This chapter is dedicated to Katia, my second amazing beta reader. Katia is an incredible writer challenging the world and the industry of writing with the magic of her words. She challenged me as a writer, stretching the way I consider character arcs and filter verbs, and her Instagram makes me smile on a daily basis. Thank you, Katia, for giving of your time to help me grow.
Previously, on Forsaken by Shadows, from Rismyn’s perspective:
It has been three days since the goblin attack, and things are getting worse. I know he’s out there, watching, us stalking us. Things go missing from our packs, and I keep catching movement from the corner of my eye. But when I look, there is no one there.
Maybe I’m just going mad. Maybe there’s nothing at all stalking us in the dark. But I don’t believe it. Poor Mazira is more tired than ever, but we can’t rest. I need her to stay sharp, stay vigilant. Our very lives depend on it.
Yet even still, I crave her presence. I know I should sleep when she offers, but I just want to sit with her. To be in her company for as long as possible. But when she discovers her waterskin has been sabotaged, and all our supplies ruined…I snap. I know he’s there. I know he’s playing his sick games with us.
But worse than all that…Mazira is STILL afraid of me. I can’t hold back anymore. I demand to know why she can’t just take me at my word. I’ve tried so hard, I’ve barely touched her, given her space. Why is she still afraid of me? I tell her to just be genuine, to treat me however she wants, because she isn’t a slave and doesn’t have to be afraid.
Unfortunately…I’m wrong. As the words leave my lips, he appears. Toloruel. My hateful brother. He calls Mazira by name and I no longer see sense. I just want to kill him. So I lunge for him, and we fight, and I lose. I lose so very badly. But just when I think all is lost, when his killing blow is poised to strike, I am able to knock him off balance. For a brief, beautiful moment, I have him in my arms, cutting the air from his throat.
But of course, he didn’t come alone. One of his cronies shoots me in the back with a sleeping dart, and I lose consciousness. The only thing Mazira can do is comply…
Part 2: Where Silence Echoes
~3. Shining~
“Come along, Kitty,” Toloruel said, as he hoisted an unconscious Rismyn up by the hair and dragged him towards the cave entrance. “Or do you prefer Mazira, now?”
His smile was mocking, and she didn’t think for a second he asked because he cared. He was tormenting her, and it was working.
“Whatever pleases you most, my lord,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. She rose to obey his command, wishing she was brave enough to do anything else.
The drow laughed. It sounded merry, which made her sick. “Ah, Mazira,” he chortled. “I’m surprised you remember ever being called that. It’s been so long.”
She clenched her teeth to keep herself from snapping back. Apparently, she had been living more freely than she thought over the last few months. Subservience was not quite as instinctive as Rismyn had accused her of.
Mercy, she had thought such unkind things about Rismyn. How could she have believed those things? It was easy to see how different he was, now that he was bloody and unconscious and likely about to die. She should have never allowed this to happen; she should have gone back to Toloruel in the beginning, when she had the chance. She might have been miserable, but at least Rismyn would still be alive. And Toloruel wouldn’t know her name.
Wait. What was it he had just said? She froze, halfway between where she had risen and the cave entrance.
“Do you know,” Toloruel said, as if he could read her mind. “It was that name that made me decide to take you. Do you know what it means in the High Tongue?” He moved on towards the greater cavern without waiting for her to answer. “No, of course you don’t. It means–”
“It means ‘shining,’” she said, in a hoarse whisper. Her mother had told her so multiple times.
Mazira didn’t realize she had spoken out loud. She was too busy absorbing the revelation that not only had Toloruel known her name, he had known it the whole time. How long had he stalked her people for him to have learned what her name was? Hours? Days? Had they made a sport of stealing their belongings, as he had admitted to doing to her and Rismyn?
Only when the dead silence reached her did she realize her mistake. She had interrupted her master in the middle of his gloating. She looked up, horrified.
Toloruel had stopped and turned back to her, his eyes ablaze with cold fury. “Yes,” he said, silkily. “Shining. So you understand, then, why I had to change your name. Because nothing shines in the Underdark.”
Mazira shuddered. She’d had literal nightmares about this moment, the day when he called her by her true name. She thought she had kept something back for herself, something the drow couldn’t harm. There was no part of her that was free, not even her name, which he had chained and replaced with a pseudonym.
