“Oh you’re up. You slept like a rock, Di’thang… I wondered if you’d ever awaken.”

He grinned back at her and raised his brows, his response leaving his pale lips in the monotonic voice that was usual of him.

“Can you blame us, love? We were exhausted…”

Ar’thilmus gave him a knowing wink, turning away to continue collecting items into a Bag of Holding leant untidily against the dresser. Sniggering softly he rolled his eyes to the gesture, and began to fix the rose-colored bed sheets to cover more of his bare chest from view. He casually watched his wife busy herself around the room before speaking his curiosity.

“You are going somewhere?”

She didn’t even bother turning around to him to give her answer, collecting a handful of pouches into the bag.

“Yes Di’thang, I am going for a walk. I’ll collect some food for this eve on the way. Look after Elis, won’t you?”

“Hm... Of course, love.”

Ar’thilmus gave him a brief smile of appreciation, and collected her large scythe from its place on the wall. Giving the curved blade a quick dusting with her fingers, she adjusted the weapon on her shoulder; she had learnt over the years that it was always wise to carry your weapon with you outside of home.

As his wife left the house, unknown to her followed by an active shadow, Di’thang turned his attentions slowly to find Elis. Where was she? A brief second’s scanning told the moon elf that his daughter was not in the room. Damn it. His breath caught in his throat as Di’thang leapt from the bed, his pale, naked form reflecting the light pouring in through the closed window to signal the late morning. His eyes rarely missed a single movement, let alone a child. Where was Elis? He bit so deeply into his lower lip that it began to bleed. What would Ar’thilmus say?

“Daddy.”

Di’thang blinked as Elis began crawling up his leg, her arms raised up in a way that he knew was begging for her to be lifted. Di’thang could only stare down at his only child, his beautiful daughter, as she clawed at his bare legs. How had she deceived his senses like that? Where had she been? Di’thang refused to even let himself blink for fear of losing her again as he lifted Naliana’elis into his arms. Brushing his fingers through her auburn hair affectionately, he admired the young child’s pale golden eyes with the sort of fondness a father holds for his only daughter.

After a moment he lay Elis down on the bed, wrapping her in the bed sheets despite her kicking at them, giggling in her youthful way. She did not understand the sigh of relief that left her father’s lips as he made his way across the room to open the dresser. Di’thang slipped into a fresh pair of padded leather pants, dyed black from top to bottom; rare was the day he wore any other color. Staring at himself in the mirror, Di’thang quickly removed the worried look from his face to replace it with his usual expressionless façade. Pulling his ice white hair into a ponytail at the back of his head, Di’thang fixed it with a black band without even bothering to comb it through. He could see Elis playing with the bed sheets in the mirror’s reflection, and he let a half-smile curl his lips. At least this time he could see her. She was wrapping the bed sheets around her shoulders, making them look like a dress flowing down her tiny form, and he knew she was imitating her mother in a dress she had worn the day before. Her striking hair was lifted and blew in the breeze coming in through the open window above her… Di’thang blinked, his eyes fixed in horror at the reflection in the mirror. The window had not been open when he had awoken.

The figure dropped from the ceiling like a wraith, and Di’thang could only gasp in shock as he felt the sharp point pressing threateningly against his neck, a long but firm arm pinning both his to his bare sides. The blood began to trickle down the moon elf’s pale neck as the needlepoint pierced the skin, and he bit into his lip. Di’thang could not remember the last time somebody had taken him by surprise like this; his senses were so sharp. Di’thang’s ear gave an instinctive twitch as his attacker breathed heavily down his neck, and he groaned softly, keeping limp against the strong form through fear of slitting his own throat on the needle.

“Don’t move, elf…”

The voice was cold and taunting, and it caused the moon elf to grit his teeth in annoyance. He had no choice but to obey the command; he had come to value his life. A hoarse laugh now met his ear and he closed his pale eyes tight for they were no longer of use to him.

“Oh yes. We know how to get her where it hurts…we take her precious husband and she will be to pieces. You see if she isn’t.”

