Matia didn't know what secret Damon was talking about, but she felt a strange bubble swell in her chest when he said—yes, implying—that he would tell her a secret. She followed behind him, unable to see anything in the darkness. Not even a glimmer. She had forgotten to ask Sylvia or Evangeline to cast the nightlight spell on her. A simple thing, and yet now it felt like a crucial mistake. Still, she felt reluctant to go back. Her eyes were that of a fairy at the first class advancement—surely she could handle a little darkness. Damon didn't seem to mind the shadows at all. He moved effortlessly, like the dark was a second home. After a few minutes, Matia's vision adjusted—more or less. She couldn't make out the finer details, but that was fine. She didn't need detail to slay her foes. 'I'll just rely on my sixth sense…' Luckily, that was one of the things Valarie had drilled into them—never rely on your eyes alone. Speaking of Valarie, Damon had left the disembodied pair of human lips with Evangeline. She had been asleep, so it wouldn't have mattered even if he had brought her. But now Matia realized it was just the two of them. She trailed behind him, mimicking the way her father used to walk behind the King of Winterhaven—cold, stalwart, one hand always resting on the hilt of his sword, ready to strike at any moment. Damon didn't really know what Matia was thinking. Honestly, he blamed it on that goddamn armor—ever since she got it, she'd become colder. Harder. Sharper. She had always been strong-willed, especially when she decided to embrace who she truly was. But these days, she was just a bit too stalwart. He almost missed when she was visibly afraid—too terrified to even move. 'I knew she had a fire in her when she blew the chest off that goblin mage…' Matia Faldren was no weakling. Now, she was a powerhouse. Damon was certain he'd win if they ever fought, but it wouldn't be easy. Not even close. If anything, he'd be hard-pressed to land a hit. She was a graceful killer. Lethal in motion. Then again, that was her first class skill—lethal grace. Come to think of it… when was the last time he saw an attack actually hit her? He walked down the silent chamber, Matia following soundlessly despite the weight of her armor. Soon enough, they reached their destination. The place where Damon had once fought the shades with his party—or rather, escaped from them. He could feel the chill in the air, the residue of their presence still lingering. He spread his shadow perception across the ruins. There weren't many in the area, but that was fine. He wasn't here to run. He was here to enslave them. These lost souls of the dead would serve him better than left here to rot and haunt. Damon sighed quietly. These people… they must have been the former residents of Lysithara, back when the city was still vibrant. Still alive. Now it was a ruin. A crypt. A living mausoleum for the dead. Perhaps the ones that became shades were the lucky ones. Some had become rotfolk. Others had twisted into even more corrupted things. The city was lost. And their lord… was a horror beyond words. "Matia…" Damon whispered. "Yes," she answered calmly. He turned to look at her. She might not have been able to see him clearly, but he could see her—perfectly. "What you see here stays between us. No matter what." She nodded without hesitation. "Understood. You have my word." Damon nodded, turning back around. He extended his perception again—shades, hidden in the walls and ceilings, entered his senses. He raised his hand, the shadows pooling in his palm. "Obey me," he commanded. The shades stopped in their hiding, falling under his will. One by one, he called them forth, feeling his shadow energy drain with each one. Matia drew her ascendant weapon, letting it form into a sword. Her eyes darted to the rising shades, warily watching them. Damon raised a hand, halting her. The shades slithered into place, forming shadows at his feet like loyal hounds. She watched them with wide eyes. Damon sighed. "As you can see, I can control shades. Well… shadows, actually." Matia nodded, masking her surprise, though her hand still gripped the hilt of her sword. She had one burning question. And oddly, it wasn't even about the shades. "Why didn't you tell the others… do you not trust them?" If he didn't trust them, she would have to reevaluate her place among them. Damon shook his head. "I do trust them." She removed her helm, letting it dissolve into drifting snowflakes. "Then why didn't you tell them?" He smiled faintly. "I do. But trust and burden aren't the same thing." He glanced at the shades still rising from the ruins, black silhouettes rising like smoke. "Knowledge is a burden. I didn't want to give them that weight. If they knew, they'd have to lie. They'd have to carry that burden for me." Matia sheathed her sword with a soft hiss. "Very well then. I shall guard this secret with my life." He blinked, then laughed. "Wow—it's not that deep. You really need to relax." Matia looked awkward, literally trying to relax her shoulders and arms. Damon chuckled again. The shades continued to rise, one after the other, from the buildings and crevices around them. It was quite the sight. Almost like. A dark lord and his most loyal knight. Damon called shade after shade until he had nearly a hundred under his control. As he bonded with the hundredth, something entered his perception. He froze. His connection recoiled. He pulled back his shadow perception instantly. Then he crouched, grabbing Matia and pulling her down with him. Below, at the base of the slanted ruins, dark water shimmered faintly. Something humanoid was walking across its surface. His danger sense went wild. The creature stopped. And slowly… ever so slowly… It looked up.