Toloruel spun and disappeared outside their little refuge. She heard a dull thud and she winced. Rismyn had probably just been thrown down again. She had no choice but to follow. Defiance wouldn’t do anything but make the inevitable torture worse.
Slowly, she shuffled to the cave entrance, avoiding looking at the dead elf who had caused Rismyn’s defeat. She peeked outside and her heart sank further. Toloruel had tossed Rismyn down in the middle of a circle consisting of five other drow.
“It’s a shame,” Toloruel was saying, “That Androl got himself carelessly killed by the traitor, isn’t it?”
The others nodded and murmured their assent.
“But I have avenged him,” he continued with a smile. “And we have our quarry at last.” He glanced back over his shoulder and frowned when he saw Mazira still huddled in the cave.
He didn’t need to say anything verbally, she understood what he expected. Mazira hurried out, feeling exposed and vulnerable as all eyes turned to her. She kept her head down as she scurried to Toloruel’s side, the eyes roving over her making her skin crawl.
“Wake him up,” Toloruel said, and for one terrifying moment Mazira thought he was talking to her.
But then one of the warriors stepped forward, and she realized he was not a warrior, but a wizard. The dark elf began muttering some words, his eyes glowing red. He ended his spell with a sharp kick, and Rismyn gasped as his eyes fluttered open.
All the drow laughed. Mazira wanted to cry.
“Welcome back, little brother.”
Rismyn struggled to breathe, holding his ribs with one arm as he pushed himself up. He was still bleeding from the gash on his side and the stab wounds on his back. Blood dripped from his fingertips, running down from the unseen shoulder wound. He caught sight of Mazira first, and the look in his eyes shattered her heart.
Defeat.
His gaze moved on, assessing the situation. Rising to his knees, he straightened as best he could. “What’s the matter,” he asked, locking eyes with Toloruel, “too squeamish to kill your own brother? I thought you’d been planning this my whole life.”
Mazira blanched. She couldn’t believe he actually said it.
Toloruel only grinned. “All in good time, little brother. I have something special planned for you.” He thrust the tip of his sword mere centimeters from Rismyn’s eye.
Rismyn didn’t even flinch. Mazira would have been impressed if she wasn’t so terrified.
“Stand up and walk,” Toloruel commanded.
“No.”
Toloruel’s eyes narrowed. But then, he relaxed, letting his blade fall to his side. “Fine,” he said, nonchalantly. “It is your right to refuse, as a son of House Tear. You have that freedom.”
Rismyn spoiled his show of strength by allowing surprise to flicker across his expression. But before he could respond, Toloruel’s hand clamped down on Mazira’s shoulder.
“This one, however, has no such right.” His fingers dug painfully into her muscle so that she couldn’t help but cry out. “Say your goodbyes. I have an altar prepared for her, and Lolth doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
Rismyn’s eyes widened and he leaped to his feet. “Don’t you touch her!” he snarled, before a fit of coughing overtook him and he stumbled back down to one knee. When he pulled the back of his hand away from his mouth, Mazira saw more blood.
His injuries were more severe than she realized.
“Or what?” Toloruel sneered. “You’ll kill me? You’re incapable. You can’t even stand.”
Through his ragged breathing, Rismyn managed to smirk. “I nearly had you once,” he retorted, his own sneer almost a mirror image of his brother’s. “I guess one of your henchmen had to tap in? Who got the honor?” His eyes trailed over Toloruel’s shoulder, then recognition dawned across his face. “Oh, I see. So that’s how you pay your debts.”
Toloruel struck with all the swiftness of the snake he was. One moment, he was beside Mazira, still digging into her shoulder. The next, he shoved her aside and darted forward, striking Rismyn’s face with the back of his hand. “You have a lot of nerve for a half-dead traitor,” he hissed. “Remember your place.”
Rismyn started to laugh. It was a mad, maniacal sound. “Or what, you’ll kill me?” he mocked, using Toloruel’s own words against him. “You’re going to do that anyway. Might as well have some fun.”
Toloruel bared his teeth, hauling Rismyn up by the front of his shirt with one hand. With his other hand, he raised the curved pruning knife that had once hung on Mazira’s belt. “I intend to have fun,” he said, setting the blade to Rismyn’s temple. “I’ll teach you how to scream properly before I silence you for good.” Then he dug the knife into Rismyn’s skin, slicing a curved line down his cheek.
