29. Owen

Owen

"You are nothing without your Essence. Remember that as you fall into the void."

Owen woke to the sound of the morning bell. It was faint, but he could always hear it. This was the fifth morning bell he'd heard since Rem had moved him into the citadel tower. His eyes slowly peeled open to see only darkness. Every morning, his heart raced, and he had to remind himself he was in a tower room. At least it was an upgrade from his prison cell, and there was a window.

The warm wool of his blanket kept the frigid air of the tower at bay. He wanted to burrow deeper into the blanket and stay where he was, but he couldn't forgo his morning routine to wallow in self-pity. If Rem caught him still lying in bed, he'd punish him. Again.

Sitting up from his creaky cot, Owen looked at the window. It was shuttered, so he pushed himself up from the cot with a heavy groan and opened it to see the cloudy dawn sky. He tried to rise out of the shadows with the morning light, but still he felt only darkness. Since Rem had brought him to the tower, he'd been unable to do anything but sit on his bed and mull over his regrets. Now, all his tears had been shed, and he buried his remorse beneath numbing waves of indifference.

Nothing mattered anymore .

Owen knew Mordren couldn't be killed, and he had no way of doing such a thing himself. He'd heard nothing at all from his companions on the outside. Rem visited him every evening to convey the rumors from beyond the city. That the Legion was gathering outside Luthien, and that their plans to get into the citadel would prove futile.

Mordren's guards covered every possible corner of the city. His army consisted of the beasts and creatures he'd created himself, something the god had partaken in to pass the time during his long captivity in the Vale. His handiwork was grotesque; he'd created the Arroki that stood tall like humans but were disfigured or misshapen. In the Vale, Owen and Colt had watched while Mordren ordered spirits to enter their dead bodies to make them come alive.

Just like the Horwolves created by the Legion.

When Owen's door unlocked, every muscle in his body tensed. He took a few breaths to steady himself and turned around as it opened. Light spilled into his room, and then a familiar shadow filled it up, bringing a lantern inside. The door shut suddenly, and Owen jumped. He always jumped.

Orange light brightened the tiny circular room as Rem walked over and placed a fresh set of clothes on the cot.

"Good morning," came Rem's deep voice. When Owen said nothing, the man handed him a bowl of food.

Owen took it and sat on his bed, never once looking up at Rem. He dipped his wooden spoon into the porridge, forcing himself to eat every bite. Not doing so would only make Rem give him more of Mordren's blood, and Owen couldn't handle another day of sitting in the dark confines of this tower alone with his own malicious thoughts. Or worse, mindlessly complying with commands he could only faintly recall. Owen was afraid of what Rem would make him do while under its spell.

When he handed Rem the empty bowl, Rem smiled crookedly at him. "Good boy."

Owen was unable to keep the hiss from his voice as he said, "Stop treating me like a dog."

"What would you prefer I say?" Rem asked.

"I'd prefer to never hear your voice again."

Rem scowled and nodded at the clothes on the cot. "Put them on."

Owen swallowed hard as he picked up his clothes. This was the part of his day he dreaded most, changing in front of Rem. The man watched him every time. It made him angry.

When he turned to look at the wall, Rem said, "No, face me today."

It took all of Owen's will to turn and face Rem. He'd fought against the Hunter the first few days he was in the tower. But he still wore the emberstone collar, and without his Essence, Rem had easily overpowered Owen. Now, his fists curled as his veins heated. Even if he could land a satisfying blow, it would gain him nothing but a full vial of Mordren's blood. For now, he would withstand Rem's sadistic commands.

To appease him and get it over with, Owen turned and changed out of his sleepwear. He tugged on his trousers first and fastened the belt. Then he quickly pulled the fresh, long-sleeved shirt on and began buttoning it as quickly as he could.

"Slowly," Rem demanded.

Owen clenched his teeth as his fingers slowed on his buttons. The last article of clothing Rem had brought was a deep burgundy vest that looked more like it should belong to an elite servant. Owen looked quizzically at Rem. It contrasted well with his sleek black trousers and the fine linen shirt he'd just finished putting on.

"Nice, isn't it?" Rem asked. He walked up to Owen and straightened his collar. "You've been summoned by our Divine Majesty, so we will be spending much of the day together."

