Sundered by Fate (Shadowbound #3)

Chapter 1

One

W hen Aric crested the familiar hill, his heart nearly stopped.

Thornhaven lay sprawled below, nestled in its valley like always, and yet?—

His knees weakened at the sight of it. After so long in the demon realms—months of darkness and labyrinthine halls, of bladed decor and throne rooms heaped with obsidian spikes—even the quaintly crooked buildings of his old human home overwhelmed him. He splayed a trembling hand against the gnarled oak's trunk and caught his breath, shoulders hunching beneath his ragged demon leathers.

It was all so normal, too normal—the marketplace stalls clogged with bartering shoppers, the temple's spire craning towards the morning sun—and Aric closed his eyes, willing himself back to this present. All around him, the amber waves of wheat rustled in a morning breeze; nearby, the lazy Trickling Brook murmured over smooth river stones.

But there was something wrong here that he couldn't place—not exactly, anyway. A niggling, maddening absence of something: No siege weaponry lined the outer rim of city gates that looked made for aesthetic and nothing else; no crenelated walls bristling with archers shuddered as creatures scraped at them from below.

If not for the gnawing hole where some intangible sense should have been but wasn't, he might even have believed that everything truly was peaceful here. As if, like when he'd dreamed inside that strange magic field on the other side of the portal that seemed to know his deepest longings better than he knew himself, he could return to this land as if nothing had ever happened.

Aric swallowed back bitterness as sharp as ash on his tongue and pushed away from the tree's embrace. It wasn't real—not really. But it would do.

Aric couldn't forget the mission that had brought him back here. Steeling himself, he reminded himself of all the crucial information he'd gathered in the demon realm: everything from their military strategies to secrets about their magic and technology. The humans needed to be warned about the demon invasion and change their warding protocols.

And then there was the alarming anomaly he'd witnessed, a destabilizing force at the intersection of both realms that threatened to unravel the very fabric of reality. He still didn't know exactly how the new weapon was involved, but he couldn't dispel the nagging fear that its power had far more dangerous consequences than anyone suspected.

There was also—there was also Malekith. They'd become entangled in ways Aric still struggled to comprehend. What kind of hell would Malekith face now before the Sovereign, after allowing Aric to escape? Aric had given up everything for their impossible alliance—a truce born from blood and fury and love—he couldn't accept that it had all been in vain.

Every shadow seemed to hold a threat, every shudder of the wind a reminder of what could happen if he failed. He couldn't allow himself to wallow in fear, not now when so much was at stake.

He tugged at his tunic's collar until he no longer felt its weight against his throat and skirted around the emerald fields of wheat that surrounded Thornhaven like a fortress wall, heading for the back gate with far too little confidence or stealth. He'd have to find some way into the city. Someone here who would hear him out about the danger looming over them all.

Aric's world narrowed to a fist of ragged breaths, the bone-deep tremor of weariness that shivered through his every limb as he forced himself to move. The gatekeepers barely looked up as he trudged into Thornhaven, and the earth-smoke, jasmine and oil scent of the demons washed away under the heady perfume of salt and spices from nearby market stalls.

It was a balm and an assault all at once: from the jangle and grind of wagons careening along cobbled streets to the lively chorus of chirping songbirds fluttering overhead, the world clamored for his attention at every turn. And oh, that aching hum; he'd almost missed it, like a part of him. The constant thrum of magic that laced through his veins—a subtle current pulsing beneath the surface of everything here.

Yet it was only once the initial dissonance faded—only when he'd adjusted to these new rhythms and cadences—that he finally allowed himself to see the lurking darkness in their midst.

The scorch marks pocking storefronts like angry welts; the burnt stench hanging heavy over everything, thick as fog; buildings boarded up against some unseen foe. Aric's heart clenched with panic he had no right to feel. He couldn't see anything outright sinister here. Perhaps things truly had changed after he left. Or perhaps this was something darker in wait—an invisible specter haunting them all, even if only he could sense its presence.

As much as he wanted nothing more than to lose himself in this mundane world, Aric knew he couldn't afford to be lulled into complacency. If the demonic Sovereign's plans had advanced already . . . The thought choked him with terror.

Ignoring the curiosity in townspeople's eyes (no doubt fixed on his tattered clothing), Aric veered deeper into Thornhaven's heart.