To his credit, Rismyn didn’t cry out. Instead he grunted through clenched teeth, as the blood began to pour down his face. Toloruel struck him again, spraying the droplets as far as the feet of the nearest drow.
Mazira moaned and hugged her arms across her chest.
Much slower than she would have liked, Rismyn picked himself up. He tilted his head back, but rather then speak to Toloruel he addressed the others. “You’re all okay with this? Following a coward who has to kill his own men to cover up the shame of defeat?”
There was shifting and muttering around the circle, and for a second, Mazira thought that Rismyn might be on to something. Loyalty was a trait few drow possessed. He might be able to turn them against each other.
But then one of them spoke. “Androl was a fool who couldn’t wait his turn.”
“Never liked him much, anyway,” another agreed.
Mazira had fallen to the ground when Toloruel shoved her, and her attention was completely riveted on Rismyn. So she didn’t notice when the warrior nearest to her moved even nearer until he snatched her arm and yanked her up.
“We all know we’re going to get our chance to play,” he said, leering at her as he traced a knife against her cheek. “It was promised.”
“No!” Rismyn shouted, not in defiance, but desperation.
The drow laughed–all of them–and the one holding her let her go. She stumbled back, shaking so badly she sank to her knees. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. She was supposed to obey Toloruel and buy time to save Rismyn. Toloruel wasn’t really going to let these drow torture her too, was he? He’d been bluffing about the alter to Lolth...right?
Though now that she thought about it, she couldn’t ever remember a time in her life when Toloruel had bluffed.
“You can’t punish Ma–Kitty,” Rismyn said, his hands clenching into useless fists. “She didn’t have a choice–I took her against her will and refused to bring her back. She was unconscious when we left and when she woke she begged me to take her back, and I refused.”
“Oh, not you, too,” Toloruel spat. “You both sicken me. You know what she is, right? Your affection for her is unnatural.” He turned his back on Rismyn and stood over her. “Do what you want, little brother,” he called over his shoulder. “Come along with us or stay behind for the hook horrors and the cave crawlers. I really don’t care. But you,” he glared down at her, “will stand up and walk or you will be carried.”
Mazira swallowed hard and gave Rismyn a terrified look. She had come to rely on his saving her, but now he was injured and weak. She was always weak, injured or not. There would be no twisting Toloruel’s threads this time. She could see it in his eyes. All he wanted from her was a slow, ritualized death. The only use her beating heart had was to bleed out for Lolth.
It was the fate he had promised her all along, the fate she knew would one day be inevitable. Hadn’t that been why he left that spider-shaped scar on her back? To remind her of whom she was ultimately destined for? He’d told her that often, so often she’d become immune to the words. But now her time had run out. Her short life was about to be snuffed. She was going the way of her parents.
Mazira closed her eyes, and the last happy image she had of her mother and father flashed before her. Her mama, playing the harp. Her papa, singing his resonate songs. She had a tambourine, and her untrained voice blended with all the other voices of their friends and family. She could almost hear the rhythm of the drums in her fleeting heartbeats.
And then, unbidden, she saw another image. One she had tried hard to forget, but in the stillness between one pulse and the next, it crystalized as sharp as when she’d lived through it. The ambush, the dark elves, the blood, and the flashing silver.
Her own father pushing her into her mother’s arms, shouting for them to hide. She hadn’t remembered his face so clearly in eons. Too many years apart had erased the fine details of her memory. But this time, in this memory, she saw his expression perfectly.
The look in his eyes. Grim determination. And understanding of the inevitable. A refusal to give up without a fight.
Mazira’s own eyes snapped open. She’d seen that same look here and now, in Rismyn’s eyes. He’d understood their fates were sealed. And like her father and mother, he had chosen not to show fear.
How could he do it? How could he look into the eyes of certain doom and mock it, not deigning to care whether he bled or not? The only fear he had shown had been for her, on her behalf, as though the only thing that frightened him was knowing she was at risk. Her fear made him afraid.
And then, she understood. Just like before, in the cleric ritual room all those years ago. She didn’t have to be afraid. Fear was a choice she was making.
She’d thought there was nothing left that the drow hadn’t harmed, but she was wrong. They could harm her body and end her breaths. They could soil her name and bend her will. But she was not just a name. Not the name she was born with, nor the name they had given her. The essence of who she was went deeper than that. And no matter how many acid drops bit into her back, no amount of scarring could touch her untethered soul.
Rismyn had understood that, her father had understood that. And now, she understood it to.
