Page 98 of Shackled By Shadows

The warping soldier's eyes widen before the effect hits.

They drop, all of them. One by one, the remaining soldiers crumple to their knees before hitting the ground, blood seeping from their noses, their ears, their eyes.

Lifeless.

The forest falls silent.

I stand there, my breath ragged, the taste of copper thick in my mouth. My legs feel weak, the world tilting slightly as I stare at the bodies surrounding us.

Ash and Zander are still standing, motionless as they take in the carnage.

Zander is the first to speak, his voice low, almost wary. “What the hell was that?”

I can’t answer.

I can’t breathe.

I look at my hands, at the bodies, at the blood pooling into the earth.

What have I just done?

My breath comes fast and uneven as I stare at the bodies, at the blood staining the ground, at the way Ash and Zander still haven’t moved. I don’t know what I have done. I don’t know how I did it. But I can still feel it, whatever it is, lingering beneath my skin like something wild and untamed, waiting to be unleashed again.

Zander is the first to break from his shock. He takes a step toward me, carefully, like he isn’t sure if I’ll shatter or strike out again. “Lyra?”

I flinch. “I—I didn’t mean to—” My voice cracks, hoarse, my throat raw from the scream that ripped through me.

“You just—” Ash lets out a slow breath, shaking his head as if he can’t quite believe what he witnessed. He glances at the bodies again, then back at me. “That was insane. I mean—damn, I knew you had some power, but this—” He lets out a low whistle, rubbing the back of his neck. “Remind me to never piss you off.”

Zander studies me for a long moment, his expression indecipherable. Then, finally, he sighs. “We can figure that out later.” He glances at the sky, already darkening. “Right now, we need to move. More patrols could be coming.”

Ash nods, recovering quickly, though I catch the way he still eyes me like he isn’t quite sure what to make of what just happened. “Camp’s not far. Let’s get some rest before we move on.”

I’m not sure how much rest I’ll get after this. But I nod anyway.

We move quickly, leaving the bodies behind. The scent of blood clings to me, making my stomach turn, but I force myself forward, step by step.

"Zander?" I ask, keeping my voice steady despite the tension gnawing at my insides, "Does it ever get easier? The killing, I mean."

He doesn’t immediately respond. “No,” he says after a moment, his voice flat, “but you get used to it.” His tone leaves no room for further debate, and it doesn’t make me feel any better.

I hesitate, my fingers twisting in the fabric of my shirt. “What about the ones you’ve known? Any of the soldiers you’ve had to kill?”

“Doesn’t matter,” he mutters.

“They’re just bodies. You kill, or you get killed.” He doesn’t look at me as he speaks, his voice thick with indifference.

“How do you handle it?” I ask, my voice trembling despite myself. “Knowing the faces? The people?”

Zander’s lips curl into a half-smile, but it isn’t reassuring.

“I don’t handle it,” he says, his voice colder than before.

“I do what I’m told.”

“I don’t have the luxury of ‘handling’ anything.” His gaze finally flicks to mine, sharp and unwavering. “Feelings get in the way. They’re a weakness. And weakness gets people killed.”

I feel a chill run through me, more from his tone than the night air. His words sink deep.