He was after Ar’thilmus! Di’thang growled now in the pit of his throat, his eyes snapping open and he jerked against the firm grip. The needlepoint tore the skin off his throat and forced a tear to his eye from the agonizing pain. It was no use. He was at the unseen man’s mercy.

“Hurts, doesn’t it? Stupid elf. You won’t be struggling in a moment… This will put you to sleep for a while, see? Oh yes, I can’t wait to see her face when she finds her husband dead on the bedroom floor.”

Sure enough Di’thang was already beginning to feel the numbing effects of the drug on the needle. His head was lolling and his eyes flickering, his shoulders and chest throbbed with exhaustion. In less than a minute he would be out cold. He couldn’t just allow that; allow Ar’thilmus to come home to the attacker. But he had no choice; a single movement would certainly mark his end by needlepoint.

As he began to drift into unconsciousness, Di’thang could have sworn he felt the attacker loose his grip on him, dropping the needle from his neck and giving out a gasp of shock. But it was too late; none of this mattered. Di’thang slid to the floor, free of the arms now, but still awake… on his hands and knees, Di’thang fought for consciousness, for control. His mind was so confused; the ground beneath him was spinning, and he heard voices in his head, and loud noises, and he saw bright colors. Hold on, love. I’m coming love.

What Di’thang didn’t see was the shadow that had wrapped itself around the attacker. The hooded man, cloaked from head to toe in black leather attire, suddenly found himself struggling to keep his own shadow from crushing his body in its dark mass. Like a shady boa constrictor, the shadow held the mysterious invader tight, squeezing the air from his body. The attacker chanced a glance to Di’thang. How was he doing this? But Di’thang was laid out on the ground, breathing only enough to keep himself alive, his eyes glazed over. It was the sound of gleeful giggling that drew the prone attacker’s attention across to the bed. Sat there, wrapped in red bed sheets was a small child. Naliana’elis was very much enjoying playing with the shadows, her little fist clenching and unclenching in the air, taking a childish pleasure in crushing the attacker over and over again to extract the screams of agony from his cracked lips. It seemed almost as though Elis had no idea of the pain she caused the man, simply toying with him and his shadow, nonetheless immobilizing him on the spot. Glaring at the young girl, with watering eyes the stranger murmured to her in as soft a tone as he could manage.

“L-let me… go, little girl… ARGH!… get o-off, I’ll help y-your daddy… that’s right… ARGH!!… There’s a g-good girl… release m-ARGH!… g-get off! P-Ple-”

His whimpered pleas were finally silenced as the scythe blade cut deep into his skull, spraying the blood down his face and soaking it through his black hood, his entire body shifting limply against the shadows encasing it. With a hefty tug, Ar’thilmus heaved her scythe from the dead invader’s head, letting it rest against her shoulder. Her golden eyes flashed dangerously dark as she cast a fleeting glance to her daughter gawping from her comfortable position on the bed. She had witnessed it all. But her mother’s full attention now turned to Di’thang, lay unconscious on the ground, a swelled incision on his throat.

The scythe clattered noisily to the carpet as Ar’thilmus knelt beside her fallen husband. Her heart skipped a beat; she was too late. Di’thang had no pulse… the drug had done its work. She stared down on his face, holding back the tears that the sight was bringing to her eyes. Gently the moon elf lady placed her lips to his forehead, kissing the pale skin softly. Standing slowly, Ar’thilmus raised both her hands to the sky. Muttered words begged The Lady of Loss, told her that he had been a loyal Shadow Master to her… prayed for the power her ability gave. Something begun to glow in Di’thang’s chest, and his eyes flickered open. He whimpered softly, a faint smile forming on his lips at the sight of Ar’thilmus kneeling down beside him. She was safe. He felt so weak. Ar’thilmus gave him a reassuring smile, and nuzzled her face into his shoulder as he resigned trying to sit up.

“I’m sorry, my love…”

“Don’t be.”

“No Di’thang. You don’t understand… he was from the Shadow Thieves.”