The Shadow That Learns to Speak

The shard-road stretched before me like a scar across infinity, jagged and glimmering with reflections that were not mine to command. Each step I took sent hairline cracks rippling outward, the sound sharp as breaking glass, yet the path never collapsed. It wanted me to walk it. Or perhaps it wanted to see if I would.
The glow on the horizon pulsed faintly, swaying between warmth and cold. I could not tell if it was a lantern guiding me or a lure waiting to snap shut. My hand throbbed with the fragile spell-light I still carried, its glow flickering weaker with every breath. My shoulder ached where the fractured creature had cut me.
And beneath it all, silence pressed heavy. A silence that was never still.
At first, the whispers were shapeless, like the echoes of thoughts I couldn’t remember having. Then they began to take form, curling into half-phrases, unfinished sentences.
“…let go…”“…easier this way…”“…why hold on…”
I quickened my pace, forcing my gaze on the distant glow. But the words followed. They were inside me.
Then—clearer than before:
“You should have stayed.”
I stopped cold. That voice wasn’t Aeris. It wasn’t Ren. It wasn’t any of the countless whispers the Veil had already thrown at me.
It was mine.
“You should have let go. You wouldn’t hurt anymore.”
The blood drained from my face. I turned sharply, scanning the jagged shards that lined the road. Every reflection stared back at me: the boy I had been at eight, laughing with Ren; the boy who had cried at a classroom window; the boy beneath the silver tree, listening to Aeris’s calm voice.
And then—one reflection moved when I didn’t.
It peeled itself free.
The surface of the shard rippled like liquid. A figure stepped through, tall and fluid, yet unmistakably me. The same hair, the same frame, the same posture I fell into when I was exhausted. But its face… its face was wrong. Its eyes burned with fractured light instead of pupils. Its expression was a hollow smile carved into stillness.
“You’re late,” it said. My voice. My cadence. But drained of breath and warmth, as though spoken through water.
My stomach lurched. “What… are you?”
The thing tilted its head, studying me. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m you. The you who finally stopped pretending.”
The words cut sharper than the shard still embedded in my shoulder. My grip on the light trembled, the flame guttering like a candle in wind.
“No,” I muttered. “You’re just another trick. Another fragment.”
It stepped closer, bare feet leaving no sound on the glassy surface. “And what are you, then? If I’m a fragment, aren’t you as well? A piece carved off and thrown into this place? You don’t even know where you end and the Veil begins.”
The whispers thickened, hissing through the reflections around us. Forgotten. Alone. Never enough.
I clenched my fists. “I’m real. I—”
“Are you?” it interrupted. Its voice softened, almost kind. “Do you really remember who you are, Lucen? Or are you just a collection of stories you tell yourself so you don’t collapse?”
For a heartbeat, my memories faltered. Aeris beneath the silver tree. Ren’s laughter in the schoolyard. My mother’s voice calling me home. Were they still mine? Or were they just shards the Veil had stolen and replayed at me?
I shook my head violently. “I know who I am.”
The Shadow smiled, its lips curling into a mirror of mine. “Then prove it. Show me.”
It raised its hand. I thought it would summon one of those jagged memory-blades the fractured creatures carried. But instead, light began to gather in its palm. My breath caught.
That light. That rhythm. That warmth.
“Lumae verin,” it whispered.
The spell flared to life. Perfect. Flawless.
I staggered back, heart slamming against my ribs. “No… that’s mine—”
“It’s ours,” the Shadow corrected smoothly. Its hand blazed with steady brilliance. “Did you think you could keep it to yourself? I am you. I remember what you remember. I know what you know. And unlike you…” The glow swelled, washing across the shards in a blinding wave. “…I don’t doubt.”
The reflections around us twisted violently, shifting to show me what I wanted to forget: the times I failed, the silences that cut deeper than words, the faces of those I couldn’t save. Every regret replayed in merciless clarity.
The Shadow stepped forward, holding my spell like judgment in its hand.
“Why struggle?” it asked, almost gently. “Why fight for memories that only wound you? Isn’t it easier to let me carry them? To let me speak for you?”
