Kaelen and the Hall of Lifted Shadows

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The wind blew cold through the ruins of the city, its towers reaching into the sky like broken fingers. Kaelen led Varaan carefully between the crumbling houses. The pavement beneath her boots was overgrown with moss, and an eerie haze hung over everything. No voices, no laughter—only the creaking of old doors, stirred by the wind. "Someone still lives here," she murmured, more to herself than to Varaan. The dragon snorted softly, its breath steaming in the cold. She was right: tracks led through the rubble, not fresh, but not old enough to be forgotten. A plaza opened in the heart of the city. There rose a hall, half-collapsed, yet still venerable. Its doors were iron-bound, and black dust lay in the cracks. When Kaelen pushed them open, darkness enveloped her, the interior smelling of ash. In the dim light of the lanterns hanging from the rafters, she saw the inhabitants. They sat on benches or stood against the walls—men, women, children—and yet they seemed like dolls. Their faces were blank, their eyes dull. Kaelen shivered before she understood why: they had no shadows. Where the flames cast their light, there was only bare ground. But behind the people, something else stretched: chains extending from iron rings on the walls. At the end of each chain, a shadow strained—alive, twisted, with eyes that glowed like sparks. Some lay exhausted on the ground, others tore angrily at their bonds, but none escaped. "The Hall of Unbroken Shadows," Kaelen whispered. The words seemed to come of their own accord from her lips. An old woman, her skin as gray as stone, approached her. "We have been made clean," she said, her voice almost toneless. "We have cast off the darkness that held us back. Since then, we have known no pain." Kaelen stepped back. The woman was right: there was no sadness, no anger in her gaze. But also no warmth. No smile, no tear, no spark. "You have not lost your shadows," Kaelen replied softly. "You have imprisoned them. And with them, your lives." A murmur ran through the hall. Some inhabitants looked down, others stared at her with cold hostility. Kaelen felt Varaan's restlessness behind her. She stepped to a chain on which a shadow trembled. When she reached out, it struck her—not out of hatred, but like a prisoner begging for release. Its form was the distorted silhouette of a young man. "One cannot walk the path without one's shadow," Kaelen whispered. "It is part of us. Without it, you are no longer human, but empty shells." The old woman raised a warning hand, but Kaelen had already drawn her dagger. With a powerful blow, she severed the iron. The clang echoed through the hall, and the shadow instantly clung to the woman it belonged to. A scream filled the room—not only pain, but also joy. The woman sank to the ground, the colors returning to her eyes.