The city was buzzing with fear, the events of the previous night having cast a dark, oppressive cloud over the people. Silas knew well the panic that followed such chaos, and he thrived in it. He had heard the whispers, the frantic talk of a demon rampaging through the noble circles, but he alone knew the truth behind the massacre.
It was no demon.
As he walked, his mind briefly replayed the night's events—the blood, the screams, the swift, merciless destruction. The Void had worked through him and the creature he had gifted to the boy. That young fool, so desperate for power, had unleashed something far beyond his control, and now, the city reeled in the aftermath.
It was all part of the plan, of course. Silas had foreseen the outcome, the inevitable death of both the boy and the creature he had so recklessly wielded. The chaos was merely a ripple in the grand design of the Void—a small but effective move to stir the empire into a state of heightened vigilance. Fear was a powerful weapon, one that Silas wielded with precision.
As he continued his walk, the smirk on his face widened ever so slightly. The whispers of demons and monsters were exactly what he wanted. The city, the empire itself, would be on guard now, more susceptible to the Void's influence. Panic made people desperate, and desperation often led them to places they would never have ventured before.
Silas allowed the sound of the fearful murmurs and the heavy steps of the guards to fade into the background, his thoughts already turning to the next phase of his mission. The seeds of doubt and fear had been planted, and soon they would blossom into something far more dangerous. For now, though, he would let the city stew in its own terror, watching from the shadows as the empire unknowingly moved closer to the Void's embrace.
His mind briefly flickered back to the woman's words from the night before, her promise of a reward from the Void. The thought of it stirred something dark and restless within him. His request had been bold, but necessary. Dragon transformation and Void magic—gifts that would put him far beyond the reach of ordinary men. And three years to wield such power? It was more than enough time.
"Soon," he whispered to himself, his voice barely audible over the din of the city.
With that, Silas disappeared into the winding streets, a phantom in the heart of a city gripped by fear, his mind already plotting the next steps of his dark and intricate game.
Silas moved with calculated steps, his long black cloak brushing against the damp cobblestones as he entered a narrow, shadowed alley. The dark alleyway was barely lit, with only the faintest slivers of moonlight peeking through the cracks in the high stone walls. The smell of rot and stagnant water lingered in the air, but Silas paid it no mind. His teal eyes, glowing faintly in the darkness, scanned his surroundings with quiet intensity. He stopped midway through the alley, his back to the street, and stood perfectly still as if waiting for something—or someone.
Without turning, Silas spoke softly, his voice barely a whisper, yet it cut through the silence like a blade.
"What was the answer?"
For a moment, there was no response, only the sound of the night's breeze stirring bits of loose debris around his feet. The silence stretched thin, almost suffocating, until finally, the soft creak of movement broke the stillness. A hooded figure emerged from the shadows, stepping cautiously around a stack of weathered wooden crates. Their face was obscured by the hood's deep shadows, but their presence radiated a palpable sense of power.
The figure stopped a few feet from Silas, their form barely illuminated by the faint light.
"He has agreed to your condition… but only for a year," the hooded figure replied, their voice soft, yet eerily familiar—identical to the one Silas had heard in his room the night before. "Your body is too weak to withstand the strain of Void magic for three years. One year is all you'll get."
Silas's expression remained unreadable as the figure continued.
"And, as promised, he will grant you the ability to transform into a dragon for the year. No other dragon, nor any being for that matter, will be able to tell the difference between you and a true dragon."
The figure's words hung in the air, the weight of the offer heavy between them. Silas stood still, absorbing the information, his sharp mind already racing ahead, calculating, strategizing. His teal eyes flickered for a brief moment, betraying a glimmer of satisfaction before returning to their usual calm.
The hooded figure tilted their head slightly, curiosity lacing their voice as they ventured to ask, "I am curious, though. What could you possibly need such power for? This… dragon form and Void magic. What purpose does it serve in your grand scheme?"
Silas turned his head slightly, just enough to glance over his shoulder at the figure. His smile was small, enigmatic, and laced with a quiet, almost dangerous confidence. His answer came smoothly, without hesitation, but it was clear that much remained unsaid.
"I can't tell you too much," Silas replied, his voice low and measured, each word carefully chosen. "But understand this—it is necessary for the next phase of my plan."
His cryptic response only deepened the sense of mystery surrounding his intentions. The figure remained silent for a moment, clearly intrigued, but also wary. Silas's plans, whatever they were, remained veiled in shadow, and it was clear he would reveal no more than what was absolutely necessary.
The figure let out a soft sigh, their voice adopting a tone of quiet resignation. "Fine. I just hope that whatever you're planning is worth the pain you're about to endure."
Before Silas could respond, the figure stepped forward, closing the distance between them in an instant. The movement was so swift it was almost inhuman, and for a brief moment, the air between them seemed to crackle with an otherworldly energy. The figure's hooded face was still concealed, but the presence that loomed before Silas was undeniably powerful, a fragment of the Void itself.
With a smooth, fluid motion, the figure raised their hand and placed their palm gently against Silas's forehead. The touch was cold—icy cold, as if the very essence of the Void flowed through their fingertips. Silas stood perfectly still, his body rigid, though his expression remained calm, even as he felt the first tendrils of Void energy seep into his skin.
A sharp, searing pain followed almost immediately, radiating from his forehead and spreading throughout his entire body. Silas's teeth clenched tightly, but he did not make a sound. The pain was excruciating, like molten fire being poured into his veins, yet it was accompanied by a dark, intoxicating rush of power. He could feel the magic of the Void beginning to take hold, reshaping his very being, bending him to its will.
The hooded figure's voice was soft but carried the weight of something ancient and vast.
"The Void's gift is not freely given, Silas. It will demand much from you in return. This power—both the dragon form and the Void magic—will test your limits. You may not survive it."