The road to Ravengrim was lined with the husks of dead trees, their skeletal branches reaching toward a sky that had long forgotten the sun. Beneath Kael Varyn's boots, frost crunched like brittle bones, a hollow sound in the vast, lifeless silence. His tattered cloak hung heavy with dirt and blood, doing little to keep the biting chill from his skin.

Kael had walked roads like this many times before. Each one led to another dying village, another hopeless battle. Yet he pressed on, bound by the oath that chained him to this cursed path—a knight's promise, hollow as the world it tried to protect.

Ahead, the dim glow of torches marked the outskirts of Ravengrim. It was a forgotten place, perched at the edge of the Shade of Dread, where the lingering corruption of Nithralis warped both land and mind. Few dared to live there, and fewer still survived.

As Kael approached, a watchman stepped into view, a rusted spear in hand. The man's gaunt face was barely visible beneath a threadbare hood, his eyes sunken with exhaustion.

"Halt," the watchman croaked. "Who goes there?"

Kael stopped, the faint light catching the worn sigil on his chest plate—a wolf's head, the mark of a knight long abandoned by the kingdom it served.

"A wanderer," Kael replied, his voice low. "I need food and shelter."

The watchman's gaze hardened as he noticed the sword at Kael's side and the battered armor that spoke of countless battles. "We don't trust knights here. Move along."

Kael reached into his pouch and tossed a small coin purse onto the ground. The man hesitated, then scooped it up with a trembling hand.

"Fine," the watchman muttered, stepping aside. "But don't bring your trouble with you."

Trouble. The word lingered in Kael's mind as he passed through the crumbling gates. Trouble followed him wherever he went, whether he sought it or not.

The village was barely alive. Houses leaned against one another like drunkards, their walls patched with rotting wood and rags. Smoke curled weakly from chimneys, carrying the acrid stench of burning trash. A few villagers moved in the shadows, their faces hollow and pale.

Kael tethered his horse outside the inn, a sagging building that looked ready to collapse. Inside, the air was thick with the smell of damp wood and stale beer. The innkeeper, a stout woman with a permanent scowl, regarded him with wary eyes.

"Food. A room," Kael said, placing coins on the counter.

The woman swept them into her hand without a word and gestured to a corner table. Kael sat, his back to the wall, and pulled his cloak tighter around himself.

The whispers began almost immediately.

"Do you hear them crying, Kael? The ones you swore to protect?"

Kael closed his eyes, his hands clenching into fists beneath the table. He had learned to endure the voices, but tonight they felt louder, more insistent.

"Another cursed knight," came a voice from across the room.

Kael's eyes snapped open. A figure sat in the shadows at the far end of the inn, their face obscured by a dark hood.

"You carry them with you, don't you?" the figure said, their voice soft and mocking. "The weight of all those broken promises."

Kael's hand drifted to the hilt of his sword. "Who are you?"

The figure chuckled and rose, pulling back their hood. A woman with striking features and dark, wavy hair stepped into the light. Her eyes glowed faintly—a sign of magic, dangerous and untrustworthy.

"Just a traveler," she said, sliding into the seat across from him. "Like you. Though I doubt your path has been as… quiet as mine."

Kael glared at her. "What do you want?"

"To warn you," she said, her tone shifting to seriousness. "Something is coming for this village. Something far worse than you."

Before Kael could respond, a scream tore through the night.

Kael was on his feet in an instant, his sword drawn as he burst through the inn's door. Villagers were fleeing toward the square, their terrified cries echoing in the dark.

In the distance, a shadow moved—massive and lumbering, its shape barely discernible in the faint torchlight.

"It's a Nightborn," the woman said, stepping beside him.

Kael had faced Nightborn before—beings warped by the Nithralis corruption. Once human, they had become monstrous, their bodies twisted into grotesque shapes and their minds consumed by madness.

The creature stepped into view, and Kael's grip tightened on his sword. It stood at least ten feet tall, its flesh riddled with jagged bones that jutted out like spikes. Its glowing red eyes burned with malice, and its claws scraped against the ground, leaving deep gouges in the dirt.

The woman began to chant, her hands glowing with arcane energy.

Kael didn't wait. He charged, his blade flashing as he swung at the creature's torso. The strike landed, cutting deep, but the beast barely flinched. It lashed out with a massive claw, and Kael barely managed to duck, the strike tearing through the inn's wooden door.

"Keep it busy!" the woman shouted.

Kael gritted his teeth and darted around the beast, landing quick strikes wherever he could. The whispers in his mind grew louder, feeding off the chaos.

"Kill it. Tear it apart. That's all you're good for, isn't it?"

He ignored them, focusing on the fight.

The woman unleashed a bolt of energy, striking the beast in the chest. It roared, stumbling back as Kael drove his blade into its neck. The creature thrashed, its claws raking against his armor, but he held firm, twisting the sword until the beast let out a final, guttural roar and collapsed into a heap.

Kael staggered back, breathing heavily. The whispers in his mind were deafening now, a cacophony of screams and laughter.

"You fight well," the woman said, brushing ash from her cloak.

Kael glared at her. "Who are you, really?"

She hesitated, then sighed. "My name is Sylara. I'm searching for someone—a sorcerer who calls himself Nightshade."

Kael froze. He had heard the name before—a mage who had fully embraced the Nithralis corruption, leaving destruction in his wake.

"If he's here, this village won't survive long," Sylara continued. "We need to find him before it's too late."

Kael's grip tightened on his sword. He had no love for Ravengrim or its people, but he couldn't ignore the threat.

"Then we kill him," he said.

Sylara smiled faintly. "It won't be that simple."

"It never is," Kael muttered.

As dawn approached, Kael and Sylara prepared to leave. The villagers, though grateful, kept their distance, their fear of Kael outweighing any gratitude they might have felt.

The road ahead led deeper into the Shade of Dread, where even darker dangers awaited. But Kael had made an oath long ago—one he could never break, no matter how hollow it had become.

Unseen by either of them, a pair of crimson eyes watched from the shadows, a low, guttural laugh echoing in the distance.

End of Chapter 1