In Fate We Are Scorned

By Shawnte Meza and Anze B Virant

Obedience or freedom?

Keliah was raised to be the Guardian of the Black Forest-the only one with the magic to keep the Rift's demons contained. But when betrayal r

• Language: English
• Publisher: Shawnte L. Meza
• Release date: Sep 9, 2025
• ISBN: 9798999467614

Book preview

IN FATE WE ARE SCORNED

Copyright © 2025 by Shawnte L. Meza

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed,

or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photo-

copying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as

permitted by U.S. copyright law.

The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in

this production are fictitious. No identification with actual per-

sons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products are

intended or should be inferred.

ISBN: 9798999467607

Book Cover by Anze Ban Virant - ABV atelier design

First Edition: August 2025

For my mother, Lucinda, whose fiery passion for writing

sparked the same flame within me.

And for my husband, Darian. My heart, my home, the can-dle that guides me through the dark…you are my blue.

Chapter 1

The forest stretched before me, a vast sea of shadow

where sunlight itself feared to linger. The trees leaned, twisted and barren — not from winter, but from what fes-tered inside. As long as demons infested the soil, nothing could grow.

I arrived at the last location on my route. The west-

ern quadrant took the brunt of the Rift’s devastation. A biting wind carried the stench of decay and moldering leaves across the desolate space. The barrier I repaired a couple of weeks ago was already fading from a healthy blue to pale grey. The demonic mana inside the forest grew stronger by the day. I needed power if I wanted to keep the demons contained. I tried to ignore that absorbing demons always costs a price. My remaining humanity.

They called me the Guardian of the Black Forest. Ed-

gar considered the title an honor; Ivick, a privilege to defend the Altherion Empire against the Rift. It didn’t feel that way.

I unsheathed the blade from my hip and dragged it

along the inside of my forearm. The cut was shallow, but

1

deep enough to bleed. Dark red welled and ran down to my fingers. I knelt and pressed a hand to the earth, smearing the blood into the runes I’d scratched into the dirt.

Already, the wound closed itself up. The demonic

mana I absorbed didn’t let wounds linger for long. Not small ones, anyway. Another gift. Another curse.

My arms shook, and I gasped for air. Bloodletting for

barrier runes always left me weak. Mana alone wasn’t strong enough to maintain a barrier that went against the laws of nature. It was one of the few things Ivick taught me. Blood was life essence, and when mixed with mana, it held barrier runes for twice as long.

The increase in my power from absorption lessened

the blow, but it didn’t rid me of the aftereffects. I traded en-durance and precision for brute force. I could burst a tree in half with raw force, but I couldn’t aim it. Couldn’t always stop it.

The remaining blood on my hands glued pieces of

loose dirt to my palms, and I wiped them on the hem of my dress. The dress was tattered and stained enough for the blood to blend in. I didn’t stay down for long. A low moan re-verberated through the trees and brought me to my feet. It was dangerously close.

I spun on my heel. Red eyes hovered between two

bushes, unblinking. Clawed hands tore the foliage apart, re-vealing the demon crouched behind. Its limbs were longer

2

than they should be. Jagged bones stretched its skin too tight. No nose and a forked tongue. A nightmare walking.

It tilted its head. It wasn’t merely watching me. It was

studying me. I fired a burst of mana from my palm, expecting it to retreat like the others. It didn’t.

It ducked and surged forward. Fast. Too fast. It

vaulted off a tree to propel itself sideways, forcing me off-bal-ance. Its claw clipped my shoulder. I gasped as wet warmth dribbled down my arm. I dodged the second strike and retali-ated with a wider blast. It leapt over the attack and rolled into a crouch.

That wasn’t right. Demons didn’t adapt.

It moved left, then struck from the opposite side. I

blocked one claw with my forearm, but the other raked down my back. A scream escaped my lips as pain tore through me. I tripped, fell, and it pounced before I reacted. I reached up, and my hands found its torso.

