All Chapters of Shadow bound: The beast within : Chapter 101
- Chapter 110
182 chapters
Chapter One Hundred and One: The Morning After Silence
The world had never been this quiet.Luca sat by the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees, fingers tangled in his hair. The fire had burned down to gray ash, and thin curls of smoke drifted lazily upward, carrying the scent of charred wood. Outside, dawn stretched across the hills, its pale light seeping through the cracked window like the world was slowly remembering how to breathe again.He hadn’t slept. Not really. The hours between night and morning had passed in a blur of thoughts he couldn’t name. He had been watching Grace the whole time, afraid that if he blinked too long she might fade, that the peace he saw in her face would vanish the moment he stopped looking.Her chest rose and fell with the rhythm of sleep. She looked weightless, as if the shadows that had once clung to her had finally let go. He couldn’t remember the last time she looked this still, this free of pain.He glanced toward the far side of the room. The mirror was gone. Or rather, what remained of it was
Chapter 102 – The Stillness Between Us
The morning felt like it had been holding its breath. A soft mist drifted over the courtyard, wrapping the world in a fragile kind of silence. I stood by the window, watching sunlight slowly push through the haze, touching the old walls and the garden below. Everything looked calm, peaceful even, but my heart didn’t know how to be still.Lucas hadn’t come to me since last night. I told myself it didn’t matter, that we both needed space after everything that happened. But a quiet ache had settled somewhere deep in my chest, steady and heavy. The kind of ache that doesn’t go away when you breathe.I pressed my fingers against the cold glass. My reflection stared back at me, pale and uncertain, eyes filled with too many thoughts. Behind that reflection, the world looked far away, unreachable. I wondered if that was how he felt—always standing behind some invisible wall, watching everything but never really stepping into it.The memory of his eyes from last night stayed with me. The way they
Chapter 103: The Echo Beneath the Stone
The rain had stopped, but the scent of it still hung in the air. The courtyard glistened in soft silver light, and for a while, neither Luca nor Grace spoke. They just stood there, their hands still touching, as if the silence itself was part of what they needed to say.When the wind shifted again, Luca felt it—a pulse, faint but sure, coming from somewhere deep beneath the castle. He opened his eyes, the feeling crawling up his spine like a memory. Grace noticed the change in his expression.“What is it?” she asked.He shook his head, listening. “Something’s still moving.”The light that had flickered earlier wasn’t gone. It was faint now, almost shy, peeking through the cracks in the stone wall near the east wing. Grace turned to it, her breath catching.“Do you see that?” she whispered.Luca nodded slowly. “I thought it was just me.”They moved closer together. The ground felt damp under their boots, and every step echoed softly. The glow was steady now—a heartbeat beneath the ruin.Grace
Chapter 104: The Morning After the Light
The night had been long, but morning came softly, as if afraid to wake the world too soon. Pale sunlight drifted through the cracks in the curtains, painting slow lines across the room where Grace sat on the edge of the bed.She hadn’t slept. Her hair was loose, a few strands brushing her face as she watched the faint steam rise from the cup of tea she hadn’t touched. Outside, the courtyard was damp and quiet. Only the faint call of distant crows broke the silence.Luca stood near the window, shirt half-buttoned, gaze distant. He had been up before dawn, pacing the room in silence, his mind still lost somewhere beneath the castle—where the light had appeared.Neither of them spoke for a while. They didn’t need to. There was something about the air that morning, something too fragile for words.Finally, Grace spoke, her voice quiet. “You heard her, didn’t you?”Luca turned, the muscles in his jaw tightening. “Yes.”“Then you know she’s not gone.”He met her eyes, and for a moment, the weight
Chapter 105: The Weight of Quiet
The world has been quieter since the storm ended. Not silent—just quieter. The kind of quiet that feels alive, where every breath carries the echo of what’s been lost. Sometimes I wake up before dawn and listen to it, the faint sound of the wind moving through the broken trees, the whisper of the river beyond the ridge. It almost sounds like breathing.Valeria used to say the world never truly sleeps. Even when everything falls apart, it finds ways to hum again, to heal itself in small invisible moments. I never understood that before. But now, sitting on the edge of the ruins with my hands still wrapped in scars that won’t fade, I think I do.The air smells of ash and earth. Morning light cuts through the mist like threads of gold, touching the stones that once held everything we fought for. My reflection in the shallow pool nearby looks almost like a stranger—tired eyes, faint bruises, hair that’s lost its sheen. But there’s something else too, something quieter. A steadiness I didn’t