"I'd rather die than spend one more moment with you." Owen sneered.

Rem frowned. He hated when Owen spoke back to him. The man hit him every time he said something in retaliation. But Rem seemed undeterred today, and rather than slap him, as he usually did, the man brought out iron shackles and locked them onto Owen's wrists. Then he attached a chain to his shackles.

"Let's go."

When Owen felt a tug on the chain, he grunted as he was forced toward the door. As Rem stepped out into the hallway, he glanced back at Owen with a sadistic smile. Being dragged around like a dog made Owen's veins heat, and by now, with no outlet for his Essence, he somehow poured it into the choker around his neck. It warmed beneath him and glowed brighter, and Owen hoped Rem didn't notice.

Owen ran his eyes along the electric lights on the wall. The citadel was full of this new form of light. It forced the steam mill laborers to work harder. Mordren refused to pay wages and worked the staff to exhaustion.

Rem took Owen to a finely appointed room that he had never seen before. Until now, the washroom was as far as he'd gone. Inside, a servant swept the floor, looking up in surprise when Owen entered the room. Then, seeing Rem, he gave a slight bow of his head. Mordren kept servants around the citadel, and Owen had yet to see anyone who didn't look fearful for their lives .

There were about three fine-looking chairs set before three enormous mirrors with gilded frames. A quick glance at the scissors and combs on the vanities told Owen this man was a hairdresser.

"Sit," Rem demanded, and Owen sat in one of the cushioned chairs. "I want this done within the hour," he told the man.

The hairdresser bowed his head before saying, "Yes, my lord." Then he set to work.

Owen stared at his reflection, unable to process how different he looked now. The circles under his eyes were deep. The hair on his face was the longest he'd ever seen it, and the hair on his head was a disheveled mess. But not for long, as the hairdresser began to snip the dark tendrils away.

When he found Rem's reflection in the mirror, staring at him from behind, Owen glared back. He hated seeing the man's dark, graying hair, hated seeing his slender, poised physique and the way he stared at Owen with those dark eyes as if he was undressing him in his mind. Finally, Owen cast his eyes away and focused on all the hair being cut from his head. Once the man was done, he prepared Owen's face for a shave. It seemed to be going well, but the man's hands shook so much, he nicked Owen's skin.

Owen hardly made a face. In fact, he was surprised at how much he welcomed the painful sting on his face. It made his lips twitch into a smile as he thought of when Colt had done the same while shaving his face for the masquerade. He missed Colt so deeply, he ached.

"I'm sorry, sir," the hairdresser said, scampering to the vanity to grab a cloth. He pressed it against Owen's face, but Owen waved his hands in reassurance.

"It's alright. "

"Are you not the finest hairdresser in Luthien?" Rem scolded. He came up to the man and snatched the cloth away from Owen's face. "Perhaps I should find someone more… qualified?"

"No, my lord!" The man clasped his hands together as if begging forgiveness. "Please, it was a mistake. I won't let it happen again."

"Hm." Rem cut his eyes to Owen, who stiffened. "What do you think, Owen? Should I keep him here?"

"Yes," Owen said simply.

"Yes, what ?" Rem's words came out like slime.

Owen's jaw clenched. He knew what the Hunter wanted him to say. If he said something smart instead, it would only gain the hairdresser reprimand. So, Owen glared up at him and said, "Yes, my lord ."

Rem smiled and stepped away, then gestured with his hand to continue. "Finish this up. I'm a busy man." Rem clearly enjoyed the power he derived from being Mordren's right hand.

When the hairdresser was done, Rem pulled Owen up from his chair by the chain, and Owen grunted as he was forced to look in the mirror. The dark circles under his eyes remained, but now he was clean-shaven, and his hair was the shortest he'd seen it in years. It no longer fell below his ears, and instead was short on the sides, with enough left on top of his head to allow the hairdresser to comb in a side part. Coupled with his fine clothes, Owen looked like one of the elites who lived or served in the citadel.

"Let's go," Rem said.

They left the hairdresser, and Owen was thankful that Rem had not punished him for nicking him with the blade. He wondered where else Rem was taking him as he tugged him down another hall. The citadel itself served as a place for the councilmen of Avathon to meet, for scholars and scientists to work, for Core Wielders to train, and for students to learn. It was a place of knowledge and growth. And it also served as a prison. He knew there was a dungeon below the place, where he had been kept initially. He suspected his tower room had been modified to contain him as a prisoner, as the bars on his window looked newly installed.

