The wind rolled across the plains like a long sigh, bending the young crops and stirring the torchlight of Dareth's Hollow—a budding frontier settlement only three months old. The villagers had carved it from the wilderness with stubborn hands and weary backs, knowing full well what it meant to build so far from the safety of the larger town of Haldenreach.
Raids were expected—mostly by monsters.
The creatures prowled these lands, drawn by the scent of fresh farms and human noise. That was the price of expansion. So Dareth's Hollow maintained sentries at its watchtowers, wardens along its boundaries, and a stern settlement chief—Aldren Thorne—who ensured no one treated the night lightly.
Yet tonight felt different.
Wrong.
Inside a modest cottage near the edge of the settlement, a boy sat awake with his knees pulled to his chest. Orivaan, barely eight, stared out through a small window, his golden eyes catching the moonlight like polished amber. His white hair glowed faintly even in the dark, as though it refused to be swallowed by shadow.
He wasn't awake because of fear.
He was awake because something had woken him.
A warm, familiar presence coiled through his thoughts—the same voice that had whispered to him since before he could remember.
"They're here, kid."
The voice was calm. Soft. Certain.
Orivaan stayed still, gazing beyond the glass, past the crops and the open ground, toward the small forest at the settlement's outskirts.
Outside, torches flickered along the palisade. Two sentries whispered atop the northern tower, their silhouettes tense. Beyond the cleared land, shadows shifted within the treeline—nothing unusual by itself.
But tonight, the movements were heavier.
Slower.
Purposeful.
Orivaan leaned closer to the window. He sensed the difference more than he saw it. Though he had not yet begun using magic—too young, too untrained—his magical perception was unnaturally sharp, for reasons he did not understand.
Regular raids came like storms: sudden, violent, loud.
This felt like waiting.
As though the creatures were thinking. Testing. Reading the settlement's defenses.
"The Shadows," the voice murmured.
From the western fence, a guard raised a horn—not the full alarm, but a warning note. Measured. Controlled.
Moments later, Aldren Thorne's voice carried through the settlement.
"Eyes sharp! They're probing! Hold your lines!"
Doors were barred with practiced efficiency. Children were ushered inside. Shutters were reinforced.
Orivaan's mother closed the latch and knelt beside him.
She was beautiful—not in the soft, fragile way admired from a distance, but with a presence that quietly commanded attention. Her dark hair fell in a loose cascade down her back, thick and glossy even after a restless night. Her features were sharp yet warm, her eyes deep and steady, carrying the calm of someone used to being listened to.
Time had not taken her beauty—only refined it. There was something in the way she moved, the way she carried herself even in a humble cottage, that hinted she had once belonged to grander halls and higher circles. That she had once been seen, and remembered.
"It'll be alright," she whispered, brushing Orivaan's hair back with gentle fingers. "Just another night, okay?"
But her voice betrayed her as she rose quickly, scanning the room for anything that could serve as a weapon.
Orivaan said nothing. He rarely did. And this time, the voice had demanded his attention.
Natural beasts would have howled. Wolves would have barked. Boars would have snorted.
These creatures made no sound.
Only the slow creak of branches bending beneath their weight.
A pair of yellow eyes gleamed from the treeline.
Then another.
Then three more.
Sentries stiffened. Bows were drawn.
"Hold!" Aldren shouted. "They're sizing us up—don't loose unless they charge!"
Orivaan's heart tightened with tension—and curiosity. He watched patterns in their movement. One shape drifted left while two mirrored it to the right.
Coordinated.
Intelligent.
"Ah," the voice observed. "Shadarai… extremely intelligent creatures. Strategic hunters."
A sudden crack split the air.
A creature stepped on a fallen log.
One of the younger guards panicked.
An arrow hissed into the trees, striking flesh with a dull thud.
Everything went still.
Too still.
Then the forest erupted.
Dark shapes burst from the treeline with unnatural speed. Horns blared. Guards shouted. Villagers ducked into their homes as the monsters slammed into the palisade.
The wooden defenses shuddered.
Orivaan didn't move from the window, even as adrenaline surged through him. He watched—how they tested weak points, how they avoided torches, how they lunged and withdrew with eerie precision.
A guard was dragged halfway beneath the fence before a flaming arrow struck the creature and forced it back. Another slammed the gate shut, bracing it with his shoulder.
"Reinforce the north side!" Aldren roared. "Focus arrows on the flanks!"
The settlement fought back—not surprised, but strained by the night's ferocity.
Orivaan remained an observer.
Until one of the creatures peeled away from the chaos.
Its glowing eyes locked onto his window.
It slipped through the confusion, silent as mist.
Orivaan's breath caught.
"Don't move," the voice whispered. "Stay still."
The creature vaulted the fence, landing mere strides from the cottage door. Claws scraped against wood.
His mother gasped and reached for him.
The creature lunged.
Orivaan did not move.
The world stopped.
Sound stretched and warped. His mother's scream echoed endlessly, frozen mid-motion. The creature hung suspended in the air, claws inches from his face.
Light erupted.
Blinding. Absolute.
A scream—inhuman—tore through the silence.
---
Orivaan woke to sunlight.
For a moment, he didn't move. The warmth felt wrong—too gentle for what he remembered. His chest rose and fell too fast.
"What… happened?" he whispered.
"He's awake!"
His mother rushed into the room, skirts gathered in shaking hands, dark hair loose from a night without rest. She dropped to her knees beside the bed and pulled him into her arms with a strength that surprised him.
"All that matters is you're safe," she said, voice breaking. "That's all that matters, Rivaana."
A moment later, heavier footsteps followed.
A guard stood near the doorway, broad-shouldered, beard braided tight, an axe resting against his leg as if it weighed nothing. Beside him was a woman in pale robes, her hood lowered just enough to reveal calm, watchful eyes.
She approached slowly.
"May I?" she asked gently.
Orivaan nodded.
Her hands were warm as she examined him—checking pupils, pulse, the faint lines of his wrists and neck. She murmured softly as she worked, words meant as much to soothe as to assess.
"No fractures," she said.
"No tearing."
"No lingering shadow."
She paused.
Her fingers lingered at his temple a fraction longer than necessary.
"…No corruption."
His mother exhaled sharply.
"He should be exhausted," the healer continued carefully. "Disoriented. At the very least."
She met the woman's eyes.
"But he isn't."
"What does that mean?" his mother asked.
The healer hesitated.
"It means your son is remarkably fortunate."
She turned back to Orivaan and smiled.
"You did very well," she told him. "Whatever you felt last night… it's over now."
"For now," she added quietly.
They left soon after.
Silence returned.
Orivaan lay back against the pillows, staring at the way sunlight carved long shadows across the floor.
"They moved unnaturally," he murmured.
The shadows moved.
They peeled away from the walls, pooling at the center of the room. They rose—stretching, shaping—until a man stood before him, tall and indistinct, a silhouette given form.
"Voice?" Orivaan demanded.
"Yes," it replied calmly. "This is easier."
"You lured them."
A pause.
"…Partly," the figure admitted. "They were coming regardless."
Silence.
"…Apologies," it added.
"What did you do to it?" Orivaan asked.
"Erased," the shadow said lightly. "With Light. And time."
Orivaan's breath caught.
"Time… magic?"
"Yes."
"You never told me your name."
The shadow hesitated.
"…Valador."