The Card’s Shadow

The morning light filtered dimly through the fog, casting an eerie glow on the flower fields that stretched across the valley. In my mind, the scene was as vivid as if I were still there. The dahlias swayed gently in the humid breeze, their vibrant petals brushing against my legs as I sprinted through the fields.

"Andrew!"

The sound of his voice cut through the fog of memory, clear and bright. I turned, and there he was, Nate, his little legs pumping furiously as he tried to catch up.

Even in the dream, the sight of him made me smile. "You good, bro?" I asked, barely able to hold back a laugh as he stumbled to a stop, panting like a dog.

"No," Nate said between gasps. "Mom said… we need to get home now… and told me to find you."

The dream shattered like glass, and I woke with a jolt. My breath hitched as the memory dissolved into the cold reality of my cell.

The cell door clanged open, the harsh sound breaking through the silence and jolting me from my thoughts. Two guards stood in the doorway, their faces as cold and impassive as the frost creeping along the walls.

"Lucia," one of them barked, his voice sharp and impatient. "Get up. It's time."

I swung my legs off the cot, my body stiff and reluctant to move in the biting chill. The words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of what they meant.

Time. Time for what? The trial? My sentencing? My execution?

"Trial?" I asked, my voice hoarse from disuse.

The guard gave a curt nod. "You're representing yourself, right? Hope you've got a good speech prepared."

I bit back a bitter laugh. A speech wasn't going to save me.

"Let's go," the other guard ordered, gesturing for me to follow.

I grabbed my coat, the threadbare fabric doing little to fight the chill, and followed them into the dimly lit corridor. My heart pounded with each step, the echoes of our footsteps bouncing off the stone walls.

For four months, I'd clung to the faint hope that this day would bring answers, closure, maybe even justice. But as I walked, the weight of reality pressed down on me, heavier than the chains that had bound me when I was first brought here.

The trial awaited, and I wasn't ready.

It had been four months since my arrest. Four months since my life was turned upside down. Four months since I became the sole suspect in the Letzia Orphanage fire.

The cold of Nevi seeped into my bones, unyielding and relentless. I sat up on the thin cot, rubbing my hands together for warmth. The cell was small, barely enough to pace in, and the cracked mirror on the wall served as my only reminder of how much time had passed.

Four months. Four long months of sitting in this freezing box, waiting for a day that felt like it might never come. The routine was the same every day, stale bread, icy air, and the occasional distant murmur of other prisoners being moved or processed. But today was different. Today, the tension in the air was heavier, the guards' footsteps sharper as they patrolled the hallway outside my cell.

The trial was today.

The cell door clanged open, the harsh sound breaking through the silence and jolting me from my thoughts. Two guards stood in the doorway, their faces as cold and impassive as the frost creeping along the walls.

The guards didn't lead me directly to the courtroom. Instead, they marched me out of the jail, their heavy boots crunching against the frost-covered ground. Ironwood's frigid air hit me immediately, stinging my face and numbing my fingers even through the thin gloves I wore. The city was as harsh as its reputation, blackened iron buildings jutted into the sky, their soot-streaked facades towering over narrow, shadowed streets.

The courthouse wasn't in the same building as the jail, and the guards made it clear that we'd be taking a carriage to get there. A plain, reinforced vehicle waited near the side gate. Its iron plating looked almost like armor, the entire thing built to withstand riots or worse. Two horses, their breath clouding in the cold air, pawed restlessly at the cobblestone.

"Get in," one of the guards ordered. His voice was flat, but his sharp tone left no room for argument.

I stepped into the carriage, the iron steps slick beneath my boots. The interior was sparse and cold, with a bench running along one side and small windows barred with thick metal grates. I settled into the seat, trying not to shiver as the iron walls seemed to draw the heat out of the air.

The door slammed shut behind me, and a moment later, the carriage jolted forward.

The streets of Ironwood were eerily quiet at first, the clatter of the horses' hooves echoing against the tall buildings. Through the barred windows, I caught glimpses of people wrapped tightly in thick coats, their breath visible as they moved through the frigid morning.

But the quiet didn't last.