My magic seized control before I could stop it. It

latched onto the creature like a starving animal. It tore through me, unfiltered, unchecked. My breath caught, and my back arched. The pain was instantaneous. My veins burned and my bones ached as the feral mana overwhelmed my sys-tem. It was more than power. It was agony. Beneath it all was an unsatiable hunger. My mouth dried and my body trem-bled. Hunger controlled my thoughts. All I wanted — all I needed — was a taste.

3

A shriek escaped the demon, its claws still raking

down my arms even as its body convulsed. I gripped tighter. I couldn’t tell if I was holding it in place…or holding myself to-gether. The shame of my actions slipped into the back of my mind. A rush so blindingly euphoric drowned the edges of the pain for a second. I hated that second more than any-thing. The fire always left fast. The hunger didn’t. It settled in my bones and waited.

Then I heard the voice in my head. It was a whisper, a

serpent in my ear. It was a side-effect of my absorption magic. It didn’t speak to me every time, but when it did, it al-ways tried to coax the worst out of me.

Give in.

I tried to block it, to focus on the familiar ache in my

muscles, the grit of the world beneath my fingertips. But the voice, relentless, burrowed deeper.

Devour everything.

Every instinct screamed at me to stop, but my magic

didn’t care. I didn’t care. I kept going. Kept taking. Pleasure tangled with agony until they became indistinguishable. I wasn’t casting a spell but enduring a transformation. My jaw tightened. The demon convulsed, screeched, and crumbled into ash in my arms.

But my hands —

They weren’t mine anymore. My fingertips had black-

ened, and my nails sharpened into points. Veins of ink

4

threaded beneath my skin. I stared, horrified, as the color crawled toward my elbows like a living creature.

I bit down on my tongue and slammed my palms onto

the ground to steady myself. Gradually, the glow faded. My fingers returned to flesh. The nails retracted, and I stayed crouched there, trembling. I stared at my hands. My skin had returned, but it didn’t feel like mine. I wanted to tear it off.

The aftermath was worse. Nausea, body aches, and a

fever that left my skin burning. The power was forced in, like oil into water. I wasn’t whole. I was bloated with something that didn’t belong. All this pain, only for the hunger to return by morning. When it did, I would lose another piece of myself to satiate it.

A branch cracked behind me. I whipped my head

around, but it was just my imagination. Or so I convinced my-self. I watched the trees for a moment longer. Another demon might have been watching. Might have seen everything. Whatever it was…it vanished. Sunset was approaching. The forest punished unprotected wanderers in the dark.

My chamber was always cold. A fireplace gave off

enough heat to keep me alive, but not comfortable. There wasn’t much furniture either. A bed, a desk, and a wardrobe. I was thankful for the attached balcony.

I peeled off my tattered dress and cloak as soon as I

returned. I paused at the mirror, unable to meet my own eyes

5

at first. The demon left its mark on my body. The mana I'd absorbed closed the wounds, but the aftermath remained on my skin. Demons were still living creatures. For a second, I imagined what it would be like if the marks never healed. Maybe that was justice.

I traced my hand over the fresh additions and shud-

dered. They weren’t just scars. They were tallies from the battles. Some of them were thin. Just nicks from brittle tree branches. Others were long and jagged from claws.

None of them were mine by choice. Hiding the evi-

dence beneath a cloak distracted me from the defeat that came from my body being cut away piece by piece.

Ivick’s words rang in my head. "Your body is a small

price to pay for your abilities."

Ivick wasn’t covered in scars.

I sifted through my wardrobe. The dresses hanging

inside were once lovely, but by the time I’d received them, they’d seen many owners. The sleeves were worn, fraying at the wrists, and sweat and dirt stained the collars. Age muted all the colors.

I’d just finished dressing when a knock sounded on

the door. I hadn’t expected company. I should have.

Come in.

6

Lost in thought again, Keliah? Edgar asked as he

stepped inside. His voice always carried a subtle warmth. That was the trick.

