The Blood-Stained Altar
The air was thick with rot and ancient magic, choking Selene as she opened her eyes. Pain lanced through her head, blinding and sharp, like knives slicing into her skull. She gasped, every breath tasting of iron and ash. Her body lay sprawled on cold, cracked stone, drenched in a thin film of blood—some hers, some… she didn't know.
The cathedral ruins loomed above her, jagged arches clawing at the sky, torn and crumbling from centuries of neglect. Moonlight filtered through shattered windows, casting the room in silvery streaks, but it did little to illuminate the horrors within. Shadows moved where no light should fall, writhing and twisting as if alive.
Selene forced herself to sit up. Her limbs ached as if she'd been beaten by a dozen fists, yet there were no bruises. Only the mark—the jagged scar etched across her forearm, glowing faintly like embers trapped under skin. She touched it, and pain flared, burning through her veins like wildfire.
A whisper slithered through her mind, faint but chilling:
"You belong to the shadows now… and they will claim you fully if you fail."
Her breath caught. "Who… who's there?" she croaked, voice hoarse, trembling. The only answer was the creak of broken stone and the distant drip of water.
Then came the sound—the shuffle of claws across stone. Selene's eyes snapped to the darkness. Two glowing orbs blinked from the far corner. Smaller at first, then dozens more emerged from the shadows. Creatures of every conceivable horror, twisted and hunched, their limbs spindly yet deadly, their eyes burning with malice.
Instinct overrode fear. Magic surged from her chest, uncontrolled, untrained, wild. Sparks leapt from her fingertips, crackling in the cold air, then erupted into flames. The nearest shadow shrieked, its limbs disintegrating into black smoke as the fire licked it into nothingness.
Selene stumbled back, horrified. She hadn't meant to kill, yet the creatures' screams echoed in her ears, leaving a ringing in her mind that made her head spin. Her hand trembled, still glowing with faint red embers. The whisper returned, sharper this time:
"Do you remember… the blood you spilled? You cannot run from who you were."
Her chest tightened. Memories she didn't recognize flashed through her mind—chants in a forgotten language, rituals performed in blood, betrayal so deep it cut through centuries. A name surfaced in her mind: The Silent Coven. Faces she didn't know, yet felt intimately familiar, twisted in hatred and ambition.
A shadow lunged at her from the darkness, faster than she could react. Her body moved on instinct, raising her hands. Fire erupted again, but this time it spiraled outward in a controlled arc, incinerating the creature. The air reeked of scorched flesh and old decay. Selene's knees buckled, her lungs burning. She had killed, yes—but at what cost?
From the edge of the ruins, a figure stepped forward. Tall, cloaked in black with a hood that concealed his face. His movements were graceful, predatory, and Selene felt her pulse spike. The shadows behind him seemed to bend, bow even, to his presence.
"You… you survived," the figure said, voice low, calm, almost a growl. "Few do, not alone. But you—" He paused, tilting his head, "you were meant for something else."
Selene wanted to retreat, to flee into the ruined corridors, but her legs would not obey. Fear tangled with curiosity. "Who are you?" she demanded, voice shaking. "What… what do you want from me?"
The figure crouched slightly, shadows curling around him like living smoke. "I am Ashen. And if you want to know what you truly are… what power you hold… come find me. But beware," he added, "the Silent Coven will not wait for you to awaken. They hunt you now. Every second you linger, they draw closer."
Selene's eyes widened. Her heart thumped wildly. "Hunt me? Why? I don't… I don't understand. I'm… I'm just…" She faltered, the words failing. "I'm nothing."
Ashen's gaze was sharp, piercing. "Nothing? You are more than nothing. You are cursed, yes. But also chosen. That mark," he said, pointing to her glowing forearm, "is the seal of your rebirth. It will bring death, fire, and shadows… if you learn to wield it."
The wind picked up, whistling through the cathedral's broken windows. The shadows behind Ashen twisted unnaturally, coiling like serpents, whispering her name in hissing tones.
"Why me?" Selene whispered, barely audible.
Ashen's eyes gleamed beneath his hood. "Because you are the last of your kind. Because centuries ago, someone—someone cruel—thought to end you. They failed. And now, the fallen shall rise once more. But it will not be easy… and it will not be safe."
A chill ran down Selene's spine. The words, the shadows, the pain in her veins—it all pressed down on her like a weight she could not bear. And yet, beneath the fear, a spark of something else flickered. Curiosity. Defiance. Rage.
Something inside her stirred—ancient, primal, powerful.
And then the cathedral trembled. The stones groaned and cracked. From the deepest shadows, hundreds of creatures stirred, their eyes glinting with hunger and malice. Selene's pulse raced.
Ashen's voice cut through the chaos. "You have little time. Stand, or die. Choose your path, Selene, or let the shadows claim you entirely."
The mark on her arm flared violently. Pain, power, and destiny collided in a single moment. Selene clenched her fists. Her first thought, raw and unfiltered, was not of fear.
It was of survival.
And in that instant, she realized… the fallen were about to rise.