As we neared the courthouse, the streets grew more crowded. At first, it was just a few onlookers, their eyes tracking the carriage with a mix of curiosity and disdain. Then the crowd thickened, and the mood shifted. People began shouting, their voices sharp and angry as they surged toward the barricades lining the road.

"Child killer!" someone screamed.

"Burn in hell!" another voice shouted.

I flinched, shrinking back from the window as the shouts grew louder. Through the narrow slits, I could see faces contorted in rage, hands gripping crude signs painted with words like Murderer and Demon.

"Stay in the middle!" the guard beside me barked, his voice cutting through the chaos.

The carriage slowed as the crowd pressed closer, their fists pounding against the iron walls. Debris pelted the sides, a rock hit the window grate with a sharp clang, followed by a rotten vegetable that smeared across the iron plating.

The courthouse loomed ahead, its massive marble columns rising starkly against the gray sky. The steps leading up to the entrance were flanked by guards, their faces hidden beneath helmets as they held the line against the surging mob.

Just as the carriage came to a halt, someone broke through.

A man vaulted over the barricade, his face twisted with fury. In his hand, a gleaming knife caught the pale light as he lunged toward the carriage door.

The guards moved fast, one tackled him to the ground while another wrenched the knife from his grip. He screamed as they dragged him back, his voice raw with rage.

"One of those caretakers was my daughter!" he shouted, his words cutting through the cacophony. "She didn't deserve to die, you demon! I hope they destroy your soul!"

His words hung in the air, heavier than the cold. The punishment he spoke of, soul destruction, was the worst fate imaginable. Reserved for the most heinous of criminals, it erased not just your life but your very existence, ensuring you could never be reincarnated.

I swallowed hard, the knot in my throat tightening.

The guards pulled open the carriage door, their expressions unreadable as they motioned for me to step out.

"Stick close," one of them warned, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

I stepped down onto the cobblestones, the air alive with the sound of shouting and the press of bodies against the barricades. The path to the courthouse seemed impossibly long, the towering columns growing larger with every step.

The crowd surged, their voices a chaotic roar. Hands reached through the gaps in the barricades, their fingers clawing at the air as if they could pull me into their fury.

"Move it!" a guard snapped, his shoulder brushing against mine as he kept me moving forward.

The courthouse doors loomed ahead, their dark wood etched with intricate patterns of vines and stars. To most, they were symbols of justice, of order. To me, they felt like the gates of a prison.

As the guards ushered me inside, the noise of the crowd was muffled by the heavy doors closing behind us.

The noise of the crowd faded into a muffled roar as the heavy doors shut, sealing me off from the chaos outside. Inside, the air was no less oppressive. The grand hallway stretched before me, its marble floors gleaming under the golden light of oversized chandeliers. The walls were adorned with intricate carvings of stars and vines, the same as on the courthouse doors.

Guards flanked me on either side, their hands resting on the hilts of their swords as they ushered me forward. My footsteps echoed through the cavernous space, each step a stark reminder of where I was headed.

The courtroom itself was just ahead, the double doors standing ajar. From inside, I could hear the low hum of voices—the gathered crowd waiting for the trial to begin. I hesitated for a moment, my breath catching in my throat.

"Keep moving," one of the guards said sharply, giving me a slight shove.

I stepped through the doors and into the courtroom.

It was massive, like a theater built to watch someone's fate unfold. Rows of seats climbed high above the central floor, filled with onlookers whose faces were obscured in shadow. The light from the chandeliers above didn't reach the edges of the room, casting everything but the center into a dim haze.

At the far end of the room, raised high above the floor, sat the judge. His seat was more throne than chair, it's dark wood carved with the same swirling patterns as the rest of the courthouse. The judge himself was an imposing figure, his snow-white beard and steely eyes giving him the air of someone who'd seen too much and cared too little.

"Andrew Lucia," the judge said, his voice booming through the chamber. "You stand trial today for the deaths of the children and caretakers of Letzia Orphanage."

The words hit me like a hammer, though I'd heard them before. Every time someone said them, it was like a fresh wound reopening, the pain sharp and unrelenting.

The judge gestured toward the center of the courtroom. "Take your place."

