My Living Shadow System Devours To Make Me Stronger

Damon sat beneath the shade of a garden pavilion in the imperial palace, one arm cradling Ranar as she slept at an awkward angle. Her small body hung upside down across his forearm, her legs dangling freely as if gravity meant nothing to her.

He was already used to it.

His daughter was far from normal. Reaching first class advancement shortly after birth had drawn attention, but not as much as it should have. The world had far greater horrors to fear. Compared to everything else, she had only made a small ripple.

Damon lifted his gaze to the moon, studying it in silence.

Soft footsteps approached. Someone settled beside him on the stone bench.

He had expected Lilith to find him first.

Instead, he turned and smiled at the white haired elf seated at his side.

“Sylvia. I am not surprised you found me.”

She did not respond at once. Her head turned slightly toward him, eyes calm, observant. In three years, the last traces of her childishness had faded. She had grown into a striking young woman, composed and self aware.

Her eyes rolled with mild irritation.

“Didn’t I tell you that old elves have a musty scent,” she said flatly, as if plucking the thought straight from his mind.

“I didn’t say anything,” Damon murmured as the wind loosened a few strands of his hair across his face.

“You didn’t need to. I took a not so wild guess.”

She shifted her gaze to the sky.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it. The moons. They are so far away from all of our troubles.”

A brief pause.

“The moon does not know any troubles,” she added softly.

Damon looked at her for a moment, then shook his head.

“The moon does not ask questions either. It does not desire to know. Since it does not want to know, it is not burdened by the answers.”

Sylvia’s lips curved into a faint smile at his reply.

Damon’s voice lowered.

“We are not the moon. We desire to know because learning means growing. Ignorance is not bliss. It is a sin.”

Sylvia lowered her head until the curtain of her hair hid her expression.

“I thought I wanted to know everything. I questioned everything. Now I can know everything, but is the price really worth it. Why does knowledge always come at a cost,” she whispered.

“Gain something and you must give something,” Damon replied quietly. “If you read a book, you give it time and attention. There is always a price for knowledge.”

She fell silent, her thoughts visibly tangled behind her eyes.

“I suddenly feel like I was better off not knowing at all. Ignorance is bliss. I do not even want to ask questions anymore.”

Damon watched her carefully. This was not a complaint. She was emptying something out of herself.

“There is someone who believes you cannot prevent how the world treats you, only how you react to it,” he said. “She believed you cannot stop the rain, only whether you get wet. You cannot prevent heartbreak, only whether you choose to fall in love. You cannot prevent sadness, only whether you choose to care.”

His gaze drifted to the moon as Valcara’s memory surfaced.

“That person reacted in all the wrong ways. She stood in the rain. She allowed herself to be torn apart by love. She chose to care and suffered for it.”

He looked down at Ranar, adjusting the baby slightly in his arm as she stirred.

“When I think about it logically, I do not understand it. That is because there was no logic to it. She followed her heart. In the end, she lived the way she wanted to.”

His eyes returned to Sylvia.

“I think the problem is that you are used to others giving you answers. Teachers. Parents. Books. Dead sages. Gods. If you have a question, find your own answer. The knowledge might not feel so damning if it is something you chose.”

Sylvia’s eyes widened a little.

“Choose my own answers. But I could be wrong.”

He smiled faintly.

“Then keep searching until you are not.”

“For the right answers,” Damon added softly, though uncertainty lingered in his voice.

Sylvia studied him.

“Did you find it then?”

He blinked. “Find what.”

“The right answer.”

Damon shook his head as the baby shifted again, making his arm tense instinctively.

“I am not even sure I know the right questions.”

A small smile touched Sylvia’s lips.

“Then shall I tell you one.”

Damon nodded. “Go on.”

“You should be asking me why one of my eyes is slightly darker than the other.”

Damon focused on her face. Now that she had said it, he saw it. One eye carried a faintly deeper shade. So subtle he would never have noticed on his own.

A quiet unease crept into him.

“Did you know my eyes were changed by a god,” he asked, turning the thought back on her.

“Yes,” she said calmly.

That answer confirmed everything.

She had made a deal.

Just like him.

Sylvia tilted her head back toward the moon, her expression strangely peaceful.

“My heart is overcome with tears. When I see them flow, I will have fulfilled my purpose. The reflection will be lost forever.”

Damon’s mind raced. Lake of Tears.

He understood.

If Sylvia ever reached it, the unknown god’s objective would be complete.

She had truly put herself in danger for him. Of course she would.

Damon exhaled slowly and looked away. In the end, none of it mattered. The only path to victory was the destruction of the Lake of Tears.

“We are not going to win, Sylvia,” he said, his voice low and heavy. The weight of adulthood sat differently on him now. When he had nothing to lose, defeat did not feel frightening. Now he had too much to protect.

The thought settled into him like stone.

“We cannot win.”

He rubbed a hand over his face.

“No one wins against the unknown god. No matter how clever we think we are. No matter how devious. What can we possibly do against someone who decides what fate is and is not.”

Sylvia stayed quiet for a moment. Then she slowly shook her head.

“That is not what I understood from all this,” she said softly. “If anything, as an oracle, I think the unknown god is very sad.”

Damon glanced at her.

“Imagine having absolute power, yet never winning when it matters most,” she continued, her gaze fixed somewhere far beyond the palace walls. “You build a tower that reaches the heavens. You lay the perfect foundation. You gather the finest materials. You plan every step carefully. And just as you place the final brick, it all collapses.”

Her fingers tightened slightly in her lap as if she could see it happening.

“He outsmarts everyone. He overcomes every obstacle. He defeats all his enemies. Yet he still loses. Not the battle. The war. His true goal always slips through his fingers.”

Sylvia’s voice softened.

“It is possible to make no mistakes and still lose. That is simply life.”

She looked at Damon.

“That is what the unknown god is like. He said it himself. He could be lying, but I do not think so.”

A faint smile touched her lips.

“I figured out the answer to defeating him. That was my reward for bearing this burden. It was my last question.”

Damon leaned forward slightly. “What is the answer.”

“It is simple,” she said. “It is a riddle.”

“What riddle.”

She smiled.

“I do not know. And that is fine.”

Damon stared at her.

“I do not need to know everything,” she continued. “I do not need to ask everything. I can figure things out for myself.”

As she said those words, Damon felt it.

Her aura shifted. It rose sharply, then settled into something denser, deeper. Her presence changed as she crossed into the next class. A quiet pulse of power rippled through the air around her.

She inhaled slowly as if hearing something only she could hear.

“A riddle I do not know. There is no question. So the unknown god is not asking anything. Then perhaps it is about the self.”

Damon frowned. “Are you saying the way to defeat him is internal and not external.”

Sylvia shook her head gently.

“I do not know. And that is fine. Perhaps the answer is not to fight him at all. Whenever there is resistance, he crushes it. I think it is better to let him soar. Let him reach for his final brick again. When he does, it will collapse once more.”

She looked at him calmly.

“We simply need to survive.”

“You make it sound easy,” Damon said, reaching out and taking her hand.

She smiled and squeezed his fingers.

“If we fall, I will fall with you.”

A small pause.

“Because I love you.”

Damon smiled at that, warmth cutting through the heaviness in his chest.

“But I am a single father now,” he said lightly.

Sylvia chuckled.

“I promise not to be an evil stepmother.”