Shadow Slave - Time Dilation

"Lucien."

The voice barely echoed.

It threaded through the dark like a whisper behind glass—

careful.

Worried.

The young man staggered across obsidian floors,

his steps soft, but not gentle.

Each one left a tremble in the stone,

as though the palace itself remembered his weight.

Pillars loomed—

shapeless towers of shadow veined with ember-light,

rising only when he needed them.

And now,

he needed one.

He leaned against it, breath catching in ragged silence.

Every exhale drew the darkness in.

Every cough made the black flame flicker—

then roar.

"It wasn't this bad last time."

The voice again.

Closer now.

This time, wrapped in warmth and pale silver.

From the gloom bloomed a glow—

soft and spectral.

A figure emerged like moonlight bleeding through water.

Luna.

She was beautiful.

But like Lucien,

not in any way a mortal heart should recognize.

Skin pale, but tinged with mourning—

like the first frost that kisses the grave.

Hair spun from starlight trapped in snowfall,

drifting endlessly around her in a slow, phantom tide.

Eyes the color of moonlight.

Not white.

Not blue.

Just else.

Her frame was lithe, dreamlike.

Like a statue carved not by chisel,

but by memory.

Too soft to be stone.

Too still to be flesh.

Lucien whispered her name—

a prayer beneath a breath.

"Luna."

Then he vanished.

A step forward—

and he dissolved into shadow.

Another step—

and he was before her again.

Closer.

Wavering.

This time, the floor gave no answer.

No pillar rose.

Only Luna.

She moved, a single step—

no rustle of fabric, no breath of air—

and caught him.

Her hands found his shoulders, weightless and strong.

His frame collapsed forward,

and she held him with the kind of ease that suggested she had done so before.

Many times.

He drew a deep breath.

Steadying.

Slow.

Then looked up.

Smiled.

It was faint.

Not a mask—

but a memory of the gesture,

resurrected with effort.

"I'm fine…" he whispered, voice frayed at the edges.

"I just… need a moment."

She said nothing.

Instead, she reached for his hand—

fingers cool, elegant, woven like silk in moonlight.

She brought his palm to her cheek.

Let it linger.

The warmth of his skin met the chill of her face.

His thumb moved slightly—

as though tracing the outline of something precious

and nearly forgotten.

"You didn't need to use so much of it."

Her voice wasn't accusing.

Just quiet.

Filled with the kind of sorrow that never leaves a home.

"You never do."

Lucien's smile deepened—barely.

Something knowing passed between them,

a flicker like lightning trapped inside a bell jar.

"I had to make a good impression,"

he murmured.

"After all… he's like me."

Then—

His other arm moved.

Wrapped around her waist.

Pulled her closer,

gently.

Like gravity had finally found something to anchor to.

Her hand slid up his chest, resting where breath once lived.

Their bodies leaned together,

not entwined,

but aligned—

like two statues dreaming of touch.

And then—

the shadows swelled.

Soft tendrils curled around their feet,

rose like smoke around their limbs,

and reached higher still.

The world swallowed them whole.

No sound.

No light.

No trace.

Only the afterimage of silver and black flame in the dark.

And silence.

The cohort sat in silence.

Six chairs.

Five Saints.

One Supreme.

All seated in the chambers of the Ivory Tower—

its walls paneled in pale glass and colder memory.

The table before them gleamed, untouched.

A shape of purpose.

But no one reached for it.

Sunny sat still, hands folded loosely.

Expression unreadable, save for the faint trace of thought behind his eyes.

He had changed.

He spoke more now.

Smiled, on rare occasion.

There were moments—small ones—where he even resembled the person they remembered.

But this wasn't about him.

Not now.

Nephis turned slightly, white robes brushing the side of her chair.

"Cassie…"

Her voice was low.

Measured.

"…did you see anything? About who it was… what happened to Ravenheart?"

Cassie shifted.

Her hands—once folded—unfolded.

Her eyes, sightless but clear, tilted toward the window, where nothing waited.

"No," she said simply.

Flat, but not cold.

"Only darkness."

She paused.

The pause said more than the words had.