My knees buckled. My light quivered. The air tasted of glass dust and despair.
And then—among the shards, Aeris’s face flickered. Not twisted, not broken. Just her, silver leaves drifting around her, smiling softly. The memory warmed my chest like fire catching in dry wood.
I clenched my jaw. “No.”
The Shadow’s eyes narrowed. “No?”
I forced myself to stand, legs trembling. “You’re not me. You’re what the Veil wants me to be. Empty. Resigned. But I’m not done. I won’t give up.”
The Shadow’s smile thinned. For a flicker, its light wavered.
Then it surged brighter than ever. “Then you’ll break.”
It thrust the light forward.
The spell tore across the shard-road like a tidal wave. My own flame quivered, small and fragile in comparison. The world became blinding radiance, shards shattering, whispers screaming.
I had no choice.
“Lumae verin!” I shouted, forcing every ounce of myself into the word. My palm flared. The light burst outward in a desperate shield, colliding with the Shadow’s wave.
The impact shook the plain. Reflections screamed and splintered, fragments raining down in a storm of glass. The clash of lights blinded me, the heat searing through my skin.
For an instant, my shield held. Then I felt it.
A memory slipping away.
Not torn, not stolen—burned.
Ren’s laughter, sharp and bright, the sound that had anchored me on countless mornings—it blurred, muffled, as though played through water. My chest lurched. No. No, not that.
The Shadow’s voice pressed through the blaze. “Do you feel it? Even your light devours you. Every time you call it, you hollow yourself. How long until nothing is left?”
I gritted my teeth, tears stinging my eyes. “Better me than you!”
I forced the spell harder. The wave of my light pushed forward, clashing with the Shadow’s. For a moment, the balance tipped. The Shadow’s smile faltered.
Then—it mirrored me. Its mouth moved in perfect sync.
“Lumae verin,” it whispered again.
Its second wave smashed into mine. My shield cracked, shards of gold and silver breaking away, dissolving into nothing. My knees buckled. My breath tore ragged from my chest.
Another memory slipped. Aeris’s hand on mine beneath the silver tree, the warmth of her touch guiding me—it flickered, dulled, as though the world were stealing it in pieces.
I cried out, voice raw.
The Shadow’s light pressed closer. Its hollow smile widened.
“You see? I am stronger. Because I don’t fear forgetting. I welcome it.”
The pressure crushed me to the ground. My light sputtered, nearly extinguished. My arms shook violently, barely holding back the tide.
And then—again—that sound.
A single note, clear as the pluck of a string. A music that didn’t belong here.
It rippled across the plain. The shards trembled. The Shadow froze, its head snapping up, eyes narrowing.
The note faded.
But it was enough. The Shadow’s spell faltered. My light surged, blasting outward in a desperate wave. The plain exploded in brilliance, shards flying, whispers shrieking.
When the glow cleared, I was on my knees, chest heaving, sweat burning down my face. My palm smoked where the spell had nearly consumed me. My memories ached like wounds.
And the Shadow…
It still stood. Intact. Watching me. Its smile had vanished, but its eyes burned hotter.
“You can’t run from me,” it said softly. “Every step you take, I will follow. Every spell you cast, I will grow. You can’t wake from this, Lucen. You can only break.”
Then it dissolved back into the shards.
Silence fell.
I collapsed forward, trembling, tears blurring my vision. My shoulder throbbed. My heart felt hollow. Ren’s laughter was still gone. Aeris’s touch—already fading.
The Veil hadn’t just tested me. It had stolen from me.
And for the first time, I realized the truth.
The Veil didn’t want to kill me.It wanted to replace me.

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Author’s Note
Lucen’s fight with the Shadow marks his first true psychological battle in the Veil. For the first time, the enemy doesn’t just reflect him—it speaks, it learns, and it wields his own spell. Worse, every use of “Lumae verin” exacts its cost: memories lost, piece by piece.
The question now is not just how long he can survive, but how long he can remember who he is.
Next: Chapter 13 – The Mirror That Bleeds