She might be about to die, but that didn’t mean she was about to lose.
“No,” she said, trembling still but firm in her resolve.
“Excuse me?”
She took a breath and looked up into his face.
Barely controlled rage was etched into every line of his expression. He hadn’t expected defiance from her.
“No,” she repeated. Her voice was shaking as much as her body, but she refused to back down. “I don’t belong to you. I never did. No matter what you or your society or your demon goddess believe, you can’t own a living soul. I’m not going to pretend for you anymore.” She took another breath, and her trembling quieted. “My name isn’t Kitty. It’s Mazira. Mazira Zylvaris. If you’re going to give my heart to Lolth, you can do it right here. But know that while you might stop my blood from flowing, she’ll never claim my soul. It is beyond your power to harm.”
“How...dare you!” Toloruel’s voice was low thunder. He raised his sword high and Mazira couldn’t help herself. She flinched, raising a hand to protect her face. But he didn’t stay focused on her. Instead, he whirled around to face Rismyn. “I will show you what power I have to rend a soul!” He yelled in primal, wordless fury and brought the blade crashing down.
Mazira didn’t hear the scream that escaped her lips, but she felt it tearing from her throat. It was as if time slowed down. She was on her feet, reaching out for Rismyn as if she could save him, as if by the sheer force of her will, she could stop the deadly slice that was arcing towards his throat. Though she knew she was helpless, that she wouldn’t get there in time to stop Toloruel or leap in front of Rismyn, she reached out anyway, begging the darkness for a miracle.
And, to her great and utter astonishment, a miracle actually happened.
A light appeared.
She could barely comprehend it, as the softly shimmering sphere erupted around Rismyn. Toloruel’s strike ricocheted off of it. The force of the impact was enough that he drew back, dropping his sword and grasping his wrist.
For a moment, time seemed to stop completely as everything froze. The drow warriors had flinched at the sudden light, dim though it was. Toloruel stared in shock at the sphere, a look mirrored by his brother who stared up, wide-eyed, at what should have been his fate.
Then all at once, the flurry of activity resumed. Weapons were drawn all around the circle of warriors. Toloruel and Rismyn looked to the fallen black blade, then locked eyes with each other. They hesitated for a mere second before they dove for it.
Rismyn got to it first. He snatched it up and rolled aside, springing to his feet with a surprising amount of agility considering his condition. The sphere of light followed him wherever he went.
Toloruel was on his feet again as well, though Mazira couldn’t see his face. He reached out expectantly and someone tossed him a sword. “None of you move. He’s mine,” Toloruel growled, but the drow in the circle didn’t look convinced.
They looked wary, and many of them were shooting glances in her direction. Mazira didn’t understand why, for she was still trying to absorb everything that had just happened.
“So she’s a witch after all,” Toloruel said, as he and Rismyn circled each other, blades at the ready. “How lucky for you. Or not. Maybe she didn’t lie–maybe she did enchant you.”
Although Mazira had already tried to claim the lie as truth, the accusation stung. She wasn’t magical. Even with evidence to the contrary shimmering before her, she couldn’t quite believe she had done it. It didn’t matter that she felt strangely connected to the light, like if she stopped thinking about it, it would vanish. She wasn’t magical, and she didn’t want Rismyn to believe she had enchanted him. Not again. Not ever again.
But with one, simple syllable, Rismyn allayed all her fears. “No,” he said, his firm voice bringing her back to the moment. “I’m not enchanted. I never have been. My feelings and decisions are mine alone.”
A very strange, warm feeling rushed over Mazira. A feeling she couldn’t identify. It felt strangely like joy and relief, but given the context, that was absurd. They were literal seconds away from dying.
“So you admit to being deranged, then?” Toloruel mocked. “Good. It’ll bring our house that much more favor to slaughter an infidel. Worry not, little brother. Your life hasn’t been wasted. You’ll bring glory to House Tear by atoning for your shame.”
Rismyn didn’t snarl. He didn’t look angry or even bare his teeth. He merely stated, “I’m going to make you bleed for every drop of her blood you’ve spilled.”
Toloruel’s lips twisted. “Fool–there’s not enough blood in all my veins.”
And just like that, the time for speaking was over. Rismyn struck, as though he intended to make good on his promise despite Toloruel’s words.
Toloruel swept the attack aside, but his blade bounced once more off the bubble of light. He growled in frustration and hacked at it again, but to no avail. Then he whirled on his wizard, snarling. “Do something!”
