Prologue: The Birth of Shadows

A thick fog draped over the Augustine estate, the sprawling grounds swallowed in a veil of silver mist. Moonlight trickled through the haze, casting long shadows against the high walls of the mansion. Inside, an unsettling stillness filled the air—a stillness that had lingered ever since she returned.

Evangeline Augustine—known only as Eve to the few bold enough to speak her name—stood near the window, her silhouette framed by the dim glow of moonlight. Her presence, as always, commanded the space, an otherworldly aura that sent even the most hardened souls into uneasy silence. Tonight, that aura was magnified, swelling within the room as if reality itself bent to her will.

In her arms, she held the child—her child. Argus Augustine. The room was vast, yet the moment was small, intimate even. Her touch was gentle, almost tender, as she cradled the boy, but there was something sharp in her gaze, something possessive.

The servants dared not enter, though many lingered outside, half-hidden in the shadows, waiting for some sign of what was to come. For seven years, the estate had been empty of life, void of warmth, save for her chilling presence. But now there was him—the son of Eve, the heir to the Augustine name.

The house had once been alive with activity. When Darius had married his second wife, the estate had been filled with laughter, the sounds of children's games, and the voices of guests who had come to witness the grandeur of a powerful family. But that had changed the night Eve returned. Her mere presence had drained the life from the walls, sending Darius's guests scattering and silencing the laughter for good.

From the darkened corner of the room, a soft creak signaled the arrival of another figure. Darius Augustine, his face lined with the weight of years and regret, stepped into the faint light. His eyes lingered on Eve and the child for only a moment before shifting away, as if even looking at her too long might burn him.

"You've kept him close," Darius muttered, his voice thick with an emotion he did not dare name. His hands twitched at his sides, caught between wanting to approach and knowing he could not.

Evangeline did not turn. Her silver hair shimmered under the moonlight, a cascade of silken strands that framed her perfect, cold features. "He's mine," she said, her voice soft but absolute. There was no room for negotiation in those two words.

Darius let out a quiet breath. "I'm his father," he murmured, almost to himself, as if trying to convince the room more than anyone else. "I should—"

"You should nothing, Darius." Her words cut the air, sharp and unyielding. "Do not delude yourself into thinking your role means anything here."

Darius's jaw tightened, his gaze falling to the floor, knowing the futility of protest. He had long since lost any claim to authority in this house. It was Eve's realm now, and by extension, the boy's. His eyes darted to the small child, already asleep in his mother's arms, blissfully unaware of the weight he carried simply by being born.

His thoughts drifted, not to fond memories but to darker times—before Eve's return had shattered his fragile hold on the estate. His second wife, ambitious and sharp-tongued, had maneuvered her way into the Augustine family with a clear goal: her son would be the heir. She had been relentless in her pursuit, pushing Darius to name her son the successor to the Augustine legacy, and he had almost succumbed to her demands.

But then Eve had come back.

The moment Evangeline had stepped into the estate again, everything changed. His second wife had dared to push her agenda, thinking she could contend with Eve's power. The result had been swift and brutal. In a single night, Evangeline ended both the woman and her ambitions without so much as a flicker of emotion. She had made it clear that no one, least of all a second wife, would name an heir to the Augustine line.

Since that night, Darius had known he held no true power in his own home. He was nothing but a shadow, while Evangeline ruled with an iron grip, and Argus, her son, would be the only heir to bear the Augustine name.

Darius stood there, the weight of his insignificance pressing on him, his mind replaying the cold indifference of Evangeline that had erased his wife from existence. He had tried to act in his own interests, but Eve had made it clear—this was her world now.

Darius shifted slightly, his eyes falling to the boy. "And his future?" His voice was strained, the weight of knowing Evangeline would mold Argus's destiny far beyond his reach gnawing at him. He had no say in the boy's upbringing—Eve had ensured that.

Evangeline didn't even glance at him. "His future is mine to decide," she replied, her voice as cold as ever. "And when the time comes, you will have no part in it."

There was nothing left for him to say. Darius had been rendered irrelevant, and he knew it.

As the door closed behind him, the room seemed to grow colder, the silence thickening once more. Evangeline's eyes softened as she looked down at the child, her fingers brushing lightly against his cheek. She was always cold, distant even—but with him, there was warmth, a fierce devotion that bordered on obsession.

Her son.

The boy stirred slightly, his tiny hand grasping weakly at the fabric of her dress. Eve's lips curved into a smile, though it held no warmth—only possessiveness. Argus was hers, utterly and completely, and nothing in this world, or any other, would take him away from her.

From the shadows, something stirred, an energy older than the stars themselves. It hummed beneath the surface, invisible to the eye but palpable to those who understood such things. It was the void—Argus's birthright. The void sensed him even now, though he was barely more than a newborn. One day, it would awaken in him fully, and when it did, the world would tremble.

But not yet. For now, he was only a child. Her child.

Outside, the fog thickened, cloaking the estate in a deeper veil of mystery. The world beyond could wait. Argus's destiny was not written in the stars, not bound by the whims of fate. He would carve his own path, shaped by his own power, his own will. And Eve would see to it that no force, no challenge, could divert him from that path.

In the distance, thunder rumbled—a low, ominous sound that reverberated through the fog. It was a sign, perhaps, of what was to come. But for now, within the walls of the Augustine estate, all was still. And in the stillness, the shadow of a young boy began to grow.