The Divine Entity Lives in My Shadow

Chapter 2: Shadows of the Citadel

“Mother, hold onto me tight. We have to leave. Now.”

“The wind... it’s so cold, Henry... or are you the boy from the garden?” Mary’s voice was a frail whisper, her fingers clutching his threadbare collar. “Where is my sparrow? The little wooden one?”

“I have it right here in my pocket, Mother,” Henry said, his voice cracking as he hoisted her onto his back. “Just keep your eyes closed. Do not look at the sky. Do not look at the blue light.”

“It pulls, Henry,” she whimpered, her forehead resting against his shoulder. “It pulls so hard. Like a hook in my brain.”

“I know. I’m going to cut that hook. I swear it.” Henry stepped out into the damp, smog-choked streets of the lower district, his legs trembling under her weight. “Just hold on.”

“The stars are falling... sleep, my little sparrow... sleep...” Mary murmured, her voice drifting back into the dark lullaby.

“Don’t fall asleep completely, Mother. Please. Talk to me. Keep talking to me.”

“I don’t... I don’t remember the next verse, Henry. Why can’t I remember?”

“It’s alright. I’ll sing it for you later. Just stay with me.”

“Stop right there! Identify yourselves!” a harsh voice boomed through the fog.

Henry froze. Three silhouetted figures in silver-trimmed armor emerged from the mist. Royal wardens.

“Just a sick old woman and her son, milord,” Henry said, trying to lower his voice, desperately trying to mask his panic. “We are heading to the apothecary.”

“At midnight? In the lower slums?” The lead warden drew his broadsword. “You match the description of the rogue who attacked Enforcer Vance. Drop the woman and put your hands on your head.”

“No,” Henry whispered. He felt the residual, stolen magic of the dead mage stirring in his blood, but with it came a violent, suffocating wave of foreign grief. My daughter... my sweet Alice... where are you? Why did they burn the house? The dead man’s memories screamed inside his skull. “Get out... get out of my head!”

“What’s wrong with him?” one warden muttered. “Look at his eyes. They’re glowing.”

“I said back off!” Henry roared, thrusting his hand forward. But instead of a kinetic blast, a blinding migraine struck him. He fell to his knees, clutching his temples. “Please! Stop screaming!”

“He’s a rogue mage, alright,” the lead warden sneered, stepping closer. “Take his head. The Ministry pays double for unregistered sorcerers.”

“Henry...?” Mary murmured weakly from the cobblestones. “The sky is singing...”

“Stand up, boy,” the warden ordered, raising his blade. “Make it easy on yourself.”

“I would put that sword away if I were you,” a cool, melodic voice echoed from the alleyway.

“Who’s there?” the warden barked, turning. “Reveal yourself!”

“Just a passing critic of your dreadful form,” the voice replied.

A sharp, whistling sound tore through the fog. A crescent of compressed wind sliced across the lead warden’s chest, shattering his armor and sending him crashing into the brick wall.

“Ambush! Wind-weaver!” the second warden yelled, but before he could raise his shield, another blast of wind swept his legs out, slamming his head onto the stone.

“Who are you? Show your face!” the third warden panicked, backing away.

A slender figure stepped out of the shadows, her dark traveling cloak swirling. “Go tell Vance that his dogs are poorly trained,” she said, her voice dripping with aristocratic disdain. With a flick of her wrist, a concussive gust of air sent the final warden flying into the darkness.

“Are you going to lie there and bleed, or are you going to get up?” she asked, turning her sharp, amber eyes toward Henry.

“Who... who are you?” Henry gasped, pushing himself up, his head still pounding. “Why did you help us?”

“If you want to survive, stop asking questions and pick up your mother,” she commanded. “More of them are coming. This way.”

“I can’t... my head feels like it’s splitting open.”

“Do you want her to die?” she snapped, her tone leaving no room for argument. “Get up!”

“Right. Right.” Henry hoisted Mary back onto his shoulders, stumbling after the mysterious noblewoman.

“Keep close,” she whispered, darting through the shadows. “And keep your mother quiet. If she starts singing again, I will leave you both.”

“She can’t help it,” Henry hissed back. “They’re draining her.”

“I know what the engine does,” she muttered. “Down here. Hurry.”

They descended a set of crumbling stone steps into a damp, dark cellar. The door slammed shut above them, plunging them into near-total darkness until she sparked a small flame on her fingertip.

“Is she safe?” Henry asked, gently laying Mary down on a pile of dry straw. “Mother, can you hear me?”

“So cold... the sparrow...” Mary mumbled, her eyes rolling back.

“She’s slipping,” Henry said, panic rising in his chest. “I need to—”

Suddenly, a cold piece of steel pressed firmly against his throat. He froze, his breath hitching.

“Do not move,” the woman whispered, leaning in close. Her amber eyes locked onto his, burning with an intense, dangerous curiosity. “Now, let us have a little chat.”

“I thought you saved us,” Henry choked out, the blade biting into his skin.

“I saved myself the annoyance of watching the wardens claim a prize that belongs to me,” she said, her voice low and dangerous. “Explain yourself, gravedigger. How does a collarless peasant in the lower district use high-tier noble kinetic magic?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Henry lied, his heart hammering against his ribs. “It was an accident.”

“Do not lie to me,” she hissed, pressing the dagger a fraction of an inch deeper. “I saw the signature. I felt the resonance. That was Ministry-grade magic. Who are you, and where did you steal that power?”

“I didn’t steal it!” Henry gasped, looking into her eyes. Up close, he could smell the faint scent of expensive jasmine and rain on her cloak. “I just... I took it. From the mage who died in my graveyard.”

“You... took it?” Her eyes widened slightly, her breath warm against his cheek. “An absorber? A natural-born siphon? That’s impossible. Those lines died out a century ago.”

“It’s the truth,” Henry whispered, his gaze locked on hers. “Now please, let me help my mother. She doesn’t have much time.”

“Your mother’s soul is already tethered to the engine,” she whispered, her grip on the dagger tightening slightly, though her eyes softened for a fraction of a second. “But you... you are far more valuable than you realize.”