It was a dark night. No rain or thunder to mask the events that transpired. No cosmic elements to foretell the tragedy unfolding within the walls of the grand vacation mansion belonging to House Valtross.
Young Eldrin Valtross, only twelve winters old, stared at his trembling hands, now slick with crimson. He could barely comprehend what lay before him the broken bodies of his family scattered across the ornate carpet of their sitting room. His father, Duke Rowan Valtross, renowned for his imposing presence and diplomatic prowess, now lay face-down, his strong back pierced through. His mother, Duchess Lynnette, whose beauty was celebrated throughout the kingdom, sprawled unnaturally beside her husband, her golden hair fanned out and soaked with blood. And his siblings Cedric, the heir apparent, and Elise, the family's pride their bodies contorted in the desperate final poses of those who fought for their last breaths.
Blood pooled beneath them, seeping into the intricate patterns of the imported carpet that his mother had been so proud of. The metallic scent hung heavy in the air, mixing with the incense that had been burning earlier that evening when they'd returned from the festival, their faces still bright with laughter.
Eldrin couldn't move. His knees pressed against the floor as if anchored there by invisible chains. His vision swam, tinted red not just from the tears that streamed down his face but from the blood that had spattered across it when his family was cut down before him.
Standing amidst the carnage was a figure that seemed to absorb the shadows around him. Tall and lithe, holding a blade that dripped with the lifeblood of House Valtross. The man's face was indistinct, as if constantly shifting, never settling on a single appearance. The only clear feature was his eyes pale and cold as winter frost piercing into Eldrin.
Those eyes now fixed on Eldrin.
"Looks like I missed one," the shadowy assassin said, his voice oddly melodic despite the horror of his actions. He tilted his head, studying the boy as one might study an interesting insect. "But this doesn't hurt. How about I make things... interesting."
Eldrin wanted to run. Every instinct within his young body screamed at him to flee, to hide, to beg for mercy anything but remain frozen before this harbinger of death. Yet his limbs refused to obey. Shock had rendered him immobile, a statue amid the ruins of his world.
The man approached with unhurried steps, each footfall silent despite the pools of blood he traversed. From within the folds of his dark cloak, he withdrew something that seemed to bend the light around it a stone unlike anything Eldrin had ever seen.
It was roughly the size of a plum, its form somehow both transparent and opaque. It appeared crystalline yet fluid, its color indiscernible—sometimes seeming clear as diamond, other times radiating a black hue that devoured the candlelight rather than reflecting it. Within its depths, shadows moved and writhed like living things.
Eldrin could only stare at the mysterious object, his mind too fractured to process what he was seeing. Just hours ago, they had been at the countryside festival, his family smiling and laughing together. For once, they had been free from the rigid protocols of court life. His father had even purchased candied apples for them all a commoner's treat that the Duke himself had enjoyed with childlike enthusiasm.
It was meant to be a respite from the influence of other noble children who had been leading Cedric and Elise down extravagant paths, spending family fortune on frivolities and associating with questionable elements of high society. Their parents had wanted to remind them of simpler joys, of the responsibility they had to the people of their fiefdom.
But now, those lessons would never be completed. The future of House Valtross, with its thousand years of history, its ancestral duties, and its noble legacy, lay shattered on the floor around him.
The assassin knelt before Eldrin, his movement fluid and graceful. He grasped the boy's wrist with unexpected gentleness, turning his palm upward. Eldrin's eyes widened as the man brought the strange stone toward his exposed hand.
"A shame to orphan one so young," the man whispered, almost sounding genuinely regretful. "But destiny is rarely kind to its chosen vessels."
The stone touched Eldrin's palm, and for a moment, nothing happened. Then, slowly, impossibly, the stone began to melt, not into liquid but into something between matter and energy. It seeped into his skin, leaving no wound but bringing excruciating pain that radiated from his palm through his entire body.
Eldrin's paralysis broke at last, replaced by violent convulsions as he shrieked in agony. It felt as if molten metal were being poured into his veins, as if each nerve ending was being simultaneously frozen and burned. His vision fractured into kaleidoscopic patterns, colors he had no names for flashing across his consciousness.
Through the haze of torment, he heard the assassin murmur words that seemed to bypass his ears and implant themselves directly into his mind: "The stone has been engraved. Let's see what kind of fate this will bring upon the world."
The pain crescendoed to an unbearable peak, and darkness rushed in from the edges of Eldrin's vision. As consciousness slipped away, he caught a final glimpse of the assassin turning away, unconcerned, as if his task was complete. Around the man's feet, symbols appeared on the floor—arcane markings that glowed with an unnatural black light, forming a complex circle of magic that defied the natural laws of the kingdom.
Then, like a candle being snuffed out, the assassin vanished, leaving no trace of his presence save for the carnage he had wrought and the mysterious burden now embedded within Eldrin's flesh.
The last thing Eldrin saw before unconsciousness claimed him was his own right hand, where the stone had melted into him. For a brief moment, patterns flickered beneath his skin veins of dark power that pulsed once, twice, and then faded from view, leaving his hand appearing normal once more.
But Eldrin knew, with the inexplicable certainty of one whose life has been irrevocably altered, that nothing would ever be normal again.
Silence settled over the massacre scene, broken only by the soft crackling of the dying hearth fire and the barely perceptible breathing of the last surviving Valtross. Outside, the festival continued in the nearby village, lanterns dancing in the night, celebratory music floating on the breeze, all oblivious to the fall of one of the kingdom's most ancient houses.
And in the shadows of the grand estate, watchful eyes observed. Servants who had been paid to disappear for the evening. Guards who had been bribed to patrol elsewhere. And one figure, cloaked and hooded, who had orchestrated it all from afar—the first move in a game of power whose board encompassed the entire kingdom.
Within hours, these same observers would "discover" the tragedy. They would report to the royal authorities. They would shed false tears for their beloved duke and his family. And they would take in the traumatized sole survivor—not out of compassion, but for the opportunity his existence represented.
For what was one orphaned boy compared to the vast estates, the political influence, and the generational wealth of House Valtross?
As Eldrin lay unconscious amid the ruins of his former life, fate began weaving new threads around him. Threads of deception, of greed, of betrayal.
And somewhere within him, dormant for now, the power of the mysterious stone waited.