I stepped forward, my legs stiff and unsteady. In the very center of the room was a single platform, illuminated by a harsh, white light from above. It felt like standing in a spotlight, every eye in the room trained on me.

The whispers started as soon as I reached the platform.

"He's so young…"

"Doesn't look like a killer."

"Doesn't matter. He's guilty."

The judge slammed his gavel once, silencing the crowd.

"Do you have legal representation?" the judge asked, though the answer was already obvious.

I swallowed hard, my throat dry. "No, Your Honor. I'll be representing myself."

A ripple of murmurs swept through the room,

but the judge didn't react. His expression was unreadable as he nodded once.

"This court will invoke a soul contract," the judge announced, his words deliberate and measured, each syllable carving itself into the air like stone.

"Andrew Lucia, do you understand the significance of this act?"

I nodded, my mouth dry. Of course I knew. Everyone did. A soul contract wasn't just a tool for determining guilt; it was the ultimate measure of truth, a magical binding that revealed the deepest truths within a person's soul. It didn't matter if you lied intentionally or unknowingly, if your soul held a truth that contradicted your words, the contract would react. Violently.

"This contract," the judge continued,

"binds your soul to honesty. Should you attempt to lie, or if your words contradict what your soul knows to be true, the contract will react, and the court will know. Pain will serve as a reminder of this bond, and repeated dishonesty will only lead to greater consequences. It is not merely your words under scrutiny, but the very essence of your being."

Two figures dressed in flowing black robes stepped forward, sending faint lavender light. The mana emanating from them was tangible, like static in the air.

"Do you accept the terms of the soul contract?" the judge asked.

"Yes," | said finally, my voice barely above a whisper.

The moment I spoke, a lavender glow snaked through the air, curling toward me like living smoke. It coiled around my chest, tightening until I could feel its presence deep in my ribs. The pressure was subtle at first, but it carried a weight that was impossible to ignore. It wasn't just magic, it was binding, a force tethering me to the truth in ways I didn't fully understand.

"It is done," the judge said, his voice echoing in the heavy silence that followed. "The soul contract is now in effect. Speak truthfully, Andrew Lucia, or face the consequences."

"Very well," he said. "Proceed."

The judge leaned forward, his sharp gaze piercing through me. "Andrew Lucia," he began, his tone steady but unrelenting. "You've admitted to being present at Letzia Orphanage the night of the fire. Now I'm asking you, under the soul contract: Did you cause the fire?"

"I… no," I replied, my voice trembling under the weight of the question. The words came out quickly, instinctively, because they felt true. How could I have caused it? I didn't even remember what happened that night.

As soon as the words left my mouth, the soul contract tightened around my chest. It wasn't just a faint pressure anymore, it constricted like a vise, forcing the air from my lungs. My knees buckled slightly, and I gripped the edge of the podium to steady myself.

A murmur rippled through the crowd, growing louder with every second. Faces blurred in my peripheral vision, their expressions ranging from shock to disgust.

"He's lying!" someone shouted from the gallery, the voice sharp and accusatory.

"You burned them alive!" another cried, their voice filled with venom.

"Monster!"

The prosecutor's eyes lit up, her lips curling into a knowing smirk. "Your Honor, the contract is reacting. He's lying."

"I'm not lying!" I shot back, my voice desperate. The pressure grew sharper, a searing heat spreading through my ribs. "I don't remember what happened! I swear, I don't!"

"Then why does the contract disagree with you?" the prosecutor pressed, her tone almost gleeful. She stepped closer, her sharp heels clicking against the marble floor. "Andrew Lucia, the soul contract doesn't punish you for ignorance. It punishes you for deceit. If you truly don't know what happened, the contract wouldn't react. So, tell us, what are you hiding?"

"I'm not hiding anything!" I shouted, the words raw in my throat. The pressure intensified again, and I felt a bead of sweat roll down my temple despite the cold of the courtroom. My breathing grew shallow, each gasp dragging against the invisible chains constricting me.

The crowd erupted, their voices merging into a chaotic roar.

"Lock him up!"

"He deserves worse!"

"Burn him the way he burned those kids!"

The judge slammed his gavel against the block, the sharp crack echoing through the room. "Order! I will have silence in my courtroom!"