Every shred of this normalcy around him was why he'd come so far, risked so much.

Everything he'd sacrificed in his quest to defy the Pureblade Order, who'd have put him to death rather than let him counter the demons' rising tide. Every chance he took when delving into demon magic, the rituals and wardings he'd glimpsed as he walked their realm with Malekith at his side. The hatred and distrust he'd swallowed down even as it festered inside him like poison.

He'd done it all for them—the people of Thornhaven, of Astaria, of every town like this one, so they could live unthreatened and unafraid. But now, their joy and peace seemed almost alien after everything he'd endured to safeguard them. Everything he'd given up?—

This was not where Aric was meant to be. Not anymore.

He still didn't know what Malekith wanted from him—why the demon prince had been willing to sacrifice so much to help him escape. Aric could guess some of it. Whatever allegiance Malekith swore to the Sovereign of the Demon Court, whatever promises he gave when swearing fealty to their gruesome plans—Malekith had given no small piece of himself away, either.

And whatever had drawn Malekith to Aric in the first place . . . Aric knew better than most just how consuming such needs could become.

The demons would never relent in their desire to own him, one way or another—to mold him into a weapon of their own design or else wipe him off this earth once they'd finished with him. In some ways, that terrified Aric more than anything he could imagine.

Even more than the ruin these humans might heap on themselves as they continued their reckoning with the demons' threat.

Doubt and fear gnawed at Aric like a gnawing itch, spreading thick through his veins and leaving dread in its wake. But those doubts didn't matter—not now. What mattered was stopping these demons before they tore apart everything Aric held dear.

Aric stopped at last before a bakery and took a shaky breath of hot bread and herbs baking in clay ovens out back.

Then let go.

The distant toll of bells pricked through the buzz of Thornhaven's market square, and Aric's heart jolted to a sudden stop.

A scream shattered the air, high and ragged as glass.

Aric whirled just as a wave of panic swept through the crowd—a tide that yanked townsfolk from the stalls like flotsam, tearing them away in all directions. Some rushed for the gates, others ducked into alleyways, and still more staggered into the nearest sheltering shadow.

All of them, doing anything to get away.

A squad of armed guards sprinted towards the gate Aric had entered by—young men and women in motley armor, brandishing swords and spears with determined desperation.

"Protect Thornhaven!" one of them shouted, and Aric's stomach dropped at the raw fear in her voice. "Defend the wards!"

Aric froze as they hurtled past him, caught in a paralysis of dread and helplessness. There was nothing he could do here. Nothing but blend into the crowd of fleeing townsfolk and pray?—

Then he caught sight of it. The silhouette rising from beyond the gate—dark as smoke, its red eyes blazing.

Aric's limbs moved before he made a conscious decision to follow the guards—before he remembered that this was the world he'd sacrificed everything to protect.

He knew what needed to be done. How many times had he fought these creatures? He knew their strength, their weaknesses, the dread and hatred they commanded wherever they went. He could save this town—and prove that all he had endured had been worth it.

But all that stopped in his throat as if he'd been seized by some ghastly spell, one he couldn't bring himself to break. There were more guards now—struggling for weapons, struggling for breath—and they ran straight towards danger with grim resolution painted across their faces. Surely they didn't need him. Surely they didn't want him back.

The clamorous echoes crashed over Aric—iron tolling; blade against shield—but beneath it all came another sound—a voice in Aric's mind, ringing like a bell struck too hard:

Demonfire and vengeance; love against desolation?—

He shuddered fiercely enough to send pain flaring in his tender wrists from his bones upwards?—

"Please," came the shout of another guard. Yet all his senses screamed at him now: "A warband! They're coming! We can't hold back the tide alone!"

Aric's pulse thudded in his ears with such a clamor—drowned out by that terrible cry; sucked dry until all left was aching emptiness—that it took him several heartbeats longer than it should've done before he realized:

Not just guards' cries filled this air but demonic ones—the spectral howl of mournful wraiths?—

There were too many warriors here now gathered under Thornhaven's shadowy shroud; yet nowhere near enough if even their strongest defenses weren't enough anymore?—

He couldn't let them face this alone—not after everything.

Aric's decision came with the force of a battering ram, slamming into his chest and knocking the air from his lungs.

It felt good. It felt too good, and that terrified him.

