The world around Adrien went still.
The blood on his hands—Damien's blood—felt like fire.
Every breath he took boiled in his chest, and every beat of his heart echoed like the tolling of a bell over a graveyard. The city, once bright and proud, now stood silent and afraid.
The captain took a cautious step backward. "You don't want to do this—"
"No," Adrien said softly, lifting his gaze. "You don't want me to."
A gust of unnatural wind swept through the ruined square. The torches snuffed out one by one. The shadows grew teeth.
Fenrik shouted something behind him—Galvir was dragging civilians from the wreckage—but Adrien barely heard them.
All he saw was Damien's still body.
All he felt was the surge of pure, chaotic shadow ripping through his veins.
A pulse of darkness erupted outward from his chest.
The ground splintered beneath him. Cracks tore through the cobbled streets like veins of black lightning. Walls twisted and buckled. The night groaned as if the city itself sensed the calamity approaching.
And then Adrien raised his hand.
Above them, the sky cracked open.
A vortex of midnight and smoke formed overhead—a writhing sphere of condensed Shadow Essence, swallowing light. Crimson arcs of lightning snapped across its surface. The winds howled as buildings lifted from their foundations, pulled into its orbit.
"By the gods…" one knight whispered.
The captain cursed and braced herself, wind swirling around her body.
She didn't last.
The moment the sphere collapsed, it detonated downward.
Boom.
A canyon tore through the First Layer.
A wave of obliteration surged in every direction, flattening structures, turning stone into dust. Trees snapped like twigs. Arcanite lanterns exploded. The city shook down to its bones.
The shockwave shattered every window within a mile.
People screamed—then disappeared in the wave of dust.
---
When the storm cleared, a third of the First Layer lay in ruin.
Fires burned in a dozen places. Rubble was all that remained of the inn. The once-proud statue of the Dawnfire Herald lay split in half, face buried in the ash.
And at the center of it all knelt Adrien, unmoving, his arms limp at his sides.
His breath was shallow. His eyes rolled back.
He collapsed.
"Adrien!" Fenrik was the first to reach him, diving through the haze. Nyxaris leapt beside the body, licking Adrien's face, whimpering. The wolf's form flickered, barely holding together.
"He's alive," Galvir muttered, bloodied and wide-eyed. "Barely. Whatever that was… it nearly tore him apart."
Sirens began to blare across the city. Magical flares were fired into the air—an alert. High-tier mages and city enforcers would come soon.
"We have to go. Now."
Fenrik hoisted Adrien's limp body onto his shoulder. "We find a smuggler or a mage gate—any way out. The Duke will come himself if we stay."
"Where do we run to?" Galvir asked.
Fenrik's face darkened. "Anywhere but here."
Lord Evermoon stood in stunned silence, overlooking the devastated First Layer.
Behind him, advisors shouted, scrambling to dispatch rescue units and stabilize what remained.
His daughter, pale and trembling, stared down at the smoking cityscape. "He destroyed everything... just like that."
The Duke's fingers clenched the edge of the balcony rail.
"…He's not a common warrior," he muttered. "He's something else."
He turned, cloak whipping behind him.
"Send word to the capital. Tell the Emperor what happened."
"And the girl?" one of his strategists asked.
He narrowed his eyes. "She's no longer part of the prize. If Adrien lives—he's a threat. Not a pawn."
The throne room of the human empire was silent.
Emperor Valrion Vex sat at the end of the long obsidian dais, crimson cloak wrapped about him like a mantle of blood. Around him, the High Council—advisors, generals, and court seers—stood uneasily.
One of the imperial scribes stepped forward and unrolled a scroll, his hands trembling.
"…Reports from Dawnfire confirm it. First Layer crippled. Estimated loss: eight hundred civilians, three guard companies, over fifty noble residences." He paused, voice faltering. "The cause… appears to be one individual."
The room murmured.
The Emperor's eyes narrowed. "Name?"
"Adrien, my lord. Affiliated loosely with the Ironbrand Guild. No recorded lineage, but fought in the Evermoon Tournament. Eyewitnesses claim his power came after the death of a young swordsman named Damien."
"Shadow magic?" one of the court mages muttered.
"Not ordinary," said another. "There's something deeper—primal."
The Emperor raised a finger. "Summon the Judicators. I want this Adrien investigated. Every scroll, every whisper, every ruined village he passed through. I want to know what woke in that boy."
Within a dark chamber lit by arcane lanterns, cloaked figures gathered around a still pool of black water. The surface shimmered, showing flashes of Dawnfire's destruction.
"He's awakened," said a soft, eerie voice.
A woman in layered veils leaned forward. "Too soon. He shouldn't be this strong yet."
A grizzled man, scarred across the face, chuckled. "Strong enough to level a city's core? Hells, the Order of Light's going to lose their minds."
The leader of the group—an elderly man whose shadow moved independently from his body—spoke:
"Monitor him. Do not interfere yet. If Ardonis marked him, then he is a vessel of deeper tides. Let the empires gnaw at each other while he walks the path alone."
High Inquisitor Velros slammed his gauntlet onto the table. "A single boy tears through noble guards, destroys a city quarter, and vanishes?!"
One of the paladins knelt. "We believe he may be linked to the shadow traces near the old temples. The same resonance from Mount Grimhollow."
A stillness fell over the marble chamber.
Velros turned to the golden-masked figure in the corner—one of the oldest Judicators.
"…You told us the godslayers were gone."
"They were," the Judicator rasped. "Or so we believed. If what you say is true—then the God of Shadow's will may be awakening through him."
Velros spat. "Then we'll crush him before he spreads."
The Duke stared at a map of the continent, his advisors surrounding him.
"That boy shattered our first layer," his steward said, nervously adjusting his collar. "And killed your Captain of Guard."
The Duke exhaled slowly. "We underestimated him. Worse, he now has a legend... people already whisper about a boy who shattered the sky."
"What shall we do, my Lord?"
"Control the narrative," the Duke said. "Blame the death on a devil's pill—spread tales of forbidden powers and unworthy blood. We paint him as unstable, dangerous, and cursed."
"And when the Emperor sends forces?"
He smiled thinly.
"Let them chase a ghost. Meanwhile… we seek out the others." He tapped three names on the map:
Adrien
The 7th Prince
Whoever trains with him in the shadows
"We need one of them under our banner. The rest? They burn."