The Card’s Shadow

The sky was all orange and purple, like a big painting. The wisteria trees swayed in the wind, their purple flowers hanging down like little waterfalls. Dad was on the cliff where he always trained, his sword moving super smooth, like it was dancing. The shiny blade caught the light and made it look like it was glowing.

"Whoa," Nate whispered, holding his stick like it was a real sword. He crouched down, copying Dad. "You think we can do that?"

"Easy," I said, grabbing my stick. "Watch this!" I swung as hard as I could, trying to be cool like Dad, but my stick flew out of my hand and rolled down the hill. Nate laughed so hard he fell over, but then he tried to swing and bonked his own knee. We both ended up rolling in the grass, laughing until our sides hurt.

Dad stopped moving and turned to look at us. His serious face softened, and he smiled just a little. "Practicing already, huh?"

"Yeah!" Nate said, jumping up and holding out his stick. "I'm gonna be better than you!"

Dad chuckled as he walked over. "Oh, is that so? Here, let me show you." He knelt next to Nate and adjusted his hands on the stick. "Like this. Relax your grip. See?"

"What about your sword?" I asked, pointing to the shiny blade. "Why does it glow like that?"

Dad held up the sword so we could see. "This isn't just any sword," he said. "It's a soul-bound weapon."

"What's that?" Nate asked, tilting his head.

"It means someone's inside this sword," Dad explained. "Someone really special."

I gasped. "Like a ghost?"

Dad laughed softly. "Not a ghost. It's your grandmother, my mom. Before she passed away, she bonded her soul to this sword so I could use it. That's what lets me use mana, the magic that makes it glow."

Nate's eyes went huge as he stared at the sword. "Grandma's in there? She's helping you fight?"

"That's right," Dad said with a nod. "She's part of every swing, every move. She stayed to protect us."

I stared at my stick, frowning. "Can we get a soul sword too?"

Dad ruffled my hair. "Maybe one day. But for now, you should focus on holding onto your stick first."

"Okay!" Nate said, gripping his stick like it was the most important thing in the world. "I'll practice super hard!"

"Good," Dad said, standing back up. He turned toward the cliff, his sword resting at his side. "When you hold a soul weapon, it's not just you. It's the person who gave you their soul. You fight for them, always."

Nate leaned close and whispered to me, "I think I'm ready to fight dragons."

I snorted. "You can't even beat me."

"Yes, I can!" Nate yelled, smacking me with his stick.

"Hey!" I laughed, grabbing another stick and chasing him around.

Dad sighed, shaking his head, but before he could say anything, we heard Mom's voice.

"James! Dinner's been cold for an hour!"

We all froze. Dad turned slowly, his face suddenly serious. "Uh-oh."

Mom came stomping up the hill, one shoe in her hand. "If you don't get back to the house right now—"

She didn't finish. The shoe flew through the air, spinning like a boomerang. Dad ducked just in time, and it hit the ground behind him.

Nate giggled and poked Dad with his stick. "You okay, Dad?"

Dad grinned. "I'm fine. But let's head back before she throws the pan."

Too late. Mom marched closer, a frying pan in her hand. She whacked Dad right on the head, and he dropped to the ground, groaning.

Nate poked him again. "Is he dead?"

Mom crossed her arms and said, "He's gonna wish he was when I'm done with him."

Nate and I burst out laughing, following Mom back to the house as Dad staggered to his feet, holding his head. The stars were just starting to come out as the day ended, but I couldn't stop smiling. Even with the pan.

The laughter faded as I woke with a start, the memory shattering like glass. The chill of the cell bit into my skin, pulling me fully into the present. I sat up on the thin cot, my breath clouding in the frigid air as I stared at the cracked mirror on the wall. My reflection looked back at me, hollow golden eyed, and nothing like the carefree kid in the memory.

"What the hell…" I whispered to myself, my voice barely audible in the silence.

"Well, Grandma," I muttered, the words scraping out like a whisper, "looks like I might be seeing you soon."

I wondered if she'd recognize me. Would she be disappointed? Would she ask what kind of mess I'd made of things? I couldn't even begin to imagine what that conversation would look like, but part of me almost hoped for it. At least then, there'd be someone to tell me it wasn't all my fault…or maybe confirm that it was.

A bitter laugh escaped me, echoing softly in the empty cell. "Guess it doesn't really matter, does it? Dead is dead."