From Owen's understanding, those who were allowed to work or study at the citadel were held in the highest honor. As they walked the halls, Owen couldn't help but be curious as to what lay behind them.

"What are all these rooms?" he ventured, without even thinking about it.

"Most of these are rooms for study," Rem replied. "The ones on the second level are for those who work here, and the third level is for those who live here, mainly elite scholars. The large doors beyond the grand foyer open into the grand chamber, where the councilmen discuss decisions. Then you have the mess hall on the ground level, and the library on the right."

Owen scowled behind him. "I didn't ask for the whole layout."

Rem tugged Owen forward, making him grunt. Though Owen had to admit, seeing the library would no doubt take his worries away, if only for a moment.

When they came to the main doors of the citadel, Owen raised a curious eyebrow. Mordren's vile Arroki soldiers stood on either side. They bowed toward Rem briefly before they opened the doors. Once outside, Rem made his way along the portico above the cloisters that ran along the courtyards, between enormous columns of marble with ornate stonework at the top. As they stepped out of the portico, Owen squinted up at the cloudy sky as a snowflake landed on his nose.

Once in the garden, Owen was surprised to find most of the plants full of leaves or flowers, despite the winter season. Snow covered much of the ground, but someone had cleared the rose bushes that grew around the black iron fences, and the rows of blue winter flowers that sprang from an enormous square in the middle.

When Rem clicked his tongue, six beasts with black and white fur and white eyes ran over to him. Owen knew these creatures. He'd tamed them when they'd attacked the inn outside of Vanhelm.

"Cryn," Rem said. "They are blind, but their sense of smell is excellent, and they will attack anything that runs. I advise you to mind your step."

Owen's heart thumped against his chest as he looked over at the fluffy cryn. Rem must have known these creatures could be tamed, but Rem didn't know that Owen knew this information. He could use this to his advantage right now, and…

No.

He couldn't take that chance. He would get nowhere.

I am nothing without my Essence.

Rem made his way to a stone railing that overlooked a pond with giant koi. There were stepping stones for a path, and a few bird baths and houses were scattered throughout, as well as several benches. A set of stone steps curved down into a sunken garden. From the pond, Owen caught a perfect view of the city. He saw how the buildings descended all the way to the wall in the far distance. He was so far from the main gate of Luthien that he couldn't even see it, but from this high up, he could see the rocky green hills of Acren surrounding him. It was a beautiful sight .

This is where Colt lived before he came to Milarc.

The wind gusted against Owen, chilling the back of his bare neck. When he felt Rem's eyes on him, Owen became angry again. "Why did you bring me out here?" he asked through gritted teeth.

"I know you enjoy nature, and with spring still over a month away, I thought I'd show you this."

"It doesn't matter," Owen said, keeping his voice steady. "It'll all be destroyed by Mordren soon."

Rem laughed low, something that made Owen's skin crawl.

"What's so funny?"

"Enjoy the view, Owen."

Owen looked over the gardens. They reminded him of the first time he met Gilda. Her tent had been filled with drying flowers and herbs. A question had lingered in his mind about her. One he wanted this man to answer.

"When Gilda came at you," he started, swallowing the angry lump in his throat, "you somehow stopped her from using her Essence. Was it the dagger? Did I truly… wield something that could stop someone from using their Essence?"

Rem peered down at him, hands clasped behind his straight back. "Emberstone is a natural repellent to Astrans. Yes, when I pointed the dagger at your companion, she was unable to use her Essence on me."

Owen stuffed his loss deep into a dark corner of his mind and asked, "But… the advanced Cores have emberstone in them too. And every time a Core has had a hold over me, I've been able to break away from it."

"You were more powerful than her."

Fire stirred deep in Owen's belly, and he glared at Rem as he said, "I've been given Mordren's blood several times now. It makes me powerful, I know it, but I'm unable to break through the emberstone collar as I have the Cores. Is it that good at repelling my Essence?"

Rem cut his eyes over and hesitated before he said, "You're given just the right amount to make you compliant to Mordren's demands. It is his blood, after all. Whoever drinks it can be commanded by its issuer. If you broke away, all Mordren would have to do is command you to obey him."

