Eishen Kerr wasn't sure when their oldest friend made his first wrong decision. All they knew was that they were sorry for him.

At first, they tried to give him excuses. "Theo didn't know what he was doing.", "Please forgive Mr. Cress, he has an odd sense of humor.", "I promise you'll get your money back, Missus Wright."

Yet, as Eishen looked at the mangled body of a Shadehand left abandoned on the floor in front of them, drained of blood, they weren't sure they could keep defending Theodore Cress.


The cobblestones of the street they grew up on were slippery, their shoes would likely be forever stained.

"It's alright, Eishen." Theo smiled at them, knife still dripping crimson. His smile was too big, his stance hunched, shaky. "Blood of a Shadehand, it always was the last piece of the puzzle, wasn't it? No wonder you kept it secret." 

"There are reasons why Shadehands are no longer created, Theo, you know this-" 

Theodore's emerald eyes finally met their own as he scoffed. "What, afraid I'll outshine the prodigy of the Kerr family? Right... outshine the oldest family of shadow mages in Leylen, irony can be so beautiful, don't you agree? You've always loved it; anything to bring what is rhetorical to what is very, very real." 

Eishen looked at the white strand in Theodore's hair, the scar on his jaw, the bloodstains on his coat. He had always been more familiar to them than anything in the Leylen, but on that night, they could not recognize him. "What happened to you..?" 

Theodore chuckled and looked over their heads, where a single, flickering streetlight cut through the darkness. The buzz of what the city was calling 'electricity' was too new to have gotten used to, the comfort Shadehands found in darkness was lacking.

"They turned on the light."  Theodore lifted the glass of blood in his hand towards his friend. "Cheers."