He stopped a few feet short of me, keeping his poised

posture as he glanced out at the forest. His glassy eyes traced the tree line as he brushed his silver hair flat with his palm. He seemed detached when he looked at me again.

Why so sullen?

I forced a smile onto my face. "I absorbed another de-

mon today on my route. It's still painful."

Disappointment etched across his face — an expres-

sion I’d become used to in recent years. His brow creased, and his mouth twisted into a familiar frown. Both Edgar and Ivick expected this side effect to subside by now. His thin lips remained closed as the wrinkles around his mouth deepened. His eyes fixed on me.

I’d come home with my clothing shredded to pieces,

delirious from pain. Still, they never asked what it felt like. Only when it would stop.

I swallowed. "My power has grown. The people must

be safer now that there is a stronger barrier."

He hesitated and smoothed the wrinkles out of his

jacket. You did well.

What do the villagers think?

7

Their opinion isn’t important, he said. His eyes nar-

rowed as he calculated what he’d say next. The forest is your focus. It should have mattered. A part of me needed it to matter.

He’d always avoided topics related to outside the

Black Forest. Edgar described my work as the highest honor in the Empire. Odd, then, that they never showed me to the world. They confined me in this forest. Had a villager ever thanked me? Even once? I don’t know why I never ques-tioned it before. You’ve got a point, I said. It’s about pur-pose. I told myself I meant it.

He cleared his throat. "I am confident that today’s re-

port ought to delight his Highness."

I glanced toward my desk, the pen and paper waiting

for me to draft my daily report. Many times, I sat in that study, smudged ink on my fingers from scribbling as I de-scribed my advancements, but I never received a reply. I questioned whether they were even being read. I wrote them like they were. Silence was the loudest response I’d received.

I wanted him out of my room. "Is dinner prepared?

I’m famished."

He pulled his watch from his vest and checked the

time on its face. It will only be a few minutes. At the very least, they fed me.

I’ll be down soon, then. He bowed his head and left.

I couldn’t wait until the door shut and I could relax.

8

I slipped through the balcony doors and walked to

the railing. I gripped the cool metal in my palms and leaned forward. A caravan with soldiers clad in black-and-gold insig-nia traveled across one of the faraway hills. I imagined their stories, their lives, the families they might have left behind. A man hugging his wife goodbye before departing for duty. Did they view their duties as supporting the Emperor, or were they like me? Did they feel shackled in their roles?

My eyes drifted back into the trees. Each day, I de-

voted more of myself to the forest, wondering if it would eventually claim everything. I glanced down at my calloused and scarred hands. They told me I had been chosen for this. That the gods granted me power. If they chose me, why didn’t they warn me? Why didn’t they close the Rift them-selves?

A wave of mana rushed over me as the Rift surged.

More demons arrived to replace the ones I’d absorbed. Surges happened more frequently as the divide between our world and the other side expanded. I knew little about the Rift. I faced only the creatures that emerged from it.

Even as the Guardian, I’d only laid eyes on it once. At

age ten, Ivick showed me the place. The three-mile trek felt like the longest time of my life. The bottomless chasm had all but forced my heart from my chest. Like a living organism, its jagged edges ebbed with each wave of power that pulsed from its black center.

In my dreams, I still heard the growls and whispers

that called from inside as demons waited for their chance to

9

slip into our realm. Though I wanted to escape, Ivick stopped me, grinning, as I lost control of my bladder. He told me it would help me understand the threat I stopped. All it did was strike fear inside me.

When I’d arrived back at the estate and told Edgar

about the experience, he’d brushed it off. He only wanted to educate you about what’s at stake. You have a major respon-sibility to shoulder, but I know you will succeed. His words used to pacify me.

I stopped to adjust a crooked painting on the stair-

way leading to the dining hall. No amount of dusting rid the painted woman of her cracks. I scoffed. For being a hero, I didn’t live in luxury. Edgar attributed the Emperor’s lack of response to his heavy workload, but this explanation became less believable. This was the price we paid to uphold our duty.

