The candlelight in the grand chamber of Velmora flickered as shadows stretched and shrank across the gleaming obsidian floor. Queen Lyra stood tall, her crimson cloak trailing behind her, and her golden circlet gleaming beneath the dim chandelier light. Her eyes were distant, locked on the broken figure kneeling before her.
Captain Dalen
His armor was charred, his tabard ripped and blood-soaked. A gash ran down the left side of his face, but it was not the wounds that unsettled the court—it was the haunted look in his eyes.
"He’s not human," , coughing blood into his gauntlet. "Shadebourne... lives."
A silence thick as fog descended over the room.
Lyra's heart pounded. She turned sharply, her voice cold. "Assemble the First Flame Division. Raze the eastern woods. Find him. Kill him."
Dalen struggled to his feet, wobbling. "Your Majesty... he has power beyond our understanding. He... destroyed us with ease."
But Lyra’s fear turned to fury. "Then we send more. He will not haunt Velmora again. Not while I draw breath."
Behind Roan, unseen by all, the shadows beneath his feet writhed briefly—alive.
---
Miles away, deep in the twisting underbelly of the cursed woods known as Dreadhollow Vale, Lucian opened his eyes.
[Shadow Fang Activated – Captain Roan] [Visual Access Established]
The image of Lyra and her trembling captain bloomed within his vision. He saw her anger. He saw her fear. He felt the kingdom trembling beneath the weight of his name.
"Shadebourne," he murmured, the name dripping from his lips like venom.
Behind him, Selene approached, silent as moonlight. Her once-soft features now bore the cold confidence of a predator. Her once-pristine royal gown had been replaced by sleek, enchanted armor formed from the essence of night itself. A black whip coiled at her side, tipped with a fang-shaped blade. Her eyes, now deep violet, burned with unwavering loyalty.
"They’re coming," she said, a small smirk playing on her lips. "Shall we welcome them?"
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Lucian turned. "Tonight, we deliver a message."
Dreadhollow Vale was a labyrinth of death and whispers. Trees blackened by ancient curses creaked with unseen life. The ground oozed shadow with every step. The air was thick, damp, and tasted of iron.
Thirty elite knights of Velmora marched in formation, weapons drawn, torches held high. At their head was Commander Darius, a seasoned warrior whose eyes had seen three wars. Roan was not with them—his body, though alive, had been broken. He remained in the infirmary, twitching in his sleep.
"Eyes sharp," Darius who led the assault warned. "There’s magic here—dark, pulsing. Stay close."
They approached a clearing. A cabin sat in the distance—quaint, quiet.
Too quiet.
Then, the wind stopped.
A whisper slithered through the air.
One of the knights gasped. "What is that... behind—"
Before the sentence finished, his body convulsed. From his shadow erupted a black fang, piercing through his back like a dagger. The knight screamed once—then collapsed.
The shadows came alive.
Lucian stepped from the treeline, his cloak billowing unnaturally. He moved like ink in water. Behind him, Selene emerged, whip in hand, eyes glowing. The knights hesitated at the sight of the former princess.
"Selene?" one breathed. "You’re alive?"
"More than alive," she purred.
She cracked her whip. It extended, curved, and tore through two knights like silk. Their cries echoed through the trees as their shadows burst from them, consumed by the cursed forest.
Lucian raised a single hand. "Bow."
The earth groaned. From the ground erupted figures—Darkspawn, stitched from shadow and bone, soulless and silent. At their center slithered the serpent—Massis, the Deathcoil. Its scales shimmered like oil, its eyes twin pits of void.
Panic set in.
The knights scattered, trying to reform, but Darius held ground. "Hold the line!"
Too late.
Selene vanished and reappeared in flashes, twisting mid-air, her whip coiling around necks and tearing limbs as she danced among the chaos. Her laughter echoed like a war drum.
Lucian moved with devastating precision. A single step—two knights fell. Another—darkness swallowed three more. Every strike from his sword severed more than flesh—it severed hope.
Darius faced him.
“You’re no man... you’re a curse.”
Lucian’s eyes blazed. “Then embrace despair.”
They clashed. Darius’s blade, blessed with divine fire, struck Lucian’s shoulder—but the wound hissed and healed as Massis roared behind him. Lucian drove his hand through the commander’s chest and whispered into his ear:
"I remember your face from the tower gates."
Darius gurgled his last breath.
Only two knights survived.
One dragged himself by his elbow, missing a leg. The other clutched his bleeding arm, sobbing uncontrollably.
Lucian let them crawl.
Selene approached, her face painted with blood and ash. "Why let them live?"
Lucian turned to her, shadows swirling behind his back.
"Because fear is a weapon too. And soon, all of Velmora will tremble before Shadebourne."
They vanished into the mist as the two survivors staggered toward the edge of Dreadhollow Vale.
Behind them, the trees whispered a name—Shadebourne.
And Velmora would never be the same.
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