls and deciphering faded runes, cross-referencing texts and tomes in an effort to learn as much as I can about the security measures guarding the Tower. I’ve scouted it before but I'll be damned if my lack of knowledge is the thing that thwarts our escape.
Hours slip by unnoticed, and the sun begins its slow descent. As the light shifts from golden to a soft lavender, I finally take a break. I stretch my cramped muscles and glance out at the city below, now shrouded in twilight. The church bell tolls in the distance. I frown and glance at the ornate timepiece on the wall. My heart lurches. It’s already after nine.
“Already?” I whisper. I glance at the front door, but Caine still hasn’t come. I didn’t realize it had gotten so late. Where is he?
The bell is joined by howling from the streets below. My blood runs cold.
“They're here,” a frightened townsfolk’s warning floats up from below my window. “The Guard.”
Oh no. I swallow hard, my throat tight, and slowly crane my neck out the window, hoping—praying—that I heard wrong. But there, in the dim light of the streetlamps, I catch a glimpse of silver and black uniforms, their polished surfaces gleaming ominously as they march in formation, boots striking the cobblestones with a merciless rhythm.
The Lunar Guard. The rumors were true.
Before I can contemplate what this means, a chilling sound joins the cacophony—a familiar scream, sharp and piercing, cut off with suddenness.
Oh no! Could that be Caine? It doesn’t sound like him, but some kind of chaos is certainly raining down outside. And the last thing I needed for him to be caught in the middle of it.
I murmur the incantation to break the glamour spell that conceals my true identity. The air around me shimmers briefly, and the tattoo on my wrist begins to glow with a soft, silvery light. The crescent moon and stars etched into my skin pulse with power as I focus my mind, reaching out to Caine with our telepathic connection.
“Caine? Caine, can you hear me?”
There’s a moment of silence, and then to my relief, the familiar warmth of his presence flicker in my mind.
“Asa? What’s going on? I heard screaming. Are we safe?” His voice trembles and it takes all my willpower to keep my own panic in check.
“I’m not sure yet, but you need to stay hidden. Don’t go anywhere until I find you. Where are you?”
The connection wavers slightly, and for a second I stop breathing. “Caine?”
“I’m… I’m near the old watchtower. I thought I saw someone outside—”
But before he can finish, the connection abruptly cuts off.
My heart races as a wave of dread crashes over me. Something is wrong. The connection should hold. It has it’s limits but I’ve always been able to hear him, even across town. For it to be severed like that… No, I can’t think about that now. Caine is out there, and he needs me.
Without stopping to think, I snatch up my cloak from the chair and shrug into the dark wool, pulling the hood up over my hair. I strap a pair of steel daggers to my thighs and conceal a length of rope within my cloak.
“Hold on, Caine. I’m coming.”
The distant sounds of chaos grow louder as I descend the creaking staircase, my heart pounding in time with my boots. When I reach the ground floor, I press my ear to the door and listen. The shouts and cries of the crowd echo through the wood, but there’s something else. A low, guttural growl that sets the hairs on my neck on end.
I swallow the lump in my throat and press a firm hand against the door. I fish for the lock because I always keep in the pocket of my click, the metal familiar against my skin. I work in silence, my brow furrowed, and after far too much time, I’m rewarded with a soft click. I slowly push the door open a crack and peer into the night.
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<3 C.J. Kavanaugh