My Living Shadow System Devours To Make Me Stronger

Damon floated silently on the water, letting the current ease the weight from his limbs. He’d already scrubbed his body clean, letting the filth of the road drift away downstream. But the blood clotted in his hair—dried, hardened, and stubborn—refused to wash out so easily.

He sighed, reaching for a comb he’d gotten as an item drop. Tugging at the matted strands, he winced.

It was no use. His shoulder-length hair just wouldn’t return to normal.

“Do I have to cut it off?” he muttered to himself, the thought heavy.

He let himself soak deeper into the river, hoping the water would soften the strands enough. Xander had already left; it was just him now. Taking his sweet time, as always.

Then he felt the ripple.

A soft plop in the water.

He didn’t even turn.

“Sylvia, stop sneaking around. I can see you.”

He wasn’t looking in her direction, but he didn’t need to. Shadow perception was active all around him. After leaving Lysithara, he no longer bothered restraining his senses.

Still, she was already close. He’d kept his awareness spread specifically to avoid peeking into the girls’ side of the river.

Sighing, he summoned the lower part of his armor from the shadows, letting it wrap his form beneath the surface of the water.

“This is the men’s side,” he said flatly.

She smiled, voice teasing.

“I know. I heard you were having trouble with your hair.”

Damon let out a breath. This girl was getting bolder every day.

“From who?” he asked, exasperated.

She pushed her hair behind her ear, that sly smirk never fading.

“I’m a seer, remember?”

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. She was wearing the awakened shell form of her armor—a light fabric that now clung to her curves, soaked and translucent in places.

“Hmmmmmm.” Damon groaned.

“Why are my affairs always made difficult? What a wicked woman…”

He looked away, deliberately. He heard the soft slosh of water as she waded closer.

She reached out and touched his hair.

“Stay still. Let me help you wash it.”

Damon didn’t argue. It was already awkward enough. Besides, his mind wasn’t on her—it was on Matia. His shadow.

Was there a way to undo it? And if there was… would that mean she’d die?

His jaw tightened. He clenched his fist under the water.

“Why don’t you take off that crown?” Sylvia asked gently.

Damon reached up, fingers brushing against the cold metal resting on his head.

Right. The crown.

It was more than a symbol. It was the key to Lysithara, and a core piece of the Pale Crown armor.

This wasn’t just ceremonial wear. This crown housed the archives of Lysithara’s lost technology and knowledge. An enchantment within it even kept Damon sane.

Knowledge enough to turn kingdoms on each other. The legacy of the Path of Kings. A gift—and a curse—from the Keeper of False Truths.

Yet even now, Damon didn’t have full access. His rank was too low.

The crown also let him interface with Lysithara’s systems. Control its magic. Direct its defenses.

But right now?

Right now it was just a burden he had to carry.

“It feeds my god complex,” Damon said with a weak smile.

Sylvia shook her head. That was just like him—always hiding the truth behind a grin.

Quietly, she helped him scrub away the dried blood.

“All done.”

Damon gave a curt nod. Then, without a word, he dove into the river, his body fading into shadows as he vanished beneath the surface and out of sight.

Sylvia sighed, following after him.

Damon emerged and equipped his armor, staring at his reflection in the river’s glassy surface.

But the water froze—solid and clear like polished mirror.

He turned.

Matia stood behind him, silent as always, her hand still raised from casting the spell.

“Erm… thanks,” he said.

She said nothing.

In the reflection, he saw himself. A young man with dark, shoulder-length hair, deep black eyes, and flawless skin. Calling him handsome would’ve been an understatement.

Yet his eyes… they were tired. Hollow.

The crown on his head gave him an air of regality, made him look wise—older than he was. It matched his matte-black armor perfectly. He looked like a warrior king. Or a fallen one.

He stood up, avoiding Sylvia’s gaze.

She was getting more and more assertive lately. It was obvious he couldn’t play dumb anymore.

But he also couldn’t allow anything to happen. Not like this.

It wasn’t like what he had with Astranova. That had never needed words. Their shared madness—those impossible dreams—was more than enough.

But with Sylvia, things were different.

She was someone’s daughter. A girl kept on a tight leash. And her father? He was dangerous. Overprotective.

“I can’t allow anything…” he muttered.

His shadow returned, rippling beside him after devouring the nearby bandits. Nothing useful from them. No drops. No loot.

He stared at it.

“What do you think? Should I take on all of Moon Glades in the name of love?”

The shadow shrugged.

Knowing Damon, he would never bow. Never back down. He was stupid that way.

But somehow… that stupid resolve had kept him alive.

So what if her father could kill him with a single slap?

He shook his head.

“I should avoid that… for Luna. I don’t want her caught up in any trouble.”

He wasn’t worried the Elf King would kill him. Damon wouldn’t stay dead anyway.

Or rather he wouldn’t not die.

Still, no need to invite disaster.

He made his way back to the others.

Xander glanced at him.

“You should remove that crown.”

Damon blinked.

Xander’s voice held no malice—only concern.

“We’re going into town. A crown is a symbol of royalty. Even nobles don’t wear one lightly. If a commoner is seen with it…”

He trailed off, but the meaning was clear.

Damon had a feeling if some noble tried to order him to remove it, he’d end up removing the noble’s head instead.

Evangeline nodded nervously. “Right. We’re no longer in a death zone. It’s for your own good.”

The others agreed. Their voices layered with worry as they tried to reason with him.

Leona stepped up, offering a compromise.

“You can wear it in battle when you need it… but, uhm, maybe take it off for now…”

Damon sighed.

“I can’t.”

Evangeline stepped forward, her voice low as she bowed her head.

“I’m begging you. Please…”

He stared at her, startled.

It wasn’t about ego. It had never been.

“I want to take it off,” Damon said quietly. “I really do. But I can’t.”

He bit his lips.

“If I take off the Pale Crown… I’ll go mad.”