The moon hung low over Tenebrous, a pale sliver veiled behind drifting clouds. It cast a sickly glow over the rooftops of Raven's Peak, a forgotten town nestled in the cradle of endless night. Shadows stretched long and hungry across the cobblestones, flickering in the torchlight but never truly retreating.
From her perch atop a crumbling stone wall, Aria surveyed the slumbering town. She crouched low, her dark cloak blending seamlessly with the shadows. A huntress by trade, she had grown up with her feet in the dirt and her eyes on the darkness. Most people feared the things that moved after sunset—creatures that slithered and whispered. But Aria had made them her prey.
And tonight, something hunted her.
Her instincts buzzed—a low, crawling itch along her spine. The air was too still, the silence too tight. She dropped from the wall without a sound, her boots landing softly in the dust. The wind carried the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves. Summer clung to the air, yet the breeze chilled her skin like the first breath of winter.
She reached for the dagger strapped to her hip, fingers brushing the familiar hilt. The streets twisted ahead like veins, lined with sagging buildings and shuttered windows. Torchlight flickered faintly, casting fleeting pools of gold across the path.
But the shadows were thick tonight.
They whispered her name.
She turned a corner and spotted the crooked sign of The Raven's Wing tavern. It swayed in the breeze, creaking ominously. A few dim lanterns glowed inside, their light too weak to chase away the darkness pressing in from outside.
A message had arrived that morning—slipped under her door with no name, no seal. Just a few words scrawled in ink that shimmered faintly: Come to the Raven's Wing at moonrise. The shadows call for you.
Most would have burned it. But Aria? She followed it.
She stepped inside the tavern. The sudden warmth hit her like a wave, along with the sour scent of ale and damp wool. Eyes turned toward her—some curious, others wary. The people of Raven's Peak didn't trust easily. Especially not a lone woman who walked like a weapon.
Her gaze swept the room until it caught on a figure cloaked in deep gray, hunched in the corner beneath the stairs. Hood up, face hidden. But it wasn't the cloak that caught her attention—it was the stillness.
Everything about him screamed wrong.
Aria approached slowly, her hand never straying far from her blade.
"You're Aria, the huntress," the figure said, his voice low and gravelly, more echo than sound.
She remained standing. "Who wants to know?"
The figure lifted his head. Shadows clung unnaturally to his face, but his eyes—glowing green, unnatural and knowing—shone like polished emeralds.
"I am a messenger," he said. "The Shadow King requires your presence."
Aria's grip tightened. "What Shadow King?"
The stranger's lips curled into a faint smile, teeth too sharp. "You will learn. Come with me."
Everything in her screamed not to follow. And yet… something ancient stirred inside her. A pull. As though the shadows themselves tugged at her very soul.
She hesitated—then nodded once.
Outside, the streets had changed.
They twisted unnaturally, winding in directions that made no sense. The buildings warped with strange angles, shadows bleeding where they shouldn't. Aria followed the messenger deeper into the belly of the city, heart pounding, breath shallow.
They stopped before a massive stone door, half-buried beneath a vine-covered archway she swore had never existed. It was carved with curling script and symbols—one of which pulsed faintly on her skin.
She gasped.
On her right wrist, a mark had appeared. A silver crescent entwined with thorns. It shimmered, responding to the door's glow.
"What is this?" she whispered.
"You have been chosen," the messenger said, "Shadow-kissed."
Before she could question further, the door creaked open with a groan that echoed through the earth.
Inside, darkness swallowed everything.
Aria stepped forward.
The door slammed shut behind her.
Silence.
Total, suffocating silence.
She reached for her dagger, but even the weapon felt small in the vast, cold black. Her breath misted before her, though no wind stirred.
Then came the sound.
Footsteps.
Slow. Steady. Powerful.
A faint, ethereal glow lit the chamber as a figure emerged—cloaked in darkness that moved like smoke. He was tall, regal, and undeniably inhuman. His skin shimmered like obsidian glass, and his eyes... his eyes were pools of midnight, rimmed with silver flame.
The Shadow King.
He regarded her in silence, his gaze sweeping over her with a quiet, unnerving intensity. When he spoke, his voice was both thunder and whisper—like a thousand dead leaves rustling in unison.
"Welcome, Aria."
She stood her ground, though her knees trembled. "Why have you brought me here?"
His lips curved faintly. "Because you belong here. Because you are mine."
Aria's heart skipped a beat.
The King stepped closer, and with every breath she took, the shadows around her seemed to move in rhythm. Her own mark began to glow more brightly, responding to him—recognizing him.
"I don't belong to anyone," she said coldly.
He didn't seem offended. "Yet the mark is there. Not placed by me—but awakened because of you. The shadows answered your blood."
Her breath caught. "What does that mean?"
"It means you are shadow-kissed," he said softly. "Born of light, yet chosen by the dark. A bridge between both worlds."
She didn't understand. She didn't want to understand.
"This has to be a mistake," she whispered. "I'm no one. Just a huntress."
"No one who walks untouched through the Whispering Wood," he countered. "No one who dreams of fire and shadow. No one who bears the mark of the Crescent Thorn."
The chamber darkened further. Aria felt her knees weaken, a pulse beating in her wrist and chest and soul.
Kael.
She didn't know how she knew the name, but it slid into her mind like a memory.
And then he appeared.
From behind the King, a second figure stepped forward—taller than the messenger, cloaked in the same darkness, but there was something softer in his gaze. His presence thrummed with power barely restrained. His eyes were a haunting violet, like the last flare of twilight before night.
"Kael," the King said. "She will need a guide."
Kael inclined his head once, his eyes never leaving Aria.
Something passed between them in that moment. Not recognition, but resonance. Like the flicker of heat before a fire catches.
Aria took a step back, overwhelmed.
"This is madness," she said, her voice raw. "You can't just summon me, brand me, and claim I'm yours."
The King smiled. "And yet, here you are."
The shadows deepened, curling around her like smoke.
And Aria knew—everything was about to change.