He felt it first as a tremor beneath his skin.
A ripple. A whisper. A thread of magic tugging at the edge of his awareness like a hand brushing his shoulder in the dark.
The Shadow‑born opened his eyes.
Darkness greeted him — familiar, comforting, alive. The cavern around him pulsed with faint violet light, shadows curling along the stone walls like living ink. He had been resting, half‑merged with the dark, letting the Veilwood's night‑magic replenish him.
But now the shadows were restless.
They shifted. Stirred. Leaned toward him.
Something had changed.
He sat up slowly, the movement fluid, silent. His hair fell over one eye, dark as the space between stars. The shadows clung to him like loyal pets, sliding across his skin, wrapping around his wrists, whispering secrets only he could hear.
"What is it?" he murmured.
The shadows answered with a pulse — sharp, electric, unmistakable.
His mark burned.
He hissed softly, shoving back the sleeve of his tunic. The sigil etched into his forearm — a swirl of black and violet ink shaped like a crescent and a blade — glowed faintly, threads of shadow‑magic weaving through the lines.
It hadn't glowed in years.
Not since the Binding had gone dormant.
Not since the Sovereign line had been declared dead.
He stared at it, breath catching.
"No," he whispered. "That's not possible."
But the mark pulsed again, stronger this time, syncing with a heartbeat that wasn't his.
The shadows around him shivered.
Something — someone — had awakened the Binding.
He rose to his feet, the darkness sliding off him like water. His boots made no sound on the cavern floor. The air tasted different — sharper, sweeter, threaded with something ancient.
He closed his eyes and let the magic speak.
A flicker of fear. A burst of instinct. A heartbeat racing in the dark. A presence unfamiliar yet threaded with something old.
A woman.
A human woman.
And she was glowing.
His lips curved — not a smile, but something close. Something hungry.
"Well," he murmured. "That's interesting."
He stepped forward, and the shadows parted for him, forming a path through the cavern. He didn't need light. He didn't need guidance. The Binding tugged at him like a leash, pulling him toward the surface, toward the forest, toward her.
He moved through the tunnels with effortless grace, the darkness bending around him. He passed through narrow passages, vaulted over jagged stone, slipped through cracks too small for any normal man.
He was not normal.
He was shadow‑born.
And the forest had just whispered a name into his bones.
Not a literal name — not yet — but a presence. A pulse. A spark of magic that didn't belong to any creature he knew.
He reached the surface, stepping into the cool night air. The Veilwood stretched before him, glowing faintly with bioluminescent leaves. The trees rustled, though there was no wind.
The forest was awake.
The forest was watching.
The forest was calling.
He inhaled deeply, letting the scent of moss and magic fill his lungs. The Binding tugged again, sharper this time, pulling him east — toward the boundary.
Toward the Warden.
He smirked.
"Of course he found her first."
Erythos always found things first. Storm‑touched. Boundary‑born. Annoyingly perceptive.
But this time… This time the Binding didn't pull toward Erythos.
It pulled past him.
Through him.
Toward someone else.
Someone new.
Someone glowing.
The shadow‑born's pulse quickened.
He moved.
Not walking. Not running.
Flowing.
The shadows carried him, sliding him between trees, over roots, through patches of darkness so thick they swallowed sound. The forest blurred around him, a smear of silver and violet light.
He felt her before he saw her.
A pulse of magic. A tremor in the air. A warmth beneath his skin that didn't belong to him.
He slowed.
The shadows curled around him, eager, hungry, whispering her presence.
He stepped into the edge of a clearing and stopped.
There — far ahead, barely visible through the trees — he saw movement.
A tall figure in a dark cloak. Silver eyes glowing faintly.
Erythos.
And beside him…
Her.
The girl.
The glowing one.
The one who had woken his mark.
The one who had stirred the Binding.
The one who should not exist.
He leaned against a tree, watching them from the shadows. His mark pulsed again, reacting to her presence. The shadows around him shivered, drawn to her like moths to flame.
She was small compared to Erythos. Soft. Human. Breakable.
But the magic in her…
It hummed.
It glowed.
It called.
He tilted his head, studying her. She moved with uncertainty, her steps hesitant, her shoulders tense. She kept glancing at Erythos like she wasn't sure if he was a threat or a shield.
Smart girl.
Erythos was both.
The shadow‑born's lips curved again.
"Well," he murmured. "Aren't you interesting."
He stepped forward — just enough for the shadows to shift.
Erythos stopped walking.
His head snapped up.
His silver eyes narrowed.
He sensed him.
Of course he did.
The shadow‑born smirked and stepped back into the darkness, letting the forest swallow him whole.
Not yet.
He wasn't ready to reveal himself.
Not until he understood what she was.
Not until he understood why the Binding had woken for her.
Not until he understood why his mark burned like fire every time she breathed.
He melted into the shadows, letting them carry him deeper into the forest.
But as he vanished, he whispered a single word — soft, curious, hungry.
"Sorrel."