His magic flared to life inside him, a rush of magic that sang in his veins and roared in his ears. After so long—far too long—trapped in the demon realms, shackled by restraints designed to keep him weak and pliant, the freedom was almost overwhelming. His body strained to contain it, his muscles taut and trembling as if he'd been dipped in liquid lightning.

He couldn't control it all, couldn't harness it yet; but he could focus it enough for this moment—to let the flames dance around him like the stars he'd missed so much; to let their searing heat burn away his doubt.

The townsfolk cried out in alarm as shadows coalesced around Aric's hands, black as pitch against his tawny skin. Some fell to their knees, others staggered back, and still more gawked at him with open fear—but he couldn't spare them a thought now. His entire world narrowed to the demons approaching Thornhaven's gates, their eyes glowing like ember coals from the depths of the hells.

With a fierce gesture, Aric slammed his hands together—and then thrust them out before him.

The magic tore from him with a noise like breaking glass; but there was no time for self-recrimination now—not while he still remembered how to shape it. Tendrils of shadow lashed out from his fingers to weave into a barrier, slamming into place between the demons and the guards who'd been charging toward them. For an instant, there was nothing; only Aric's own labored breathing, filling his ears with rushing static as he struggled against the siren's call of magic?—

Then everything snapped back into place, colors brighter and sounds sharper than ever before.

Aric threw himself into the fray, a wild grin stretching his cheeks as his magic roared through him like wildfire. He danced between the guards and townsfolk, weaving between their ranks with effortless speed and grace. Each movement was a carefully choreographed spell, drawing in the power from the ley lines beneath them all before releasing it in a furious burst.

Golden fire sprang from Aric's hands, consuming demons with their hungry flames without so much as singeing the cloth of the humans' clothing. Aric heard gasps and cries of alarm at the sight—but he had no time to reassure them. The wave of demonic energy pounding against his barrier was all that mattered now. He had to hold it, had to drive these creatures back and protect Thornhaven's people.

The demons surged forward again, and Aric called upon his magic with a roar, sending a pulse of energy out that rippled through the air like a shockwave. He raised one arm high, golden flames dancing along his forearm as he chanted an incantation—a mixture of human words and guttural demonic syllables he'd learned from Malekith.

A warding sigil flared into existence before him, blindingly bright even in the daylight, and then slammed into the demons' ranks with an explosion of sound and light. The creatures shrieked as it burned through their shadowy forms, slicing through their defenses with ease.

Aric grinned at the sight—the spell working just as he'd hoped—but he didn't allow himself to celebrate for long.

The battle raged on around him: screams and clangs ringing off cobblestones; shadows clashing against firelight as humans scrambled out of the way or leaped forward, weapons raised?—

But Aric was in his element now. He ducked between two guards locked in combat with one of the wraithlike creatures—the young woman from before—and hurled a blast of golden flames that shattered its form apart like glass.

Her eyes widened at the sight—but she quickly nodded her thanks before turning back to her own opponent.

"Stay with me!" she shouted over her shoulder as she slashed at another demon with her dagger—a bold move for such a young girl—and Aric felt something warm unfurl inside him at her bravery.

He moved to her side as more demons surged toward them; their crimson eyes glowed like embers in the night even as they bore down on him with claws outstretched?—

And suddenly Aric was back-to-back with this girl he'd never met before, fighting together against all odds.

They moved in tandem—her small form darting forward to strike at one demon's legs while Aric's magic flared outwards to engulf another; her dagger arcing up toward a looming creature while his flames licked around its body like caresses?—

Aric found himself laughing breathlessly at this unexpected camaraderie—at the exhilaration coursing through his veins despite knowing full well they might not survive this day?—

But still: Together, they were unstoppable.

And fleetingly—just for a heartbeat or two—Aric felt as if he truly belonged here once more.

The tide of battle was shifting now; even Aric felt it as the demons began to retreat under their onslaught. Though his mind still buzzed with magic's song, his limbs weighed him down like leaden weights, his muscles screaming for rest. But he couldn't let up yet. Not when they were so close.

The guards were fighting with renewed fervor now—Aric's presence seeming to bolster their spirits, even as the townsfolk watched from a safe distance. And as he glanced around at the defenders, Aric saw expressions ranging from awe to fear to confusion.