The voices died down reluctantly, though the air remained thick with tension. The prosecutor didn't even flinch, her gaze fixed on me like a predator watching its prey.

The judge raised a hand, silencing the prosecutor before she could press further. His expression was stern, unreadable. "Andrew, this contract binds you to the truth of your soul. If it reacts, it means there is a part of you, consciously or unconsciously, that knows you are not being truthful. This is your last chance. Did you cause the fire?"

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, not from the pain but from the sheer weight of the moment. My heart raced as I searched my mind for something, anything, that could make sense of this.

"I don't know!" I finally cried out, my voice cracking. "I don't remember what happened! I went there looking for my brother, and the next thing I knew, I was surrounded by fire!"

The contract's grip lessened slightly, the searing heat fading into a dull ache. It wasn't a full release, but it was enough for me to breathe again. My chest heaved as I gasped for air, my hands trembling as they gripped the podium.

The judge leaned back, his gaze heavy with consideration. "Very well. The contract doesn't lie. If it reacts, there is truth buried within you, Andrew, whether or not you're aware of it." He paused, letting his words sink in. "But this court cannot convict on assumptions alone. We will proceed."

The judge's gavel struck, silencing the murmurs and outbursts that had filled the courtroom moments earlier. His stern gaze bore into me, the weight of his authority suffocating.

"Andrew Lucia," he began, his voice booming through the tense silence.

"Under the soul contract, I will ask again: Did you intend to kill the children and caretakers of Letzia Orphanage?"

"No," I said, my voice cracking under the pressure. "I swear I didn't.."

The soul contract flared violently, its lavender glow tightening around my chest like a steel vice. Pain ripped through me, forcing a sharp gasp from my lips. My legs wobbled, and I gripped the podium to keep from collapsing.

Gasps erupted from the crowd, followed immediately by a cacophony of accusations.

"He's lying!"

"Skin him alive!"

"Monster!"

The judge slammed his gavel again, his voice cutting through the chaos.

"Order! I will have order in this court!"

The room quieted reluctantly, but the tension in the air was thick enough to choke on.

The judge fixed me with a cold, unyielding stare. "The soul contract does not lie, Andrew Lucia. Whether you consciously recall your intent or not, your soul reveals otherwise. You bear responsibility for the deaths of ninety-one innocents."

The words hit me like a hammer, each syllable driving me further into the ground. My breaths came shallow and quick, my hands trembling against the podium.

The judge leaned forward, his voice heavy with authority. "By all rights, you should be sentenced to death."

The crowd erupted again, their voices filled with anger and vindication.

"Yes!"

"Kill him!"

"Burn the demon!"

The gavel slammed once more, silencing them. "But," the judge continued, his voice steady and unyielding, "I will give you one opportunity. Tell this court why your life is worth sparing."

My hands trembled as I swallowed hard, my mind racing for an answer. What could I possibly say? Slowly, I rolled up my sleeve, revealing the glowing tattoo of a dahlia etched into my skin. Its golden light pulsed faintly, catching the attention of the gallery.

Gasps filled the room, followed by a wave of whispers.

"He's Awakened?"

"That explains how he survived!"

"He doesn't deserve that power!"

The judge's eyes narrowed as he leaned back in his chair. "An Awakened?" His tone was sharp, his expression unreadable. "When did this manifest?"

"I... I don't know," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't even realize I was Awakened until after the fire. I don't know what my Gift is."

The judge's gaze lingered on the glowing mark for a long moment before he spoke again. "Being Awakened does not absolve you of guilt, Andrew Lucia.

But it does mean your life is protected under the law. As decreed by the Council of Adora, Awakened individuals cannot be executed for their crimes, as they are vital to our survival against Death Walkers."

The crowd's murmurs grew louder, a mix of frustration and fury.

"That's not fair!"

"Why should he be spared?"

The judge raised his hand for silence.

"However, protection under the law does not exempt you from justice. You will face penance by trial."

The tension in the room was palpable as the judge turned his piercing gaze back to me.

"Andrew, have you heard of Fulmine?"

My breath hitched. "The Ice Lightning

Dragon?"

