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one
shadow of tenebris
drusk

ONCE, THE FAE woods were alive with

malice, laughter, and schemes, but gone are
the days of the folk. Trolls and boggarts no
longer hunt shadows of the night. No hag
wanders the darkness, lying in wait to ensnare
a maiden and eat her heart whole. The goblins
returned to their hills, and the aven hide in
burrows.
Tenebris is a land of men.
For now.
The bodies of the four mortals at my feet
incite no feeling in me. No excitement, no
07:46 0 ~- 4G" 35 %
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contentment. I remember I used to enJoy

causing pain to those I deemed deserving of it.
I loved the hunt. I even loved the kill. Such is
the nature of the blood running through my
veins; beneath layers of sophistication, we
unseelie will always be instruments of chaos
and destruction.
Now there's nothing but a void. An
emptiness. I killed these mortals because they
were in my way. I killed them because I had to,
without feeling a hum of pleasure or desire.
One of the most inconvenient human
qualities is that they tend to swarm like
locusts. Destroy a handful, and a dozen pop up
in their place. Before I have time to wipe the
blood off my sword, I sense company nearing.
I curse under my breath, unhooking my bow
from my back to shoot the mortals
approaching from a distance.
"Look up!" !ola yells behind me.
I don't bother. The day I can't feel an
oncoming gunshot is the day I'm no longer
Rystan Drusk. The gunpowder humans use
stinks of charred metal, and the air around it
vibrates in an unnatural way.
I don't know where most of my heritage
comes from. What I do know is that Mysts are
the children of the air. As its master, I amone
with the night.
Before the human weapon finds its way into
whichever piece of my flesh it would have
lodged, I disappear into the shadows.
I reappear next to !ola and Erdun, a few

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hun dre d pac es ahe ad of wh ere I was . "Do you
hav e it?" I dem and .
My com pan ion nod s, poi ntin g to the satc hel
on her hip .
"Go, the n," I say. "I'l l dela y the m."
Iola frow ns, and the n sha kes her hea d. "We
can 't. Les son one : no one is eve r left beh ind .
Rem emb er?"
The thin g I forg ot is tha t tod ay is her firs t
mis sion out side of the wal ls of Wh itec roft .
Erd un laug hs, tug gin g on Iola's sleeve.
"Th at rule app lies to eve ryo ne exc ept him .
Com e on, gre enie . He's Sha dow . He' ll be fine.
The fast er we are, the soo ner he can join us."
Sha dow . Tha t nam e alm ost man age s to get a
rea ctio n out of me, but I ign ore the chil l
run nin g alon g my skin .
Iola lets the oth er ran ger tug her forw ard ,
and the y star t the ir run to the sou the ast, onl y
loo kin g bac k onc e.
I'm glad I incl ude d her in tod ay's resc ue.
She may be gre ene r tha n sorne, but she 's
ready. And the gods of hea ven and hell kno w
we nee d as man y ran ger s ven turi ng bey ond
our san ctu ary as possible, if we' re eve r to
recl aim wha t's our s.
Ten yea rs ago, wh en Ten ebr is was inv ade d
by hum an scu m led by a trai toro us usu rpe r, I
vol unt eere d to trai n tho se wh o wan ted to
help . Our arm y was all but dec ima ted in the
atta ck pre ced ing our retr eat. Wh ile nat ura lly
agile and stro nge r tha n any mo rtal , the foil<
wer en't fighters, per se, and the y kne w

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nothing of discipline. I used to be a soldier, in
another life. I figured my training should be
passed on.
Almost a thousand folk have suffered
through my lessons. They hate me, curse my
name. One or two have begged me to kill them
when I work on their endurance. But unlike
the hotheads who believed they didn't need
any training, unlike the few soldiers who
carne with us, every single one of them is still
alive today.
I haven't taught them obedience or any such
things the armies used to require of me. I
taught them to survive.
They're each a bit of hope for our kingdom.
For our race. If I can do nothing else, 1'11
endeavor to keep hope alive for those who still
have sorne.
My actions don't matter; I realize that.
There are a hundred thousand humans in our
lands. More arrive every day. They've cut
down woods and built settlements through
our home. They've claimed it. They even
renamed it. No trickery, no spell, no curse can
will that many mortals into nothingness, and
those are the true weapons of the folk.
It'd take a miracle to claim it back, with so
few warriors among us.
I've long since ceased to believe in miracles.
I wait in the shadows of my Myst, invisible
to the eyes of any fae. As humans are blind at
the best of times, they see only a fog in front
of them, and don't even sense that anything is

