All Chapters of The Shadow He Became: Chapter 11
- Chapter 20
52 chapters
11. The Ravine
Aric ValeWe entered the ravine at first light, moving in single file. Garrett led, followed by Lyons, then me. I was still bound, but there was enough slack to walk. Jenkins and Marek brought up the rear, constantly looking back as if they expected an attack from behind.The walls rose fifty feet on either side, narrowing overhead until only a thin strip of purple sky remained visible. The ground was smooth stone, worn by water that hadn’t flowed here in years. Our footsteps echoed strangely, each sound repeating three or four times before fading.“Stay close,” Garrett said quietly. “Watch for…”He didn’t finish. I didn’t need to. We all knew what to watch for. Ambushes. Traps. The princess waited with whatever magic or weapons she had prepared. Or my shadow, if it decided to separate again and hunt on its own.The ravine twisted like a serpent, turning every twenty or thirty feet. Each blind corner made everyone tense, weapons raised, expecting a fight. But we found nothing. Just em
12. Binding
Aric ValeThe moment the shadow crossed the threshold, the symbols burst into life. Green fire sputtered along every carved path, twisting and expanding, forming a network of magical energy that enveloped the entire room.I felt it through the shadow. The curse was trying to take effect, trying to bind and control. It was hooks in flesh, sinking deep, pulling, demanding obeisance.The shadow fought against it.From my position outside of the circle, still trapped in my bound state, I experienced both sides at once. I felt safe outside of the curse's reach and yet sensed the struggle of the shadow with the binding spell.It was dizzying. Disorienting. Like existing in two bodies, fighting two wars."It's not holding," Elara said, her voice full of shock. Her hands were weaving, motions that made the symbols flash more intensely. "The binding should be complete by now. It should have claimed you.""Seven years too late," the shadow replied through gritted teeth. My voice was strained wi
13. Truth
I moved without thinking. Seven years of the shadow's combat experience merged with my own training. I sidestepped Elara's lunge, caught her wrist, twisted.The knife clattered to the stone floor.She was fast though. Trained. She used the momentum to spin, drove her elbow toward my face. I blocked, but barely. She was better than I expected."I had to learn to fight," she gasped, circling me. "Being an imposter means always being ready for exposure. Always prepared to survive.""Survival," I said. "That's what you keep saying. Like it justifies everything.""It does justify everything. You've lived in luxury your whole life. Palace ward, decorated soldier, honored even in exile. You've never known real desperation. Never had to choose between dying and becoming a monster."She grabbed a shard of fallen stone, threw it at my face. I ducked, and she used that moment to run. Not toward the chamber exit—toward Garrett and the soldiers.Toward hostages.I ran after her. Called out: "Garre
14. The Return
Aric ValeWhole," I said. "And fractured. Both at once. Is that normal for curse-breaking?""I don't know. Never met anyone who survived a soul-split before." He paused. "Do you remember everything now? Both halves' experiences?""Everything. Seven years in exile. Seven years hunting. I was living two lives simultaneously without knowing it." I looked at my hands. "These hands fed travelers who stumbled into the Wastes lost and frightened. These same hands killed seventeen people. Both truths exist together now.""Which bothers you more?""That I can't separate them. Can't say 'that was the shadow, not me.' It was always me. Just parts of me I didn't acknowledge." I met his eyes. "You asked once if I was responsible for the shadow's actions. The answer is yes. Completely.""Even though you were cursed? Even though you had no control?""Control is complicated. The shadow acted on impulses I'd buried. Rage at injustice. Desire for vengeance. Certainty that some people deserve death. I s
15. Justice
The king ordered us all confined while he decided what to do. Not cells—guest quarters, comfortable but guarded. Separate rooms so we couldn't conspire or coordinate stories.I didn't mind. After seven years at Blackwatch Keep, any room with four walls and a real bed felt luxurious.Three days passed. Three days of waiting while the king consulted advisors, judges, the court wizard. Three days of meals delivered by silent guards and nights spent staring at ceilings, remembering everything I'd spent seven years forgetting.The shadow's memories were clearest at night. I'd close my eyes and see through its perspective—hunting through darkness, tracking prey, delivering justice it thought was righteous. The certainty of those memories was intoxicating and terrifying. How easy it had been to kill when you believed you were right.On the fourth day, they came for me.Two guards, formal and polite. "The king requests your presence. The trial begins today.""Already?" Trials usually took wee