The wizard had been looking on with considerable amusement. He smirked when Toloruel addressed him. “Ah, I thought you’d never ask.” With a wave of his hand and a few muttered words, the sphere simply winked out. “Better?”
Toloruel cursed the wizard as he parried another of Rismyn’s strikes.
Mazira felt the loss of the sphere in the pit of her stomach. It was as if she was holding onto a rope that was suddenly yanked out of her hands. “No!” she cried, thrusting out her hands as if to bring it back. When nothing happened, she looked back to the wizard and glared.
He was grinning at her, mocking.
She started marching towards him before she realized what she was doing, all her hate for the drow society who had slaughtered her people and tormented her life bubbling over. It consumed all her fear, all her compassion. Her mother had taught her never to do harm, but right now, that philosophy was as alien to her as the sunlight.
She was tired of losing. She was tired of being weak. She was tired of letting Rismyn get hurt because of her. She had no idea what she was about to say or do, but she would figure it out. The darkness had heeded her cry once before–maybe it would again.
“Mazi–no!” Rismyn called.
Mazira heard him grunt, the consequence of his indiscretion. She didn’t turn to see how bad the wound was. The sound of steel on steel–or rather, adamantine on adamantine–told her he was still on his feet. She let the cacophony feed her rising fury as she focused her hate on the wizard who had destroyed the only protection Rismyn had.
There were hand crossbows and swords pointed at her, but the wizard only laughed as she approached and held up a hand to keep his companions from ruining what Mazira imagined he considered his sport.
“That was a cute bit of abjuration,” he sneered. “Crude, though. A bit unrefined. Clearly you didn’t learn the art. So, kitten, why don’t you tell me–who let you touch the Weave?”
Abjur–what? Weave? Mazira didn’t know what he was talking about.
She also didn’t care.
“My name,” she snapped as she advanced, “is Mazira.” Something strange was coming over her, making her bolder than she would have ever deemed possible. It was like there was a song in her head, her mother’s voice soothing her fears away, giving her strength. She planted herself before the wizard, some fifteen yards away. She wasn’t stupid enough to get too close. “Mazira means shining. And if there is one thing I know that the drow hate, it’s light.”
She didn’t know what made her say it. It sounded incredibly foolish to her own ears. But as the words left her mouth, she flicked her wrists–
–and there was light.
Bright, shining white light. More pure and clear than the brightest noonday she could remember. The radiant fire erupted around the wizard, and he shrieked.
They all shrieked, or shouted, covering their eyes against the onslaught of radiance.
It was as if all her hate had manifested in that brilliant, pearlescent fire. She gaped, completely at a loss for what had happened, both within her and without. She stood there for two full seconds before she realized this was their chance. Feeling like a complete idiot for being stunned by her own work, she whirled around and sought Rismyn. He, too, was shielding his eyes. She dashed forward and took his arm.
“Come on,” she pleaded, tugging him away from his brother.
“I...I can’t see…” he stammered.
“Neither can they, but I can. Trust me.”
She pulled him along, and he followed, gripping her tightly with one hand while the other held Toloruel’s sword. Behind them Toloruel was bellowing for them to be stopped, even as they all writhed in the presence of the white light.
Mazira didn’t worry about stealth or silence. There was no place they could hide that Toloruel wouldn’t immediately find them. This was an all-out sprint, a desperate attempt to get distance between themselves and their enemies and maybe trip over another miracle on the way.
Did miracles come in threes? Or had she used up all her quota for one lifetime? There was only one way to find out.
The passageway narrowed as they went, forcing them into the stream. She shuddered as the cold water soaked right through her soft shoes. The stench of mildew grew unbearable and the noise of their splashing echoed around them. Behind them, the shouts had gone silent, and she could only assume it was because the drow had resumed their hunt.
“Let me lead,” Rismyn said, tugging on her hand. “I’m starting to see again. I can find a better path.”
Mazira hesitated, not because she didn’t believe him, but because she was terrified if he let go of her hand, she’d lose him forever. But, she nodded and allowed him to pull ahead.
True to his word, Rismyn did find a slightly better path–at least one that would make less noise. Unfortunately, it required scrambling across slippery rocks that rose above the stream bed. Twice she stumbled and nearly fell, and four times Rismyn tripped. She only caught him three of those times.