My fingers traced the rough surface of the cot as I leaned back against the cold wall. The weight of the trial, the sentence, and the impossible task ahead pressed down on me, making it hard to breathe. Fulmine. The name alone felt like a death sentence, whispered in every corner of Nevi as if the creature were a god.

"Dragon food," I muttered under my breath, shaking my head. "Maybe they're right."

The sharp clang of metal on metal jolted me from my thoughts.

"Lucia!" a guard barked, his voice echoing down the corridor. "Get up! It's time!"

I stayed still for a moment, letting the words sink in. Time for what? To die? To meet Grandma? Maybe both.

The guard banged on the bars again, the noise harsh and jarring. "Don't make us come in there, kid!"

With a deep sigh, I pushed myself off the cot, my body stiff and unwilling in the freezing air. I grabbed the thin coat hanging on the wall, barely enough to keep the cold out but better than nothing, and threw it over my shoulders.

As I stepped toward the door, the dahlia tattoo on my arm caught the faint light from the hallway. It pulsed softly, like a heartbeat, a cruel reminder that there was still something alive inside me. For now, anyway.

"All right, all right," I said, my voice flat as I approached the bars. "Let's get this over with."

The guard unlocked the cell with a loud click, the heavy door creaking open. His eyes scanned me with disdain, like I was something unpleasant he had to scrape off his boot.

"Follow us," he said curtly, gesturing down the long, dimly lit hallway.

I nodded silently and stepped out of the cell, the cold stone floor biting at my bare feet. The guards flanked me as we moved through the prison, their footsteps echoing like a death march. My mind wandered back to the cliffs of Fior, to the warm glow of the sunset and Dad's steady voice.

The guards didn't respond. They just kept walking, their spears clinking softly against the iron walls as we headed toward whatever was waiting for me outside.

The cold hit me like a punch to the face as we stepped outside, the sharp wind biting through my thin coat. I shivered, but part of me welcomed the sensation. It was almost better than the suffocating heat I couldn't stop remembering, the fire, the screams, the weight of smoke in my lungs. Freezing to death didn't seem so bad in comparison.

At least the cold was honest.

The guards flanked me as we walked across the snow-covered courtyard, their boots crunching against the frozen ground. The iron gates creaked open ahead of us, revealing a small crowd gathered on the other side.

I kept my head down, but their voices found me anyway.

"Murderer!" one woman screamed, her voice cutting through the cold like a knife.

"Let the dragons rip him apart!" a man shouted, his fist shaking in the air.

A rock flew past me, missing by inches and landing with a dull thud in the snow. Another followed, hitting the back of my coat. I didn't flinch.

"You think you can just walk away after what you did?" a voice bellowed from the back of the crowd.

A woman stepped forward, her face pale and gaunt. She clasped her hands together, her head tilted back as she spoke. "Lord, deliver us from this evil. Smite this demon where he stands. End his life and cleanse our land of his sin."

Her prayer rang out over the crowd, and for a moment, the jeers quieted. I felt every eye on me, their collective hate pressing down like the weight of a thousand stones.

I didn't look up. What was there to say? They weren't wrong to hate me.

The guards didn't say a word, their stoic faces fixed ahead as they ushered me toward the waiting carriage. It was a reinforced iron monstrosity, its dark surface gleaming faintly in the weak sunlight. The horses pawed restlessly at the ground, their breath visible in the frigid air.

One of the guards pulled the door open, the hinges groaning in protest. "Get in," he said, his tone flat.

I climbed inside, the cold metal floor stinging my hands as I steadied myself. The door slammed shut behind me, sealing me away from the crowd's angry cries.

The interior was sparse, just a bench bolted to the walls and small, barred windows. I sank onto the bench, pulling my coat tighter around me as the carriage jolted forward.

The sound of the crowd faded as we moved through the city, replaced by the rhythmic clatter of hooves on cobblestone. I peered out through the bars, catching glimpses of Ironwood's soot-streaked buildings and narrow streets. The city seemed as cold and unforgiving as the people in it.

The road began to slope upward, the buildings giving way to open snowfields and the towering silhouette of the mountains in the distance. I leaned back against the wall, the cold seeping through the iron, and closed my eyes.

Burning or freezing, death was still death. But for now, I just focused on breathing, the frost-laden air filling my lungs as we climbed higher and higher.