"Then… what happens if I spit it out?"

"Do you plan to do so?" Rem stared intently at him. "Because if you do, Mordren will lock you up in that dungeon again, and you won't see the light of day until he uses you for his purpose."

There was a warning in Rem's tone, one that told Owen to back off or face dangerous consequences. But Owen had felt himself become more powerful when he'd drank Mordren's blood. If he had been given the blood in order to be compliant, he could have broken through the emberstone. But he had been given enough, as Rem told him. Perhaps enough for him to follow Mordren without hesitance.

But what if I spit it out? There has to be a way out of Mordren's red haze.

Rem's reluctance to continue the conversation made Owen curious, but he left the thought behind and asked, "What purpose does Mordren have for me?"

"He will tell you soon."

Swallowing hard, he ventured, "Will people die?"

Rem cocked his head, staring hard at him. "Yes, Owen."

The answer made Owen's stomach churn, and he closed his eyes as remorse filled him. "What will become of the Legion?"

"The councilmen will be dispatched. The Legion will be no more. Isn't this what you wanted? "

Owen opened his eyes and looked over at Rem, who squinted.

"When you came to the Silent Road, did you not wish to escape the very men who hurt you? Who damned you and wished to kill you?" Rem rested his arm on the rail.

"They're no different from you hunting me down."

"I hunted you, Owen, because I needed you to open the Gate, not to kill you." He drew in close, but Owen leaned away. "Those men didn't see the potential you had. The potential you still have. They wanted to kill you. I saw you for who you were."

"What are you talking about?" Owen stumbled back, but Rem grabbed his arm and steadied him, then he looked around and cleared his throat.

"It's time to see Mordren."

Owen tensed, grounding himself as Rem tugged on his chain. When he didn't move, Rem glanced back at him. It must have been the fearful look on Owen's face, for the man's eyes softened.

"I won't let him harm you," Rem said gently, his tender words making Owen flinch.

"You have no authority to make sure I'm not harmed."

Rem lifted his chin as he twisted the chain around his hand. "You underestimate me." His lips curved into a sickening smile as he pulled Owen toward him.

Owen's heart pounded, telling him to run away, but he couldn't. Instead, he was yanked forward again, until he was only inches away from Rem. His captor looked down at him before he wetted his thumb with this tongue.

When Owen felt Rem's finger against his chin, close to where he'd been cut by the razor, he froze and clenched his eyes shut. Rem was treating him like a child, like a dog, like a…

"Let's go." Rem turned sharply.

They stepped inside the cavernous rotunda of the citadel to an eerie silence. Arroki guards lingered nearby, the monsters looking out of place in here with their dark armor. Any servants he saw kept quiet and went about their duties without so much as a glance in their direction. As Rem passed, they stopped where they were and bowed their heads. Owen glanced at them as he walked, seeing how many of the servants were women.

Among them was a woman with blonde hair who looked familiar as she gazed at him, her face much more confident than the others. She almost looked like…

Rhielle!

Owen's heart pounded as he stared in stunned surprise. He found a sharpness in her eyes as she cut them to Rem and back again, as if she was telling him to be cautious. If Rhielle was here, then it meant Elian possibly was too. Either way, Rhielle was up to something. He could tell by the way she dared to stare at him, unlike the other servants, who kept their eyes on the floor.

Rem pulled Owen along a set of stairs that curved up to a landing before two massive oak double doors. Two Arroki soldiers pulled the doors open slowly. The room inside was tall and narrow, formed on all sides by white marble with gold flecks in it. The floors gleamed below a peaked marble ceiling, and a red rug stretched from the doorway to a raised dais. Enormous glass windows lined the room, inset with stained panels depicting the battle between Mordren, Aleana, and Alenar.

The throne upon the dais was the largest Owen had ever seen, as tall as a horse and wide enough to accommodate the god sitting in it. There, beneath the colorful light cast by the stained glass, sat Mordren, one leg crossed over the other and his elbow propped up on the arm of the throne. He wore a hooded black cloak over an onyx breastplate .

Why is he wearing armor?

"Your Divine Majesty," Rem started, bowing his head respectfully.

"Leave us," came Mordren's booming voice.

