Chapter 5: Shadows Under the Canvas
The next morning, Lior found his favorite brush broken in half.
It lay on the edge of his easel like someone had placed it there deliberately. Not dropped. Not snapped by accident.
Broken.
Like a message.
He picked up both pieces and examined them carefully. The wood had splintered in a jagged pattern, clean and sharp, as though crushed in a powerful grip.
He didn't remember doing it.
"Aven?" he called.
No answer.
The apartment felt… still. Not empty, but paused—like the air itself was holding its breath.
Lior checked the living room. The kitchen. Aven wasn't there.
But the front door was locked from the inside.
His heart began to pound.
He walked to the studio again and froze.
A new painting.
He hadn't painted it.
And yet it sat there, freshly dried, colors vivid. A dark, jagged forest under a blood moon. A shadow in the center—tall, faceless, cloaked in chains.
His hands trembled.
Aven?
He turned around slowly—
—and nearly collided with the man himself.
Aven stood silently in the doorway, silver eyes unreadable.
"I didn't paint that," Lior whispered.
"I know."
"Then who did?"
"I think… someone else is reaching through."
Lior stepped back. "Reaching through what?"
Aven looked past him at the painting. "Your brush is a gate. It was always more than a tool. It let me in. But maybe… others are starting to follow."
Lior felt a chill run through him. "What others?"
Aven's voice dropped. "Those who cursed me. Who sealed me away."
Lior shook his head. "This isn't real. This is getting too much."
"Too real," Aven corrected softly. "Because now, you're the one they'll be looking for. The key. The artist. The creator who broke the spell."
Lior turned away, frustration simmering. "I just wanted to paint. That's all. I didn't ask for any of this."
"I didn't ask to be born in color and torn apart in chains."
Lior flinched.
The silence between them stretched until Aven finally moved closer.
"Let me protect you," he murmured. "Before they come through the canvas."
"Are you saying I summoned them, too?"
"I'm saying someone might be using you."
Lior suddenly remembered the dream. The burning throne. The red silk chains.
And the voice that whispered: Free me fully… and I will be yours forever.
His knees felt weak.
"I think I've painted more than just you," he said. "Without knowing. Without meaning to."
Aven nodded grimly.
"Then we have to find them. The others. Before they find you."
---
They spent the next few hours sorting through Lior's old sketchbooks.
It was like looking through a portal.
Dozens of faces he didn't remember drawing. Some serene. Some twisted in pain. All of them too real.
"These," Aven whispered, tapping a sketch of a tall, eyeless woman in a cloak made of feathers. "This one was part of the council that sealed me. She devours dreams."
Lior's throat tightened.
"What happens if they break through?"
"They'll come for you. Or worse—use your brush to create their own forms."
Lior stared down at the broken brush.
"I think one already tried."
---
That night, Aven insisted on sleeping by the studio door.
"I don't need sleep," he said. "But if something moves through, I'll feel it."
Lior sat beside him, curled up in a blanket. "You said they sealed you. Why?"
Aven was quiet for a long time.
Then, "Because I loved a mortal. And she painted a world where we could be free."
Lior blinked. "She?"
"She was like you. Gifted. Kind. Lonely. She gave me a name once, too. Not Aven. Something older."
"What happened to her?"
"They destroyed her brush. Then her mind."
Lior felt his stomach twist. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Because I won't let it happen to you."
Their shoulders brushed. The silence between them was no longer sharp—it felt like a shield.
---
In the middle of the night, the canvas in the studio cracked.
A long, tearing sound echoed through the walls.
Lior sat up, heart thudding.
Aven was already on his feet, glowing faintly with silver light.
Together, they stepped into the room.
The blood moon painting was flickering. Like light reflecting off water. The shadowy figure inside it moved. Slowly. Deliberately. Chains rattled.
"It's not just a painting anymore," Aven whispered.
Lior stepped forward instinctively.
The figure lunged.
Aven caught Lior and shoved him back, shielding him with his body.
The chains slammed against the inside of the canvas—but didn't break through.
Not yet.
Lior stared in horror. "What is that thing?!"
Aven's voice was low. "A warden. One of the ones who guarded the cursed realm. It wants your brush."
Lior held up the broken pieces. "It's gone."
Aven looked at him. "Then it'll try to make you create another."
Lior gritted his teeth. "Not a chance."
But even as he said it, he felt it—the itch in his fingers. The pull. Something calling to him, deep in the back of his mind.
Aven's hand closed over his.
"I'll hold you back if I have to," he said gently. "Even from yourself."
And Lior believed him.
---
End of Chapter 5