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wrong untll n ·s rar too late.
I let them approach, silent and immobile. I
am a spider, and like the insects they are,
they're too easily caught in my web. When the
dozen men are within reach, I strike, turning
the world into fire all around me, scorching
their flesh with blue flames. They dance all
around me, tick.ling my skin.
The humans scream-some have the
presence of mind to roll on the ground, others
run away. None of that will help. They'll stop
suffering if and when I allow them to.
I hear the rest of their regiment advance,
entirely focused on me rather than following
after my companions. That's the way I like it.
My parents and sister unfortunately don't
see it in the same light. The last time she
shouted at me, Ma called me suicida!.
She's wrong... and right. I'm not suicida!. I
am already dead, the heart in the cavity of my
chest long frozen. I care for them still. I care
about the future of Tenebris-for I '11 never call
our land anything else. I care about making
the humans pay for taking our lands.
For all that, passion, desire, enjoyment have
left me. I am a shell of the man I used to be.
I'm sorry it pains my family. I'm not sorry it
has turned me into Shadow. A monster who
can put himself in the line of fire without a
care. I am a weapon; one of our only weapons
in a losing war.
The humans rush to aid their companions,
and fire extends to the rest of them as they

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07:46 0 ~-4G ~ u 35 %
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enter my web.
"Stay away from the monster-we need to
kili him from a distance! Archers, lances, on
my command! The sorcerer-"
Movister. I suppose that's what I am. Not
because of any of my abilities. I'm a monster
because I can take lives without letting it
matter to me. I'm a monster because I don't
feel. I'm a monster because of her.
I move too fast for any mortal eyes to see,
taking a small knife I made a week ago in my
grasp and throwing it. The leader's words die
when the blade sails through his throat.
Watching him fall off his black warhorse, the
lieutenant at his side freezes in horror,
realizing his commander's death means he's
now in charge. Which would make him the
next corpse on the blood-soaked moss.
If I were still who I used to be, there would
be another knife flying through the night. I'd
kili for the sake of it, again and again. But it's
a pointless endeavor. Crunching locusts is a
child's game. More will spring up in an
instant. What I need is for them to leave,
ensuring Iola and Erdun's safe return.
I let him choose his fate, watching him as he
stares at me, sizing me up.
"Fall back! Fall back to the Court! On my
lead."
Sorne mortals are smarter than others.
I retract my fire, letting those who aren't
yet dead extinguish. Burning them wouldn't
provide so much as a smidgen of satisfaction

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?
or entertainment, and it wouldn't do to use up
more energy than necessary.
Myst, like any power, is taxing on the mind.
l'd bate to have to sleep before the end of the
night. It'd worry Ma and Neb. Besides, I
mislike fatigue. There are always things to do
in Whitecroft. Young folk to train, fields to
plan, swords to sharpen.
Pa understands, I think. He doesn't say
much, unlike the females in my family, but
sometimes, I catch looks he sends my way
when he doesn't think I'm paying him any
mind. He touches my shoulder for too long, or
sighs when he watches me.
That's worse than shouting. I see him
mourning his
son, though I'm right in front of his eyes. He
knows part of me is gone, buried inside
Whitecroft Hall.
Buried right next to Nevlaria Bane.
I don't know why I took the loss of Vlari so
hard. Perhaps she represented amusement and
freedom to me. Perhaps it's something else
entirely.
I make my way back to the dome of light
stretching over hectares, engulfing ali of
Whitecroft's extensive grounds under Vlari's
protection.
I would never have thought that Whitecroft
was intended to be used as a fortress. It was
nothing but a school for the richest of the folk ,
or the gentry with lines dating back to the Old
World. Pretty, ill-defended, but overall

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useless. Vlari's spell turned it into the most
impregnable area of Alfheimr. Our enemies
tried everything. Magic, explosives, armies.
Our walls are only opened to the folk.
As I approach, the shimmering golden
barrier parts right in front of me to let me
pass. I never quite understood how it works.
The others say that sometimes, the walls
remain closed; it generally means there's an
enemy nearby that they need to dispatch
before being allowed through. The spells
woven into our shields are quite beyond me.
They've never failed to open for me.
Perhaps because no enemy is stupid enough to
follow me.
Seconds after I'm allowed in, I see the wall
open again at my right, a few paces away.
Frowning, I approach it.
There should be no other party of rangers
coming in tonight, and my companions should
have arrived ahead of me.
No enemy has ever made it through the
barrier, but I am on my guard all the same.
Someone comes through-almost a child,
not much younger than my sister. I only have
to take one glance at her to know her story.
She's emaciated, out of breath, and her dilated
pupils betray the ordeal she's been through.
She's one of the courageous souls who have
managed to make their way to us by
themselves. Over the years, the ranger parties
venturing outside of Whitecroft have
managed to rescue a number of folk, bringing