For a moment, Rem's face betrayed his annoyance at being dismissed, but then he dropped the chain leading to Owen's wrists and left the room in haste. When the doors shut, a resounding echo filled the room. For the longest time, Mordren sat in the same position, staring at Owen. Despite the fear crawling all over his body, Owen held his ground and stared back.

Finally, Mordren stood to his feet, and Owen looked up at his massive scale.

"How are you faring?" Mordren asked, his voice echoing off the high marbled ceilings.

"I'm fine," Owen whispered, feeling small.

Mordren made his way to the window and looked out. "Are you afraid of me, Owen?"

Owen knew what he wanted to say, but if he did, he worried what would happen. Still, did it hurt to stretch the truth? Finally, he said, "No."

Mordren laughed and turned around. "No? You don't fear me?"

"Despite its darkness, I don't fear the blood that runs through my own veins."

What was he saying? Those words seemed to have come out of nowhere, but then again, Owen did have the same dark blood as Mordren. He'd thought of his cursed blood a thousand times since Amias had told him about it. He had seen the good side of being Shadowborn, being able to heal, to protect others, but here in Mordren's presence, it felt more like a curse now more than ever before .

Mordren blinked at him, and Owen wasn't sure if he was upset or impressed. But when the god walked his way, his surprise melting away, Owen stiffened. He walked slowly down the steps of the platform and stood behind Owen.

"Your bold words mean nothing," he rasped. "No man can gaze upon me without fear."

Owen felt a familiar heaviness fall over him, even with the emberstone around him. His body went rigid as he became trapped, unable to move. He knew it was Mordren's power. His heart began to pound wildly.

"You remain alive only to fulfill my mission." Mordren's breath circled around Owen's neck. "Your petulance will simply make your blood that much more rewarding."

"My… blood?" Owen opened his eyes to see the god stepping in front of him.

Mordren stared intently at him. "Your blood in exchange for a portal out of this world."

Owen contemplated how Mordren could use Shadowborn blood to leave their world, and he recalled the planets he and Elian had talked about before. His emotions calmed, and he spoke the simplest truth he knew, "I'll give you all the blood you want if it means you leave this world forever."

"Yes. You will," Mordren said indignantly.

"Then take it now." Owen put his arm out, thinking he would want his blood as Grutwyr did.

Mordren let out a long and deep laugh from his belly, which made Owen draw his arm back in confusion. "In due time, Shadowborn."

Owen tried to move, but Mordren's hold was strong, combined with the power of the emberstone around his neck. He recalled being held by Elian's and Quinnby Kingsland's Cores, and in both cases he had been able to break free. Once he'd broken their hold, they'd had no more effect on him. From how Rem had gone quiet earlier when Owen asked about it, there must be a way to break through the emberstone, to break out of the red haze if it came to it.

"There's no use trying to break free," Mordren said, as if sensing his inward struggle.

Owen shot him a glare. "I don't like being held against my will."

"Yes, I can relate. Being held in a place with no way out becomes rather unnerving."

"If you hadn't killed Aleana and drove Alenar away, none of this would have happened," Owen pointed out, nodding to the stained glass above them.

"Who told you that? The Legion ? Your little uncle? The storybooks, the school houses?" Mordren cocked his head and smiled mockingly at him. "So naive. Your father was much smarter. But he was a coward. He made sure the Legion killed him before I could use him."

Owen looked down, the heaviness on his limbs seeming to magnify. He had found out as much about his father from his journal.

"I think I drove your father mad," Mordren whispered conspiratorially. "I watched Jensen lose his mind on more than one occasion, telling me to stop talking to him, to leave him alone. He couldn't handle me. It was my biggest mistake."

Owen knew the shadow man could cause madness in a man's mind. He'd endured it himself, hearing the voice speak in his dreams, waking him often. There were times he felt the shadow man's strange darkness creep into him and make him feel… wrong. His strange words had dug deep into his mind, telling Owen to own his power, to unleash it on people in an inhumane way, such as with Quinnby Kingsland.

His own father had endured the same things, and now Owen's heart ached with a new pain. Mordren had destroyed so many things already, all from inside his underworld keep.

"Is this too much? You humans are so fragile. It makes me wonder how in the world you got as far as you did. But…"

Owen opened his eyes and glanced at him, waiting for him to go on.

