The night hung heavy over the forest, thick clouds swallowing the moonlight as Sam trudged along the worn path. His journey to Lavatorian had stretched for weeks now—across barren lands that whispered of forgotten wars, through the jagged silence of mountains that reached for the stars, and into forests so deep even daylight struggled to breathe within them.
His cloak was torn, boots soaked from crossing rivers, yet his determination burned quietly inside him. Each step was a promise—to uncover the truth of his powers, of his mother's warning, and of the voice that haunted his dreams.
But that night, as the winds shifted, something broke the monotony of his march. A faint metallic tang crept into the air. Sam stopped. His eyes narrowed. "Blood…"
He inhaled again, the scent unmistakable—fresh, thick, human. The forest around him was eerily still; no insects, no whispers of leaves. His pulse quickened. Carefully, he pressed forward, slipping through the mist that clung to the undeundergrowth.
The deeper he went, the louder it became—the clash of steel, the guttural cries of beasts, and the screams of men.
When the trees finally parted, Sam froze.
In the clearing ahead, chaos reigned. A shattered carriage lay on its side, its ornate wood scorched and clawed by something monstrous. Soldiers—perhaps a dozen—fought desperately to protect it, forming a broken circle around the wreck. Their armor was cracked, their blades stained with both their own blood and that of their enemies.
And their enemies were no ordinary beasts.
Two Elethels loomed over them—tall, sinewy creatures with skin like molten glass, black veins pulsing with crimson light. Their faces were twisted mockeries of humanity, mouths full of jagged teeth, eyes burning with endless hunger.
Even from where he stood, Sam could feel their aura—vile, chaotic, suffocating. Elethels… here? His fingers brushed the pendant resting on his chest. It pulsed faintly—first once, then again, faster—like a heartbeat urging him forward.
But Lisa's words echoed in his mind:
| "Never show them your darkness, Sam. No one must know. Not yet."
He took a deep breath. The soldiers below were on the brink of collapse, but he couldn't unleash the full force of what hid inside him. Not here. Not in front of witnesses. Still… he couldn't let them die.
"Fine," he muttered under his breath. "I'll keep it in the shadows."
He leapt from the ridge. His boots hit the ground without a sound. The Elethels turned immediately, their instincts pricking at the unseen presence. But Sam was already moving—melting into the darkness as if the night itself welcomed him home.
One of the Elethels hissed, scanning the trees. "Another human?"
Sam didn't answer. The shadows beneath the creature's feet rippled—then rose.
A tendril of pure blackness shot up, coiling around its legs like living smoke. Before the Elethel could react, the shadows constricted, dragging it to its knees. The creature roared, clawing at the unseen binds, but the more it struggled, the tighter they became.
The soldiers gasped, unsure of what they were witnessing. From their perspective, it looked as if the beast was thrashing wildly at nothing—fighting its own shadow.
Sam appeared behind it, eyes cold and focused. With a single motion, he condensed the darkness in his hand into a blade—a weapon of silence. One swift strike, and the Elethel's head fell to the ground, its body collapsing into ash that scattered on the wind.
The soldiers stepped back in shock, murmuring to one another, "What happened? Did… did it kill itself?"
But there was no time to question. The second Elethel turned, its rage swelling as it charged at Sam, claws dripping with dark venom.
Sam steadied his breath. No light. No flash. Only control.
The Elethel swung—Sam dodged. Each strike carved deep craters into the earth. Sam's movements were precise, almost graceful, weaving between the creature's claws like a shadow dancing on water. But he could feel it—the strain of holding back his true power, the temptation to let the darkness flood free.
The Elethel roared again, its aura flaring with destructive energy. The air shimmered, heavy with heat and malice. The soldiers shielded their faces, shouting for retreat—but Sam didn't move. He whispered under his breath, voice low and calm.
"Shadow Control: Command of Despair."
His irises darkened, the color draining until only pure black remained. The world seemed to dim around him as if even the forest bowed to the change.
The Elethel froze mid-charge. Its claws trembled, its breathing faltered.
Sam took one step closer, his gaze locking onto its eyes. "Sleep in your own fear."
The creature's body convulsed. Its hands—those monstrous claws that had slain hundreds—turned against itself. With a guttural, inhuman scream, it plunged its own arm through its chest, tearing out its heart. The corpse fell lifelessly, smoke rising from the wound as the darkness consumed it from within.
Silence.
The forest was utterly still again. Only the crackle of burning wood and the soldiers' heavy breathing filled the air.
Sam stood motionless for a moment, his heartbeat loud in his ears. Slowly, he closed his eyes, forcing his power to subside. The black faded from his irises, replaced by his usual calm gaze.
He turned to the soldiers. "Are you all right?"
One of them—bleeding but still standing—nodded shakily. "We… we are. You saved us, stranger." Sam simply gave a short nod. "Make sure your wounded are tended to. Don't linger here. The scent of blood will draw more."
As he turned to leave, one of the men called out, "Wait—who are you?" Sam didn't answer. He simply lifted his hood, fading into the mist. By the time the soldiers blinked, he was gone—swallowed by the same shadows that had fought beside him.
When the clearing finally stilled, the captain turned to his men. "Did any of you see what he did?"
The soldiers exchanged confused looks. "I… I saw nothing, sir. The monsters just—killed themselves."
The captain frowned, uneasy. "No. There was something else. Something we couldn't see."