I took my seat. Although the estate was falling apart,

at least the Emperor still delivered shipments of food.

This looks delicious, I lied. Dinner was a piece of

bread already going soft in the center and porridge that smelled like mildew. Still, I couldn’t complain. My belly would be full that night.

Sylas and Edgar took their seats at the table. Sylas’s

green eyes sparked at the compliment as he rubbed his hand over his hair. He always loved flattery. It made him feel im-portant.

10

They laughed in unison, their voices mingling until

they blended. Edgar and Sylas — the perfect family. At one time, I’d wanted them to laugh like that with me. The rare moments of normalcy were my only respite from my duty. While not a perfect childhood, I was content. I believed they cared for me in their own way. Eventually, they might grow to accept me as their family. How wrong I was.

Foolish curiosity led me to the letter.

They’d come home drenched to the skin from a storm

earlier in the week. I’d helped them peel off their coats and had hung them near the hearth to dry. Edgar didn’t even no-tice the letter had slipped out of his pocket and landed on the floor. My fingers trembled as I retrieved it.

I should’ve handed it back without a glance. But their

night outings had increased. They whispered when I was within earshot and dodged questions.

When they left the room, I slipped the letter free from

its envelope. It was a letter addressed to the Emperor. Ed-gar’s elegant script flowed across the page.

To His Radiant Grace,

Progress continues as expected. She remains contained,

with no sign of external interference. We expect readiness within the next cycle. Her departure will resolve the full terms of our debt.

The girl.

11

Not me. Not Keliah. Just the girl.

I stared at the ink until the letters blurred. Below Ed-

gar’s signature, another hand had scrawled a signature. Sylas. They were preparing to sell me.

I folded the letter back into its envelope, slower than

I should have, heart thudding so loud I swore it would echo through the stone.

I deserved the truth. So, I waited until they’d changed

and settled into Edgar’s office. I slowly moved down the dark corridor, pausing before the door to listen. Their voices were hushed, but I knew them too well to mistake the cadence.

She’s holding steady, Edgar said. For now.

Sylas exhaled. "That buys us time, but we’re cutting it

close. A chair scraped. The terms were clear, Sylas contin-ued. Once she’s ready, she goes."

Edgar didn’t speak right away. When he did, his voice

was lower. Distant. It’s unlikely she will understand. Keliah is still just a girl, Sylas.

She’s a tool, Sylas spat. "You don’t mourn a ham-

mer."

Another pause. Then Edgar murmured, "Ivick will

want confirmation soon." Whatever regrets he had were fleeting.

Sylas’s voice sharpened. Then we give it to him.

12

Liquid poured into glasses. They clinked them in cel-

ebration. Each sound stalled my heart. I turned before I could hear more and returned to my chamber. They’d kept me just content enough to keep obeying. My belief in my role and my hope for their favor prevented me from questioning my pur-pose.

The crack in my heart widened with every glance at

the two strangers. They laughed as if the letter I read was a dream. Part of me still wanted to believe it was. Anything scheduled for tomorrow?

I have to grab provisions from the village. Sylas

took a bite from his plate. We won’t get them in time if the trail gets too soggy.

Edgar pursed his lips in disapproval. Any mention of

the outside world always stiffened him like a corpse. It wasn’t worry as I’d once believed. It was domination. My cu-riosity was dangerous to their plans, to their debt, to the lie they’d sold me my entire life.

I’d appreciate some thread and materials, I said. "I’d

like to sew gloves before winter sets in. The air’s already be-ginning to grow cold." Sewing would keep my hands busy and my mind distracted.

Edgar’s shoulders dropped as if a crisis had been

averted. As if indulging in minor comforts meant I was still complacent. Oh — and more books if you can.

13

Why would you need those? Edgar questioned.

Ivick teaches you all you need to know.

Of course. Only the approved knowledge. Nothing

else.

"There was movement reported at the southern pe-

rimeter of the forest," Sylas waved off my