Mordren came close to Owen and looked down at him. "You're no mere human, Owen. Every generation born from my line has divinity in them. Your blood is strong, but I'll need more than just that to open the gateway into the universal plane. I'll need as many souls as it takes to open it."

Owen's mind raced at the implications this god was making. As Mordren pulled a blade from its sheath on his belt, it glowed with a yellow hue, and he handled it reverently.

"The dagger has many souls inside it."

Owen let out a breath, and at first, elation flooded into his chest. For some strange reason, he felt happy seeing it. Here was the dagger that had come from his father, that had been the key to opening the Gate. But then anger filled his veins; this had also been the weapon used to kill Gilda. It could also kill Mordren. And here it was, within Owen's reach.

"It's a relic, a marvel, the first weapon I ever had crafted." Mordren continued, "It's amazing, don't you think? To wield something so dangerous? Something that could destroy me." He ran his finger along the edge of the blade and shivered as it cut him. Dark blood ran down his skin and dripped onto the floor.

When Owen saw a deep blue fire swirl around Mordren's finger, he winced. This god could heal himself so easily.

A cut didn't even faze him.

"The souls inside this dagger are in the thousands. Imagine what they could do with a transcendence circle."

"A what…?" Owen furrowed his brows.

Mordren looked at him, his eyes thin slits. "A ritual to open the portal to the universe. The souls in this dagger should be enough to initiate the ritual and make the portal appear. Your sacrifice"—Mordren made a flourish with his hand—"will open that portal. And if I need more fuel, well, I have plenty of souls in this city now, don't I?"

Owen's eyes widened. "You would kill everyone in Luthien just to open this… portal? Why?" He couldn't fathom this madness.

"Access to other worlds. To think they are so easy to gain… All it takes is the right amount of blood and souls. Your father couldn't understand that. That makes me all the more grateful to you. And now, you will serve the one true God. "

Fear surged through Owen, but he didn't dare say anything else.

Moving away, Mordren pointed at the floor. "Clean this up."

Owen looked down at the one spot of dark blood on the marbled floor, and as he felt Mordren's hold over his body release, he trembled. But the longer he hesitated, the more agitated Mordren became.

" Clean it up!" Mordren's voice boomed, echoing off the high walls.

As Owen bent down in response, the chain attached to his wrist shackles clanked against the floor. He glared at Mordren as he spit on the floor, very near Mordren's feet, before bending down and rubbing it off with his sleeve. When it was clean, the marble shiny once again, he waited for Mordren's command .

"Get up." Mordren's voice was steady now, and he stepped back to allow Owen room to get to his feet. "Tomorrow, you will serve me in my quarters." He raised his chin, his dark red eyes sparking with something violent.

"Yes…" Owen met his eyes. "Your Divine Majesty."

Mordren seemed almost upset that Owen had complied, and when he threw out his arm, the doors of the chamber swung open so far, they hit the walls with a bang, making Owen's heart lurch.

Rem rushed inside and bowed to Mordren.

"Take him back to the tower," Mordren said.

"Yes, your Divine Majesty." Rem grabbed Owen's chain and pulled him along, out of the room and down the stairs of the grand hall. After climbing the stone steps, Owen was back in his tower.

Rem removed his shackles, barely glancing at Owen before he left. He was alone again, locked in a dark room with its single candle. The window was shuttered now, which made the corners beyond the candlelight even darker.

His father had let the Legion kill him to escape the destiny that now lay at Owen's feet. Mordren wanted to sacrifice him to breach the perimeter of their world. Was such a thing possible? What even lay beyond their world? What could possibly be out there that drew Mordren to it?

Owen climbed into his cot and curled in on himself, feeling worthless and hopeless. There was nothing he could do, nor did he have the energy to do anything at all. He had no idea if Colt or Brom were alive, and he wasn't sure if either of them would come after him if they were.

It was better if no one came after him. He would never escape Mordren. He couldn't run. He couldn't hide. Mordren would always be there, hunting him. Just like Rem. Like Elian. Like the Legion.

Owen stared at the wall and dug his nails into his arm, so deep that he broke the skin. It felt good to make himself bleed. It took away the pain in his heart and the sorrow from his mind.