Meanwhile, deeper in the forest, Sam stopped beneath an ancient tree, his breath fogging the air. The pendant around his neck glowed faintly again, a pulse of warmth that almost felt like approval.
He looked down at it, whispering softly, "You made me do it again, didn't you?"
No response—only a quiet hum that seemed almost alive.
Sam sighed, glancing back toward the fading lights of the battlefield. "Lisa… I'm sorry. I couldn't just stand by."
He tightened his grip on the pendant, then turned east—toward the distant lights of Lavatorian.
The path ahead was dark and uncertain, but one thing was clear:
The shadows within him were growing stronger… and hungrier. The night was finally giving way to dawn when Sam reached the cliff's edge. The forest behind him stretched endlessly into darkness, but before him—bathed in the soft light of the rising sun—stood Lavatorian.
The city glowed like a living jewel in the valley below. Golden spires reflected the morning light, streets shimmered with moving carriages, and the soft hum of magic crystals filled the air like distant chimes.From where Sam stood, it looked peaceful—untouched by the horrors he had just faced.
A quiet smile tugged at his lips. "Finally…" he whispered, breathless from both exhaustion and relief.
"I've reached the city."
He sat on a nearby rock, pulling back his hood to let the cool mountain breeze hit his face. For the first time in weeks, he felt something close to calm.
His pendant shimmered faintly, as if sharing his relief.
Yet, in that glow, there was a strange flicker—brief, almost imperceptible—like a heartbeat that didn't belong to him.
Sam ignored it, for now. The road ahead was clear. Lavatorian awaited—and within it, the answers he had chased across mountains and through blood-stained forests. He stood, tightening the straps on his pack, unaware that behind him,
in the forest he had left, the story was far from over. The clearing was still thick with the smell of smoke and iron. The corpses of the fallen soldiers had been covered, and the remaining men were tending to the wounded.
But their weary eyes snapped to attention when the door of the carriage creaked open.
From within, a man stepped out—a tall, broad figure draped in a long coat of dark blue silk. The insignia on his chest gleamed like molten gold: a phoenix crest entwined with a crown—the mark of House Velrath, one of the Seven Elite Families that ruled Lavatorian.
The soldiers immediately knelt, their heads bowed low. "Your Grace," the captain said, voice trembling. "We apologize for our failure to protect the path. The Elethels—" "—are dead," the man interrupted, his voice calm but heavy, like distant thunder.
He stepped forward, his boots sinking slightly into the blood-soaked earth. His sharp eyes scanned the carnage—then stopped at the twin piles of blackened ash. No ordinary battle could have reduced Elethels to this. No blade of man, nor spell of light, could have erased them so completely. "Tell me," he said quietly. "Who did this?"
The captain hesitated. "We… don't know, my lord. A stranger appeared out of nowhere. He saved us. But… it was strange. We couldn't see how he fought. It was as if the monsters killed themselves."
The Duke's gaze sharpened. "Killed themselves?"
The captain nodded, unease thick in his voice. "Yes, my lord.One was suddenly bound by something unseen and… decapitated. The other—he… he tore his own heart out."
A long silence followed. Then the Duke knelt, brushing his fingers against the soil near one of the corpses. The earth was cold—but beneath his touch lingered a faint trace,
a residue of power that coiled like smoke and hummed like a heartbeat.
"Shadow energy…" he murmured. But this wasn't like the corrupted shadows of the Elethels. No—this was different. Controlled. Refined Ancient.
He straightened, eyes glinting with both curiosity and concern. "Whoever that boy was," he said, turning to his men, "he is no ordinary traveler. Find his trail—but do not engage. If he heads for Lavatorian, I want to know the moment he enters the city."
The soldiers saluted. "Yes, Duke Arvane!" The Duke turned back toward his carriage. The wind tugged at his cloak as he looked to the horizon—toward the very cliffs where Sam now stood. "After two decades of silence…" he murmured, "the shadows return to Lavatorian."
Back at the cliff, the first light of day washed over Sam as he began his descent.
The winding road below was busy with traders, scholars, and travelers headed toward the city gates. He tightened his hood and joined the flow of people, each step bringing him closer to the shining walls of Lavatorian.
The city rose higher with every step—its towers carved with ancient runes, its walls glowing faintly with protective wards. It was said Lavatorian was built upon the ruins of the Old Empire, a city of light created to keep the remnants of darkness at bay.
And now, the boy born of that very darkness walked through its gates. Sam paused as he entered the main square. The noise of the crowd— the laughter of children, the chatter of merchants, the soft hum of enchanted lamps—felt surreal.
This place was alive, untouched by fear or war. For a moment, he wondered if perhaps he could start anew here—lIve quietly, study, control his power… maybe even belong.
But then his pendant pulsed again, stronger this time— a warning beat that sent a chill down his spine. He frowned, glancing around.
The streets were bright and busy, yet somewhere deep within that light, he felt it—a presence watching him. He shook it off and continued toward the central district, where the towering gates of Lavatorian Academy stood. There, among the scholars and warriors of noble birth, he hoped to find the answers to the symbols, the scroll, and his own existence.
Yet far above, from one of the royal balconies overlooking the city, Duke Arvane watched the new arrivals enter. His gaze stopped on a single hooded figure walking through the crowd. The corner of his mouth lifted slightly.
"So, the shadow finally steps into the light…"