16. Verification
The court wizard came to my quarters on the second day. He looked exhausted—dark circles under eyes, hands trembling. Reading death-marks was draining work."I need your assistance," he said without preamble. "The marks are your creation. Your magic. You understand them better than I do.""The shadow created them," I said. "Not me consciously.""The shadow was you. Its knowledge is yours now." He sat heavily. "I've read twelve marks. Each confirms what Elara said. Each victim was present when Dorian died. Each confessed complicity before death. But having you guide me through the remaining five would help."I hesitated. "Reading death-marks means experiencing their final moments?""Yes. Through their eyes. Feeling what they felt." He met my gaze. "It's not pleasant. But necessary.""Will I remember creating the marks? Remember being the shadow?""Likely. You'll experience the murders from both perspectives—victim and killer simultaneously."The thought turned my stomach. But he was ri
17. Confession
They came for us at dawn. Guards in formal armor, faces solemn. Today the kingdom would learn the truth about their prince's death, their princess's guilt, and the complicated justice that had followed.I was clad in simple clothes, not prisoner garb, but not my old Commander's uniform either. Something neutral, something that said neither innocent nor fully condemned.Elara wore white. The traditional color for royal executions. Her hair was unbound, face clean of cosmetics. She looked younger this way, more like the servant's daughter she'd been than the princess she'd pretended to be.They guided us through the corridors of the palace. Servants stopped and stared. Some wept at Elara's presence. Others looked at me, the exiled Commander, returned but not restored.The palace square was full. Thousands of people pressed into every available space. A rumor had circulated that something important was occurring. The princess would speak before some unspecified fate befell her.They thou
18. Imprisonment
My new home was a tower room in the palace's eastern wing. Thirty feet square, with stone walls and barred windows, and a heavy door that locked from the outside. Not a dungeon—I had a bed, desk, chair, shelves for books. But unmistakably a prison."You'll be brought meals three times daily," the guard explained. He was young, professional, trying not to show discomfort at imprisoning a former Commander. "Visitors are allowed twice weekly, supervised. You can request books, writing materials, basic comforts. But you never leave this room. Never. Those are the terms.""I understand," I said, "and I accept them."He left, the lock clicking into place with finality.I stood at the window looking out over the palace grounds. Could see the square where Elara had died hours ago. Could see servants cleaning away the execution platform. Could see life continuing as if nothing fundamental had changed.But everything had changed. The kingdom had learned its prince was murdered by someone they'd
19. Seasons
Spring came to my window and I watched snow melt, watched green return to the palace gardens, watched life renew itself while I remained static in my tower room.Six months since the execution, six months of imprisonment, of writing, of remembering; six months of being whole and confined simultaneously.Visitors came regularly. Garrett weekly, bringing news of the kingdom. Jenkins monthly, still processing everything that had happened. Even Captain Lyons came once, awkward but respectful, acknowledging nuanced justice had been appropriate.The court wizard visited too, interested in my continued stability after the curse-breaking. He examined me magically, confirmed that the split was permanently healed, that the shadow was fully integrated rather than suppressed."You're remarkably stable," he said on one visit. "Most people who experience soul-splitting either die during merger or go mad from the dual memories. You've done neither.""Maybe it's because I'm not trying to reject the m
20. Legacy
Two years had passed since my imprisonment began. Two years of the seasons cycling through my window, of visitors bringing news, of writing my story in meticulous detail. Two years of being whole while confined. The kingdom was far more different than what I had thought. Garrett brought reports during his weekly visits of new laws requiring transparency in royal decisions, councils where the common people could question nobility, systems ensuring power couldn't hide behind privilege. "Dorian's legacy is taking root," Garrett said, one spring morning. "Not perfectly. There's resistance from those who prefer the old ways. But the direction is clear. The kingdom is learning to value truth over comfort." "At tremendous cost," I said. "His death. Elara's execution. Seventeen murders. All the pain truth required." "Would you change it? If you could go back, knowing everything, would you choose comfortable lies over painful truth?" I thought about it. Really thought. "No. Because th