The Ascension

The Spire of Ascension was the highest point in Cinder-Keep. It pierced the smog layer, a needle of crystal and steel reaching for the sun.

The ceremony was in full swing. Nobles in silks and velvets stood in concentric circles, applauding. At the center, on a raised dais, the Lord-Governor stood with a golden sword.

Kneeling before him was Silas Thorne.

Silas looked magnificent. He wore a tunic of white and gold, a velvet cape draped over his shoulders. His hair shone like spun gold. He looked every inch the hero the city wanted.

"Silas Thorne," the Governor boomed, his voice amplified by wind-magic. "For your bravery in recovering the Sun-Shard, and for your courage in exposing the shadow-cultist Jace Varrick, I hereby name you Knight of the Rim."

Silas bowed his head, the picture of humility. "I only did what was right, My Lord. The dark must always yield to the light."

"Then rise," the Governor said, lifting the sword. "Rise, Sir Silas."

Silas began to stand.

The shadow of the Governor’s sword stretched out across the white marble floor. It was a long, thin line of darkness.

As Silas stood, the shadow moved. It didn't follow the light. It detached itself from the floor and rose up, becoming a three-dimensional silhouette.

The crowd gasped. The Governor stumbled back, dropping the sword.

The silhouette widened, gaining features. A ragged coat made of smoke. Hands that ended in claws of solidified night. A face that was a pale, gaunt ruin of the boy Silas used to know.

Jace Varrick stepped out of the shadow.

He was dripping with black ichor. His skin was translucent, veins pulsing with ink. He looked like a corpse that had clawed its way out of a grave, fueled by spite alone.

"Jace?" Silas whispered. His face went pale, the golden hero vanishing in an instant, replaced by the terrified boy from the Pit.

"You look good in white," Jace said. His voice was a rasp that carried across the silent plaza without amplification. "It hides the rot."

"Guards!" the Governor screamed. "Seize him!"

Four elite guards in solar-armor charged. They wielded pikes tipped with sun-glass.

Jace didn't look at them. He waved a hand.

The shadows of the guards—their own shadows—animated. They grabbed the guards by the ankles and slammed them into the ground with bone-shattering force. The guards screamed as they were dragged into the floor, sinking into the stone as if it were water.

The crowd erupted into panic. Nobles scrambled over each other to escape.

Silas didn't run. He couldn't. He was frozen, staring at the monster he had made.

"I... I killed you," Silas stammered. "The execution..."

"I ate the executioner," Jace said simply. He took a step forward. The marble turned black under his bare feet. "I was hungry, Silas. You know what it’s like to be hungry."

Silas fumbled for the Sun-Shard, which hung on a chain around his neck as a trophy. He ripped it free. "Stay back! I have the light!"

He thrust the Shard forward. A beam of searing amber light erupted from the crystal, hitting Jace square in the chest.

Jace staggered back. His skin sizzled, smoke rising from the wound. But he didn't fall. He laughed.

"You think light hurts me?" Jace smiled, revealing teeth stained black. "I lived in the dark for you. I became the dark for you."

Jace walked into the beam. The light didn't burn him; he absorbed it. The amber beam dimmed, turned gray, and then vanished, swallowed by the void inside Jace’s chest.

He reached Silas.

Silas dropped the dead, gray crystal. He fell to his knees, trembling. "Jace, please. It was the only way. We couldn't both make it. I did it for us—so one of us could live!"

"For us," Jace repeated. He grabbed Silas by the throat. His hand was cold—so cold it burned. He lifted Silas off the ground with one hand.

"Jace, we’re brothers," Silas choked out, tears streaming down his face. "Please. I’m sorry. I’m sorry!"

Jace stared at him. He remembered the apple. He remembered the shared blanket in the freezing winter. He remembered Silas laughing on the turbine.

Jace leaned in close. His breath smelled of the grave.

"Brothers protect each other," Jace whispered. "You didn't want a brother, Silas. You wanted a stepping stone."

Jace tightened his grip. Silas’s eyes bulged.

"I should kill you," Jace said softly. "I should drop you off this spire and watch you break."

Silas squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the end.

Jace released him.

Silas crumbled to the floor, gasping for air, clutching his throat. He looked up, confused.

"But death is peace," Jace said, looking down at him with dead, shark-like eyes. "And you don't get peace."

Jace reached out and touched Silas’s face. He pressed his thumb into Silas’s left cheek. The magic flared—not a healing spell, but a curse.

The skin blackened. A mark burned itself into Silas’s perfect face—a handprint of pure, unmoving shadow.

"A mark," Jace said. "So everyone knows what you are. No matter how much light you stand in, Silas, you’ll always have a little bit of shadow on you."

Jace turned away. The guards were regrouping. A battalion was storming up the stairs.

Jace walked to the edge of the Spire. He looked out at the ocean of smog, the glittering lights of the Rim, and the dark pit below.

"Jace!" Silas screamed, his voice cracking. "Where are you going?"

Jace looked back over his shoulder.

"To turn out the lights."

He stepped off the edge.

He didn't fall. He dissolved into smoke before he hit the clouds, scattering into a thousand whispers of darkness that drifted down into the city streets.