“Sorry,” he muttered, as she steadied him again. “Just a little dizzy.”
His face, beneath the crimson, had gone ashen. She didn’t want to think about how much blood he had lost. “Rismyn,” she said, her voice wavering, “we need rest.”
“If we rest we’re dead,” he replied grimly, and she knew he was right.
They pressed on further, following the twisting passageway. The ceiling continued to slope downwards, the walls closing in. She was starting to second guess this course of action. There was only one narrowing passageway. Nowhere to turn off and hide. It was only a matter of time before their enemies caught up with them. She was surprised they hadn’t already.
From somewhere up ahead, it sounded like the current picked up, but the stream was so small. She couldn’t fathom how it could suddenly make so much noise. It must have been a trick of the cave. Maybe it would work in their favor and confuse the drow behind them.
All at once, Rismyn screeched to a halt. He grabbed Mazira’s arm and yanked her to a stop.
“What–” Mazira began, but then she saw and understood.
The stream they had been following simply vanished. The narrow cave was actually a shoot, opening up into a wide, echoing cavern below, the water sparkling out into nothingness like a rain of diamond drops. Down, so far down, a great river rushed, twisting away in the darkness.
“Well,” said a voice behind them. His voice, behind them. “This is iconic.”
No. Not again.
Rismyn spun, putting himself between her and Toloruel, but he was spent. He could barely lift the blade in a challenge.
“This is how we first met, Kitty,” Toloruel said, as he advanced slowly on them. Behind him the wizard followed, looking no worse for wear despite the white fire she had hurled on him. He was muttering and holding something in his hand. “Do you remember that night? By the river?”
Mazira said nothing. Her blood was pounding in her head. Yes, she remembered that night. She would never, ever forget that night.
“Your mother tried to hide you from me,” Toloruel said. He smiled a hungry smile. “She tried to protect you. And she failed.” He tilted his head to the side as he regarded Rismyn. “Would you like to follow in her footsteps? Come–it’ll be a far quicker death than I had initially planned for you. But it will be so satisfying.”
“No…” she whispered, grabbing onto Rismyn’s shirt instinctively as if he would actually go to Toloruel. “No...no...no…”
It was all coming back to her, painfully vivid and real. The rush of the current, the smell of water and mold. Even though the setting was so very different, it felt entirely too similar.
“No?” Toloruel laughed. “Are you going to try to pull off another bit of witchery to save yourself? I’ll admit, I am almost impressed. But mostly, underwhelmed.”
“Stay back,” Rismyn demanded, though he sounded as weak as a kitten.
Toloruel smirked. “No,” he said, raising his chin like a defiant child. “That seems to be everyone’s favorite word today. And, so you know, little witchling, your magic tricks won’t work right now. My wizard is seeing to that.”
He continued to advance on them, twirling his borrowed sword as he went. “Poor Kitty. Finally learned something useful and it’s too late to matter. You couldn’t save your mother and you can’t save your lover.”
“Stop!” Rismyn suddenly shouted, taking everyone by surprise. Even the wizard missed a note in his chanting.
“We get it,” Rismyn continued. “You win.” He tossed the black sword down and put his hands up.
Mazira stared at the back of his head. “Rismyn...no…” but she couldn’t explain why she was so disappointed. There was nothing they could do but accept defeat. She just wasn’t ready to yet.
Surprisingly, Toloruel paused. A slow smile spread across his lips. “If you’re going to beg for mercy, I’ll be happy to indulge.”
Rismyn shook his head. “I won’t waste my breath,” he said. “You don’t know the meaning of the word.”
“Oh, I am well aware of the meaning. I look forward to withholding it.”
Rismyn only shook his head again. Then, shockingly, he turned his back on his brother. The move was pure suicide, but then, what did it matter? They were caught. He smiled weakly at her and said, “Mazi. I’m really, really sorry.”
Mazira was still processing her surprise as his arms went around her. She was still processing when he jumped.
Jumped.
They were falling, the air gushing past them like a whirlwind that wanted to catch them but couldn’t.
They were falling, down, down, down, into the darkness.
Into the abyss.
Into the cold, crushing arms of the river that flowed through the shadows.
Disclaimer: Forsaken by Shadows is unofficial Fan Content permitted under the Fan Content Policy. Not approved/endorsed by Wizards. Portions of the materials used are property of Wizards of the Coast. ©Wizards of the Coast LLC.
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