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 Aa ••
•
the m to us, bu t rar e are the fae wh o'v e ma
de it
on the ir ow n.
No ne of the m we re chi ldr en as yo un g
as
she .
"Are yo u hu rt? " I ask her .
Sh e's un luc ky I'm the on e wh o fou nd her
.
I'v e ne ve r be en acc use d of gen tle nes s. I
rea d
fea r in he r eyes as she tak es me in, an d I
do n't
att em pt to def use it.
I do n't det ect any wo un ds, bu t I do n't lik
e
ma kin g ass um pti on s.
Th e gir l shi ver s, bu t she sha kes he r hea
d.
I'm gla d of it. I'm cap abl e of adm ini ste
rin g
bas ic rem edi es wh en the cir cum sta nce s
call
for it, bu t I'm no t mu ch of a hea ler .
Sh e nee ds som eth ing wa rm to eat , an d
a
pla ce to sle ep. Sh e pro bab ly also nee
ds
som eon e to spe ak to, an d tha t som eon e
isn 't
me , so I ges tur e be hin d me . "C hoo se
yo ur
cou rt. You'll be car ed for ."
Th e low er kin gs an d qu een s of Te neb
ris
hav e fou nd ref ug e in Wh ite cro ft, wi th a
pa rt
of the ir cou rts . As we cou ld har dly all
fit
ins ide the bu ild ing tha t use d to be ou r sch
ool ,
we 've bu ilt sev en hal ls, wi th sm all
bu t
com for tab le ap art me nts , eac h rep res ent
ing
ou r sev en cou rts . As h, Mi st, Sta rs, Sto rm
, Sil t,
Ich or, an d Sto ne. Wh ite cro ft Ha ll its elf ho
use s
the roy alt y, an d wh ate ve r is lef t of
ou r
go ve rnm en t-t he lea der s of ou r arm ies
, ou r
po liti cia ns, ou r law ma ker s.
Th e on e go od thi ng to com e of ou r ord eal
is
the fac t tha t we are n't def ine d by wh ere
we

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were born. Not anymore.
Before, a fae born in the Court of Stars
could only join another court if the king or
queen requested it. For the first time in
generations, we've been able to choose where
we belong.
My family was born at the border between
Stars and Mist-technically on Stars lands.
They've chosen to remain with the Court of
Stars, in order to be close to their friends.
I haven't chosen. Not officially. I sleep in my
parents' quarters, though my position means I
could have an apartment of my own, should I
request it.
Requesting lodgings would mean actually
picking a court. A lord. I can't bring myself to
kneel to anyone. I don't believe in the lords of
Tenebris. Had they been powerful, we
wouldn't be stuck behind these walls,
cowering before mortals. I don't trust them. I
don't respect any of them. None of the elders,
non e of the queens, none of the warriors saved
us.
Vlari did.
Vlari, who's little more than a child to the
folk. As the gentry don't fade with age, we're
considered too young for responsibility under
the age of a hundred years. Vlari wasn't even
seventy when she placed herself between us
and immortals, with none of the lower
monarchs by her side.
Just me and her grandfather. Another lord I
don't quite trust.

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Aa •••
Ana sne pa1a ror tne1r 1naouny to protect
us.
I don't think I can ever forgive the kings
and queens of Tenebris for their helplessness.
Their weakness. They've lost my respect, and
how could I serve a leader I don't respect?
I can only kneel to a power greater than my
own.
"What about the girl of light?" the child
asks, making me stop in my tracks.
A girl of light? I try to make sense of the
words. I might have been too quick to dismiss
her injuries. It sounds like she hit her head too
hard. Before I can ask a few pointed questions,
the child carries on. "The pbde with purple
hair. She helped me get away. Is she still out
there?"
I turn to face her, watching her eyes,
scanning for the first sign of a lie.
And suddenly, the void is gone. The
emptiness, the lack of feeling that has been my
constant companion. I am fire. I am rage.
If she's lying to me, 1'11 take great pleasure
in making her suffer.
A pixie.
Pixies are creatures of the seelie courts. The
legends say that they're the children of gentry
and the shy folk of the wilderness, given the
beauty of one race and the bloodthirsty
ferocity of the other. They moved to settle
south of the wilderness centuries ago, and
bowed to the high queen of Denarhelm. When
the line of the queen failed, they founded a

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lower court.
There may be a handful of pixies scattered
across Tenebris, but I know of only three
within the walls of Whitecroft. A full-blooded
female. Her half-blood son. The son's
daughter. A quarter-blooded pixie, yet so
dainty and small her origins can't be denied.
She blends the features of a gentry with those
of the pbde, managing to look almost
innocent, like an ingénue. A neat trick for the
most powerful fae among us.
Only one of them has purple hair-violet at
the tips, gray at the roots.
The shade of the royal line, running
through the entire bloodline of Nyx.
Vlari.
I say one word to the exhausted, terrified
girl I can't bring myself to reassure. "Talk."

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