Prologue: Kaemon

Drip, drip, drip. The sound of the slow trickling water on the cave walls was Kaemon’s most constant companion, the rhythm keeping time for each second that passed away and slipped into an unknown eternity of loss. How long had he been here? One year? Two? He could barely say. Only he knew that each day his once strong, leathery wings were growing weak and heavy, barely able to hold their own weight. That each day he stared at the grates of his cell door and memorized each imperfection of it.

He ran his hand along the grooved ridges of the cave wall that gave way to a smooth stream where the water had worn it down over centuries.  

They will wear me down quicker than that. 

A small hole in the cave ceiling allowed a shaft of light to come through, a patch of blue the only sign of the outside world. Kaemon would stare at it for hours, thinking of the last time he had flown, the last time he had been free.  

Justice. 

The word rattled around in his skull all day. Justice for him to be caged and weakened. Justice for the actions that landed him here. Justice for the attack on his family.  

Justice. 

But where was the justice for the ones who had attacked his family? He could hear them, even now as they chatted and laughed, sitting at the opening of the cave. The smoke from their pipes wafted back to him and he snarled from their casual indulgence, their carefree nature. The surrounding darkness seemed to stir in response, thickening, the air’s pressure taught like a bowstring.  

Their steps echoed in the cave’s hollowness, and he rolled his head away from the light, his eyes adjusting to the darkness as two men, his usual daytime guards, came in, a candle casting flickering light on the walls and ground, a loaf of bread and cup of water in their hands. 

“Ready for your meal, little bat?” the guard asked, pushing the loaf of bread through the grates, letting it land on the damp floor.

Kaemon grabbed the water before he could spill it out, as this guard was apt to do. Little bat was the least insulting name he’d given Kaemon, so he knew the man was in a good mood. Usually it was “monster,” “beast,” or any other name to remind Kaemon of what he was. The guard would often throw the water in his face and watch as Kaemon licked his lips and hands, trying to retrieve any bit of the water he could, shame filling him even as he couldn’t help his instincts to survive. He wanted a dignified death. His body wanted only to live.  

Kaemon gulped the water down, not nearly enough to sate his thirst. He would tuck the cup away if he could and try to gather some from the trickling water. He took the bread and bit into its tough exterior, the dull taste like heaven against his ravenous stomach.  

“You never ask us about your family anymore, bat,” the man said.  

Kaemon spared him only a glance before looking away and continuing to eat. He had asked every day, every chance he had when he was first captured, if they knew what had happened to his family. They wouldn’t tell him. Now he didn’t know that there was much point in knowing. If he were to die, he would rather not have the burden of their deaths looming over him. He’d fantasized many times about them coming to rescue him, killing the guards, and taking him back to his home in the House of Shadows. He could still see his parents’ smiling faces, his brother’s stern one, his sister’s mischievous one. It felt like ages since he’d dared dream like that.  

“We’ve heard some news about them,” he said.  

Kaemon tilted his head towards them but refused to look up. They would either continue their interrogation, wanting him to divulge the secrets of the House of Shadows, or they were being cruel. He was curious, yes, but he tightened the reins on his intrigue.  

“They’re alive,” the man said, and Kaemon’s head whipped up. 

Shock rippled through, followed by hope. They were alive. A stupid grin split across his face. He’d carried the fear that he’d caused their deaths all these years. But they were alive.  

The guard chuckled. “They’re alive and know you are alive. And they have never once tried to find you. We even sent them a message. To negotiate your release. Do you know what happened?”

Kaemon’s heart stilled for a beat, the hope that had risen threatening to fall and crush him. He didn’t say a word. He barely dared to breathe.

“Nothing happened. They weren’t interested in your release. They don’t care that you will rot away in this cage.” 

Kaemon’s smile faltered, and he looked back up at the tiny sliver of sky. His nostrils flared. The guard could be lying… but could he blame his family for abandoning him? He had been the reason they were attacked and now he would pay. All those dreams of being rescued turned to dust within him and he shut his eyes, resting his head against the cave wall.  

No one was coming. He was alone. Unwanted.  

“Get up, monster,” a familiar voice said, and Kaemon’s eyes flew open.  

The commander, the one who had originally taken him, stood next to the other guards now. He spit on Kaemon, his face twisting in a snarl. 

“Get up, monster.” 

Kaemon tried to stand but slumped against the ground, his body so, so weak. The men snickered behind the commander, but he looked at Kaemon with disgust that mirrored Kaemon’s feelings for himself.  

A guard opened the door to the cell, stepping in with another and they hoisted Kaemon up, helping him walk to the center of the cave where they tied him to a chair. The commander pulled out a knife, coming close to Kaemon, taking a fistful of his hair, and pulling it back roughly, the pain like needles on his head as he made Kaemon look at him.  

“You’re going to tell me how to get into the House of Shadows. I can make this go on for the rest of your life. And I can ensure that your life is very long, and very tortured, until you give us that information.” 

Kaemon gritted his teeth, nostrils flaring. It didn’t matter if his family wanted him or not, he would never knowingly put them in danger, regardless of the torture he had to endure.

The commander brought the knife along Kaemon’s cheek, slicing it, and Kaemon tried to jerk away but couldn’t. He would heal, and fast, but the pain lanced through his weak body like a lightning bolt. He made other cuts and Kaemon felt his mind drift away, visions of shadows, and his home, coming in his head to calm him. Something ancient and primal within him responded, and he answered the call, exploring it, going there, forgetting about the pain, feeling as if strength were filling him instead.  

Am I dying? Is this what it feels like?  Kaemon finally came back to himself, his eyes blinking open. The smell of blood permeated the air. Not his own, though. This blood was acrid and spoiled, filled with fear. His bleary eyes cleared. He was standing outside the cave, blood on him, and the bodies of his captors lying about him in various poses of death. Who had done this? And how?