The judge nodded. "Fulmine is one of the most dangerous creatures to roam the mountaintops of Nevi. A divine-level Walker, responsible for the deaths of hundreds, including seasoned Awakened. No one has succeeded in killing it. Yet this is what I will task you with."

A murmur rippled through the gallery.

The judge stood, his robes flowing as he addressed the court. "Ladies and gentlemen, Andrew Lucia will be tasked with slaying Fulmine and the other dragons of Nevi. If he succeeds, it will be a victory for all of Adora. If he fails, justice will be served by his death."

He paused, allowing the weight of his words to settle over the crowd. "I ask you now: Is this a penance worthy of the tragedy he caused? Does this punishment bring justice to the victims and their families?"

The room was silent for a moment, then erupted into a unanimous roar of approval.

"Yes!"

"Let the dragons have him!"

"This is justice!"

The judge nodded solemnly. "It is decided. Andrew Lucia, you will carry out this penance. Guards escort him to his transport."

The gavel struck one final time, the sound echoing through the courtroom like a death knell.

The guards were on me in an instant, their hands gripping my arms as they pulled me toward the exit. The crowd's cheers and jeers followed me, their hatred clawing at my back.

"Good riddance!"

"Dragon food!"

The heavy courtroom doors swung shut behind me, muffling the cheers and jeers of the crowd inside. The air outside was cold and biting, a stark contrast to the suffocating heat of the courtroom. The guards flanked me, their footsteps echoing off the stone pavement as we walked back toward the prison.

Neither of them spoke, their faces unreadable beneath the shadows of their helmets. The silence was almost unbearable, broken only by the rhythmic clink of my shackles with each step. My mind was a blur, replaying the judge's words over and over.

Fulmine. The Ice Lightning Dragon.

I couldn't help but laugh bitterly under my breath. This was no punishment; it was an execution dressed up as redemption.

"You'll need to be ready by tomorrow," one of the guards said abruptly, his voice cutting through my thoughts like a blade.

"Ready?" I asked, my throat dry.

"You'll leave for the mountaintops at dawn. Supplies and transport will be provided. After that, you're on your own," the other guard added without looking at me.

On my own. The words lingered in the freezing air, as heavy and unrelenting as the snow clouds that loomed above.

As we approached the gates of the prison, the weight of my sentence settled deeper into my chest. The iron bars creaked open, and the guards led me back to my cell in silence.

The walk through the prison was different this time. Every inmate seemed to be watching me, their eyes filled with a mix of pity, amusement, and disdain. Whispers trailed behind me like phantoms.

"Dead man walking."

"Think he'll make it past the first night?"

"Fulmine's going to chew him up and spit him out."

I kept my head down, ignoring them as best I could. What was the point of defending myself? They weren't wrong.

The guards stopped in front of my cell, unlocking the door with a sharp clink.

"You've got one night, Lucia. Make it count," one of them said as they shoved me inside.

The door slammed shut behind me, the sound reverberating through the small space. I stood there for a moment, staring at the cold, barren walls of my cell.

Slowly, I walked to the cracked mirror hanging on the wall. My reflection stared back at me, pale and hollow-eyed. The faint glow of the dahlia tattoo on my arm caught my attention, its soft light a cruel reminder of the power I didn't fully understand.

"What the hell happened to you?" I whispered, my voice barely audible in the silence.

I traced the outline of the dahlia with my fingers, the glow pulsing faintly under my touch. This was my life now, a series of impossible tasks, with no promise of redemption at the end.

The memory of the courtroom replayed in my mind: the cheers of the crowd, the judge's final words, the cold certainty of my sentence.

Tomorrow, I would be sent to the mountains of Nevi, to face a creature no one had ever defeated. I wasn't ready. I wasn't strong enough. But it didn't matter.

The world had already decided my fate.

I stared at my reflection for a long time, searching for the person I used to be. The boy who used to run through flower fields, who used to dream of a life beyond his small village.

But all I saw was a stranger.

A monster.

I turned away from the mirror and sat down on the cot, the chill of the cell creeping into my bones. The guards' words echoed in my mind.

"You've got one night. Make it count."

I closed my eyes, but sleep didn't come. Only the sound of my heartbeat, pounding like a war drum, as the weight of tomorrow bore down on me.