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had never been involved. The Shadow King was a reminder of past failures. The last thing the Greater Being would ever do would be to revive his greatest mistake. The Being would offer no aid.
    There was one more place to look for help, Liscentia, but he didn't think it would yield any results. Beyond that, as far as he could tell, he had only one real option left. It wasn't one he was yet willing to pursue. But maybe I should , he thought, as he wrapped his cloak more firmly against the cold. Maybe he ought to go to the Demon, get the monster's help, and then do whatever it took to betray him. The Shade would have the strength to do so if he brought his army back. His people.
    The thought made his stomach lurch. How could he be thinking of treading so deep into treason's territory? The emotions that rose in response to his path were put down by his calculated determination. He had to do whatever it took. The Shadow were relying on him to bring them back, and he knew it. He could feel their presence at times. Though they seemed to amble aimlessly, they would occasionally congregate around him in such numbers that he felt physically oppressed. And then they would leave, wandering in limbo for lost answers to unknown questions.
    Torment. Not the pain and horror of physical torture, but a shapeless, purposeless existence. Something he feared would eventually clear their minds of any semblance of sanity. Perhaps they were already lost, their lucidity blurred irreparably by endless wanderings.
    He hoped that wasn't the case. But then there was no consoling himself. He had never experienced it. He had no way of knowing for himself what it was like to be detached from the physical world. When he made the jump into the Atmosphere, he was always anchored to the physical world. Just like he was anchored to the metaphysical while he was in the physical. It left him with a loose frame of reference. He didn't think he truly could understand their experience. Perhaps he had never hated making the jump until he had become half human. It was hard to remember how things were before. But if it was anything like the jumps he made into the Atmosphere now, then he did know one thing: he wouldn't want to be trapped like that for long.
    Seeing no new options present themselves, he stood. His cloak grappled with the wind as if to launch him from his perch as he rose. The Shadow King walked down the craggy path along which he had ascended.
    He need not turn to the Demon for help. Liscentia held the key to his redemptive path. The knowledge he needed to replicate the power of the Magi was there. Perhaps he could even use it to amplify his own. The wind whipped around his ears as he descended the mountain, whisking away the doubts that tugged at his certainty.

    A RDIN'S HUNGER WAS SLOWLY SETTLING INTO HIS BONES . He had long passed the point of the excruciating pain of his initial need, and now the long-term effects were beginning to set in. He wanted nothing more than to eat something.
    There was a rusty tap that ran into his room. The water it provided was gritty and rancid, but he drank it anyway. It was all he could get in his stomach.
    He needed something to do with his hands. Anything to distract him from the bland and timeless existence that beset him now. But there was nothing available. The crusted remains of drywall that had once covered the cinder blocks were limited to the upper corners of the room. The rest had disintegrated long ago. Even the sheet covering his moldy mattress was too threadbare to make anything of.
    His father had shown him how to whittle once. The crippled soldier had spent many an hour doing so himself since the fateful day a tree had taken his ability to walk. Somehow his father could take any ordinary piece of wood and turn it into a work of art. It was probably simple compared to the stuff found at market in Elandir, but to Ardin it was mesmerizing. It was almost like an artistic vengeance for his father. He could