Page 21 of The First Scar
I gasped. My hands were clawing at his chest—not fighting him, not anymore. Holding on. Like if I let go I'd fall back into those memories and never surface.
His memories tasted like iron and winter. Like grief lodged so deep it had calcified into armor. For one heartbeat, Iwashim. Felt what it cost to answer to that crown, to be so perfectly controlled that no one ever thought to ask what was underneath.
What it was like to be a blade that dreamed of being a man.
And then his eyes met mine.
Heknew.
A violent tremor ripped through his shoulders, and he took a desperate step back. The male who never yielded was suddenly looking at me with wide, panicked eyes, flayed open to the bone. I had my hands buried directly in his oldest scars.
I shuddered. My Shadow didn't just invade him—it nestled into his wounds like it had been looking for them. Like it recognized the shape of his grief and thought:here. This is where I build my home.
Neither of us moved. Neither of us breathed. His chest heaved and mine heaved with it and my legs couldn't decide which direction to bolt.
Then—a voice. Distant but unmistakable. Crown-amplified, the kind of projection that bled through brick and bone and anything it damn well pleased.
It rolled through the tunnels like thunder, warped by stone and distance but stillhis. The King's. The words fragmented as they reached us, echoing off wet walls:
"...dual-marked... anathema...The Rupture..."
The Crownforged's head turned. Just a fraction of a heartbeat's divided attention—his body still pinning mine, but his focus pulled toward that voice like a dog hearing its master's whistle.
Now.
I drove my forehead into the bridge of his nose.
Cartilage crunched. His blood sprayed hot across my face and the copper taste of it hit my tongue before I could close my mouth. He staggered back, hand flying to his nose, and I was already gone—already hauling Serenya by the wrist toward the grate. The King's distorted voice chased us through the dark:
"... the abomination..."
The tunnel mouth loomed ahead, grey light spilling through like a promise I wasn't sure I believed anymore.
The Crownforged’s voice ensnared me at the threshold.
"You can run."
I froze.
"But I will find you."
It was a threat and a vow and it landed in a place I couldn’t bear to guard. Because I was carrying pieces of him now. His loneliness. His grief. That starved, caged wanting. I hadn't asked for any of it and I had no idea how to put it down.
I didn't know if I wanted to.
I ran anyway.
The tunnel spat us into blinding light. I blinked hard. The Square of Names had rearranged itself into a different kind of cage since the Sorting—stalls shuttered, ground littered with trampled prayer papers and crushed petals. The crowd that remained moved differently now, heads down, shoulders drawnin, clustered in small knots around the fountain like that would save them from whatever came next.
The King's voice was still rolling over the square, but I'd stopped hearing the words. I didn't need to.
My face blazed from the projected holograms. They'd picked a terrible angle. I pulled my hood up but it wasn't going to be enough. The image was already spreading—crimson posters materializing on every pillar, every wall, every surface the King's magic could reach. My face staring back at me from a dozen angles. My bounty printed under it. Inescapable.
The Rupture, the posters read.High Risk Criminal.
My Luminar mark flared hot on my skin—the Unravel hissing with whispers and songs, silver heat crawling out the way it only did when someone was lying.
Deception. Deception.