"It was like Ravenheart had been… swallowed."

She didn't need to explain further.

The others felt it.

A silence settled.

Then Sunny's voice broke it.

Rougher than usual.

Sharper at the edges.

"What about… whoever was here?"

Cassie turned toward him.

Her brow furrowed, not in confusion—

but in hesitation.

"I couldn't sense anything about his Attributes."

A beat.

"But…"

Everyone leaned forward, almost imperceptibly.

Cassie's voice lowered.

"It felt like he was the shadows."

Jet blinked.

"You mean like how Sunny becomes shadow?"

Cassie shook her head slowly.

"No. When Sunny turns into them, there's still… something separate. You feel him inside the dark. You can tell it's him"

"This—"

She stopped.

Then finished.

"This was the dark."

The weight of her words sank deep.

Sunny's jaw flexed.

His eyes narrowed—not in fear.

Not in anger.

But in recognition.

"It…"

The others turned.

"…it felt like I lost them."

A breath passed.

Nephis tilted her head.

Watching.

Sunny looked down at the table, fingers curling slightly.

"The shadows," he said. "All of them, except those closest to me… they stopped answering."

He raised his head again.

Met their eyes.

"It was like… they didn't recognize me anymore… rather, they refused to recognize me."

And for a moment—

even the light in the room seemed to dim.

In a room without windows,

where shadow curled like mist and silence folded upon itself,

a soft light pulsed.

Not from flame.

Not from stone.

But from her.

Luna.

She sat quietly, spine curved in repose,

the barest glow rising from her skin—

a cold radiance, silvered like the breath of stars.

Lucien lay with his head resting across her lap,

his body stretched across the pale sheets of a bed conjured from shadow and memory.

The frame, though born of darkness, bore the grain of ancient wood.

Stained brown, like bark in rain.

Warm, but not comforting.

His chest rose.

Fell.

Scars marred the pale stretch of skin beneath her fingertips.

Not the kind that faded with time or will.

These were deeper.

Old.

Profane.

Her hand moved slowly across his chest, fingers tracing the ridges like a song remembered.

And the shadows—

they mirrored her motion.

Moved with her touch.

As if the darkness itself loved him.

Lucien stirred.

Eyes half-lidded, lashes shadowing his gaze.

And when he looked up,

he saw her.

Bathed in moonlight she had not summoned.

Hair like liquid starlight draped over his face.

He smiled.

A small thing.

Real.

Then turned,

pressing his face against her stomach like as if seeking warmth in winter.

A breath.

A sigh.

Luna's fingers curled into his hair, scrunching it once,

then nudging him gently away.

Her voice was soft.

Almost amused.

"As much as I would like to indulge you…"

She tilted her head.

"…we need to talk."

Lucien groaned.

Rolled onto his back with theatrical dread,

but sat up.

His face found hers.

And stilled.

"Go ahead," he said.

She didn't look away.

"Why are we here?"

A pause.

Then—

"It's spreading," he murmured, voice low.

Something older in the syllables.

"The corruption."

He stared at the air for a moment,

as if it might answer him.

"I thought… if I could find another like me—

someone who remembers that the path—

maybe I'd find a thread to follow."

Luna's expression didn't change.

"And?"

Lucien's jaw clenched.

Black flame licked from his fingertips.

Silent.

Hungry.

"He doesn't," he said bitterly.

"The traitor has nothing to offer."

Luna reached forward,

her hand brushing against his.

And the flame—

vanished.

"You'll figure it out," she said gently.

"You always do."

But Lucien's eyes didn't soften.

"And if I can't?"

His voice cracked—

just a little.

The silence that followed was not empty.

It pressed.

He laughed.

Once.

Dry.

Fractured.

She looked at him, unsure if it was humor or despair.

"It's funny, isn't it?" he whispered.

"I, an heir to Death… afraid of dying."

His body folded forward.

Not violently.

Just… surrendered.

Falling against Luna's chest,

A sound escaped him,

not quite a sob.

Not quite a laugh.

And Luna—

she wrapped her arms around him.

Held him as one might hold the last bloom of a dying world.

Carefully.

Quietly.

Without words.