My Living Shadow System Devours To Make Me Stronger

The carriage ride was brief. Damon sat slouched beside a visibly fuming Evangeline, the silence between them tense and crackling.

"Your home is quite beautiful, my lady…" Damon muttered with a grin, shifting slightly to face her.

"I expected them to rough us up a bit before we met the commander…"

She clenched her jaw, the veins in her temple twitching. "Shut up, Damon. Stop picking on me."

Sylvia glanced between them, sensing the powder keg about to ignite. The shackles around their wrists may have inhibited magic, but they did nothing to dull physical strength—and Evangeline's temper was always one sharp word away from snapping.

"Hmmm…" Sylvia mused aloud, breaking the tension.

"When you said we needed bail… who exactly was supposed to come bail us out? I mean, none of us even have pagers… and the knights didn't give us any to call…"

Damon smiled to himself, eyes half-lidded. He didn't bother to explain. He had been using the Whisper Coin to contact Lilith every dawn, keeping her updated on their travels. It could only be used once per day, but if he'd waited till morning, she would've made her way to Gladstone without question. It was, after all, an important city to House Brightwater… and even more so, the ideal place to welcome the Lady of House Astranova.

He hadn't noticed it before, but now that he thought about it… Lilith never really interacted much with Evangeline.

'Hmmm. And she just happened to know Evangeline's aunt wasn't dead…'

He leaned his head onto Evangeline's shoulder. She turned to glare at him—but instead of pushing him away, she clicked her tongue and let it slide.

Sylvia's eyes twitched, the faint spark of something sharp and possessive flickering across her face. Evangeline felt the glare but refused to acknowledge it.

The knights rode outside the carriage, confident and relaxed. Maybe overconfident.

It wasn't long before they reached the city lord's residence. This was where the commander was stationed—where he lived. A fortress more than a castle.

Damon hopped down first, boots thudding against the polished stone. Rows of knights in golden armor flanked them, heavily armed. Their gear gleamed beneath the morning sun, and their presence radiated pressure.

Their strength wasn't for show. Most of them were already in Second Class advancement.

Damon muttered under his breath,

"Great… I advance and now second class are cabbage on the roadside."

He wasn't exaggerating. This city had Third Class elites… and if he wasn't wrong, the commander himself was at least Fourth Class—maybe even Fifth. After all, this was a grand duchy.

And this wasn't even the capital.

Their shackles were unlatched and dropped at their feet. The knights said nothing.

It was a quiet dare: Run, if you think you can.

Damon didn't appreciate the pride gleaming in their eyes. That smug, self-assured certainty that they were part of something greater than themselves. The kind of collective ego that made institutions dangerous.

'Breaking in here would be hell… I could probably get in… but I'm definitely not getting out alive.'

Still, they were led forward, passing through the grand entrance. The knights inside stood motionless like statues, armor woven with hidden runes and walls with magic tech.

"Magic-tech," Damon muttered under his breath looking at the walls and doors.

Their boots fell in rhythm over a long crimson carpet. Ornate halls stretched in every direction, velvet banners lining the walls, golden sconces glowing with enchanted light. The deeper they went, the more imposing the air became—until finally, they stopped before a towering set of double doors.

Two knights stepped forward and pushed the doors open.

A grand hall greeted them. Massive stairs rose up toward an elevated platform crowned by an extravagant throne. Sunlight poured in through a stained-glass window behind it, cascading over the gold and red like a divine spotlight.

No one sat on the throne.

Instead, a large flag hung behind it—House Brightwater's crest: a rising sun casting shadows over a river. The air felt heavy, like the hall itself had been crafted to make all who entered feel small.

Damon's gaze dropped to the base of the stairs.

A man stood there.

Golden armor clung to him like royalty, not a single piece out of place. His presence pulsed like a calm storm—powerful, composed, commanding. Damon recognized the feeling.

A Domain.

But whether it was Fourth Class or Fifth… he couldn't tell. It was too refined. Too silent. This was someone powerful enough to command not just people—but the atmosphere around him.

Silver hair. Gleaming. Skin fair. Eyes a piercing blue that shimmered like crystal under light.

A Lumerian… one of the Lightborn. A race born with illumination-based traits.

The man stepped forward and slowly bowed his head.

"It has been many years, Lady Brightwater. Forgive my negligence in not welcoming you at the city gates."

Damon blinked. Wait… what?

He reevaluated everything. For this man to piece everything together in mere hours… the Brightwater intelligence network must've been terrifying.

Evangeline, now visibly awkward, nodded.

"It has been a while, Commander Varran Dawnclad." She lowered her head slightly. "I… apologize for the commotion we caused."

"No, please, my lady." Varran's voice was polite, smooth as silk.

"If anyone should apologize, it's me. We only realized who you were after one of our less intelligent knights so outrageously tossed you and your companions into a holding cell…"

He cleared his throat, eyes flickering toward Evangeline.

"We refrained from sending a formal carriage to avoid unsavory rumors from spreading. Ahem."

Damon looked around the hall, smiling faintly. So this ended well after all.

Varran's gaze turned toward the others, his expression still composed.

He met Xander's stare.

"It has been many moons, Lord Ravenscroft."

Xander gave a short nod. "Likewise. I hope you've been well, Commander."

Varran turned to Sylvia. "I believe this is our first meeting, Princess of the Moon Glades. It is an honor."

Sylvia dipped into a graceful bow, responding like she had stepped out of a storybook.

He greeted Leona next, then his eyes fell on Matia—still silent behind Damon.

She said nothing, only offered a small nod.

Varran's gaze lingered on her a moment longer, then shifted to Damon.

There it was. That narrow gaze. Damon could already feel the scrutiny.

He forced a polite smile.

Here came the disdain—the dismissal of a nameless commoner with no background.

"You must be the illustrious, Damon Grey. I've heard… quite a few things about you."

Damon blinked. Wait what?

"You… know me, sir?" he asked, unsure whether to be flattered or alarmed.

Varran nodded, a faint gleam in his eyes.

"Yes. You've been a subject of discussion in certain circles. Word of your defeat of the dark spirit Rashi Ignath has spread. And you apparently burned down a portion of the Evil Forest as well."

He stepped closer, arms crossed.

"You have quite the reputation among academy youths. Apparently, many want to test their blades against yours in the coming War Games…"

Damon blinked again.

'Huh… since when did I become a celebrity?'

He straightened his back. "I understand. It was a pleasure to meet you, Commander Varran Dawnclad."

The commander nodded slowly. "I have already informed the Duke. He is expecting all of you. I have prepared a place for you to rest for the night—you may take the teleportation gate to Lumos tomorrow."

Damon nodded.

That was fine. While the others went to meet the Grand Duke, he'd just catch a ride to Valerion. Nothing dramatic.

"Sir," Damon added with a small bow, "if I may trouble you, while my companions go to meet His Excellency… I'd like to request teleportation to Valerion."

Varran's lips curled into a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"That simply won't do."

Damon blinked.

"After all…" the commander continued, gaze sharp, voice low. "The Duke is most eager to speak with you."

He turned, voice echoing down the golden hall.

"All of you."

Damon felt it then—that familiar twinge in his gut. That little whisper that had saved his life countless times.

Something about this isn't right.

And just like that, the good mood vanished.

'I relaxed too soon.'