They didn't know what to make of him—this stranger who wielded magic like a weapon and fought by their side without hesitation. He didn't know what to make of himself, either.

But he couldn't stop now; not when there was still work to be done.

With one final surge of power, Aric unleashed a torrent of gold across the battlefield, consuming the last of the demons in its searing heat. Their cries echoed in the night air before being abruptly cut off as they were banished back to whatever dark realm had spawned them.

Aric sagged forward, one hand braced on his knees as he gasped for breath. The world spun dizzily around him—but he forced himself upright, blinking back the sweat and tears stinging his eyes. He couldn't afford to show any weakness now, with all eyes on him.

The square fell silent, save for the defenders' heavy breathing and the wounded's groans. Aric stood in the center, acutely aware of all eyes upon him. The magic sigils on his skin, usually hidden, glowed faintly in the aftermath of the battle. He drew in air, preparing to speak, to explain, to beg for understanding if necessary.

Before he could, the young defender approached, her hand extended in gratitude.

"Thank you," she said, her voice trembling with emotion.

Hope bloomed in Aric's chest, a fragile thing made all the more precious by its rarity.

But as she drew closer, her eyes widened in shock and then horror. Her gaze fixed on the fading sigils on Aric's skin, unmistakably demonic in origin. Her outstretched hand faltered, then dropped. She took one step back, then another. Around them, the other townspeople picked up on her reaction, murmurs of unease spreading through the crowd.

Aric stood frozen, the elation of victory crumbling into ash.

"Demon magic," someone hissed.

Another voice, rough with fear: "He's one of them."

Aric opened his mouth to protest, to explain—but his words died unspoken as the defenders closed ranks around him, weapons drawn once more.

"Stand down," a voice ordered, and Aric found himself on his knees before he even realized he'd moved.

The guards encircled him, their spears and swords leveled at his heart.

"Who are you?" one demanded. "What are you?"

Aric swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. He could taste the acrid tang of magic still lingering in the air, and beneath it all—underneath even that—a dark, insidious whisper in the back of his mind:

You were never meant to come home.

Aric squeezed his eyes shut against it—against the sight of their anger and fear twisting toward hatred; against the knowledge that once again everything had changed between himself and those he'd fought so hard to protect.

"I was trying to help," he managed at last—a pitifully small response compared with what these people deserved from him after everything.

Laughter erupted from within their ranks—a harsh sound that burned like acid in Aric's ears. But before he could muster any response, another voice cut through:

"Enough."

It was a woman's voice; soft yet fierce enough that it left no room for argument—and it sent chills skittering along Aric's spine despite himself.

The guards parted for her, revealing a woman in her forties with a commanding presence. She wore the insignia of Thornhaven's townmaster, but there was an unfamiliarity to her that told Aric she must be new to the position since he'd left. Her dark hair was pulled back in a severe bun, and her eyes were cold and assessing as they raked over him.

"Who are you?" she asked again, though it was clear from the steel in her voice that she was not in the mood for games.

Aric took a deep breath, willing his magic to subside. The shadows around him faded, leaving only the faint glow of his sigils.

"My name is Aric Solarian," he said, his voice steady despite the storm raging inside him. "I was once of the Silver Tower."

The woman's eyes narrowed at that, but she didn't interrupt him.

"I know what I look like," Aric continued, glancing down at himself—at the once-fine silks and velvets Malekith once dressed him, now soiled and torn and bloodied from his frantic escape. "And I know what you must be thinking. But I'm here to help." He hesitated, then added, "I need to speak with the Silver Tower as soon as possible."

The woman's expression was impossible to read.

Aric's heart sank. He'd known this was a long shot—knew that no one in their right mind would trust someone like him after everything he'd done—but he couldn't give up now. Not when he was so close.

"Please," he breathed. "I can explain everything."

The woman studied him for a long moment, then nodded to the guards.

"Take him to my office," she said. "We'll get to the bottom of this."

Aric allowed himself to be cuffed with shackles that glowed with anti-magic wards. He should have been terrified; instead, he felt only a weary resignation. There would be no easy path to redemption for him—not after all he'd done—but he'd face whatever trials lay ahead if it meant keeping this town safe.

He followed them willingly, even as he couldn't keep from thinking of another pair of arms that had once felt like home.