Chapter 106: The Quiet After the Flames
Morning came slow, almost reluctant. The mist curled over the valley like smoke that refused to leave, and the river murmured softly against the stones. I stood at the edge of what used to be our world and tried to remember how to breathe like it mattered.The mirror from last night rested against my chest, warm from the fire I’d slept beside but heavier than anything I’d ever carried. Every time I looked at it, I saw flashes of her face—Valeria, not as the ghost I’d imagined, but as the woman who once reached for me even when the world burned. Maybe it was my mind refusing to let go. Or maybe some promises refuse to die.Behind me, I could hear the quiet stir of morning routines. Grace was gathering water; Mira was humming softly as she packed herbs into small linen wraps. The camp was rebuilding itself, one breath, one movement at a time. And yet, beneath it all, there was a silence we didn’t talk about—a silence shaped like names we still couldn’t say.I picked up a broken branch and
Chapter 107: Shadows That Follow
The road east was silent except for the crunch of our boots and the occasional cry of a distant bird. The sun climbed slowly, half-hidden behind thick gray clouds, and the air tasted of smoke and rain. It had been three days since we left the valley, and still the ashes clung to us like a second skin.I walked ahead of the others, my thoughts heavy and uneven. The memory of Valeria’s voice lingered, quieter now, but still there. A whisper behind every breath. I kept telling myself it was just my mind trying to fill the silence, yet some part of me didn’t want it to stop. That voice reminded me of why I still moved forward.Dante walked beside me, limping less now, though his right arm remained wrapped in a fresh bandage Mira insisted on changing every morning. He said little, which I appreciated. Words didn’t matter much out here. It was the silences that told the truth—the way his hand brushed his weapon whenever the trees shifted, the way Grace walked with her head low, scanning for m
Chapter 108: The Silent Ones
The night was heavy with silence. The kind that seemed to listen back when you breathed. I stayed on my feet long after the others fell asleep, my eyes fixed on the edge of the forest where I thought I saw the hooded figure. Every rustle made my chest tighten. Every flicker of light played tricks on my sight.The mirror lay on my palm, faintly warm. I turned it toward the trees again, but there was nothing this time—only shadows stretching across the fog. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was there, just beyond what I could see. Watching. Waiting.When I finally sat down, exhaustion pulled at my body, but sleep wouldn’t come. The fire had burned low, its glow faint against the mist. Mira stirred once, murmuring in her sleep. Grace shifted near the fallen log, her hand still curled around her knife. Dante’s breathing was steady and rough but calm.I looked at them and wondered how many times I’d seen this scene before—survivors huddled by firelight, holding on to hope tha
Chapter 109: Echoes of the City
The city had changed, or maybe it was me. Every corner, every sound carried a weight I couldn’t name. The wind smelled of burnt rain and street smoke, like something half-healed. Buildings stood where ruins once were, glass and light replacing stone and ash. But beneath it all, the same pulse beat—the same quiet unrest that never really died.We came back to rebuild, or at least that’s what everyone kept saying. Grace called it hope. Mira called it duty. I called it survival.I still wake before sunrise most days. The city looks softer then, before the chaos begins. From the apartment window, I can see the river winding through the heart of the streets like a vein of light. I watch it in silence, coffee untouched, waiting for something I can’t name.Grace says I look for ghosts in daylight. She’s not wrong.That morning, she entered quietly, her reflection blurring behind mine in the glass. “You didn’t sleep again,” she said, her voice low.“I tried.”“You always say that.”She stood beside
Chapter 110: The Echo of Fire
The city looked almost civilized again. From the penthouse balcony, the skyline of Rome glittered with a thousand lights, pretending the streets below weren’t soaked with old blood and new sins. Cars moved like fireflies, laughter drifted from the restaurants across the square, and for once, it almost looked like peace.But peace, I’ve learned, is only another word for waiting.The Romano estate—newly rebuilt, walls gleaming like bone—was full again. Too full. Dante said the dinner would show stability, a signal to allies that the Romano name still carried weight. To me, it felt like standing inside a coffin dressed in silk.The dining room was warm and dim, the chandeliers low, candles flickering in polished silver. The air smelled of basil, wine, and smoke. Everything is too quiet, too staged. The kind of quiet that reminded me of before—before the gunfire, before the screams, before my father’s body hit the marble floor.I sat at the head of the table, my father’s old seat. The leather