The night sky was shattered.

Fractures ran through it like a broken mirror, jagged edges glimmering faintly in the dark. From these fractures poured a faint, silvery mist that drifted down to the streets below, pooling like smoke around the cracked stones of the slums. Aeon Solis ducked under a crooked archway, pulling his threadbare hood tighter around his face.

The fractures had been spreading for weeks now, whispering tales of trouble on the horizon. To Aeon, it was just another reason to keep his head low and his knife close.

He crouched in the shadow of an old ruin, eyes flicking across the marketplace in front of him. It wasn't much of a market—just a few tattered stalls set up under the flickering light of hanging lanterns. Merchants hawked their wares, scraps salvaged from the Hollow Vale's incursions into reality.

Aeon wasn't here to buy.

He spotted his mark almost immediately: a burly trader leaning heavily on his stall, his weathered hands glittering with golden rings. Aeon's lips curved into a faint smirk. Rings meant wealth, and wealth meant survival in this hellscape of a world.

"Keep it quiet. Keep it clean," Aeon muttered under his breath. The mantra calmed him as he slid into the crowd.

His movements were precise, calculated. He ducked between clusters of people, letting his small frame disappear into the shifting mass of bodies. He moved with the ease of a predator, his fingers brushing lightly against the trader's pockets. One quick swipe and—

"Gotcha."

A hand like a steel vice closed around his wrist. Aeon froze, his heart skipping a beat.

The trader's eyes bore into him, cold and calculating. "A thief, huh?"

Aeon's mind raced. He could see the knife strapped to the man's belt, the calloused fingers twitching toward it. He pulled hard, trying to twist free, but the trader's grip was unrelenting.

"Should've picked an easier target," the trader growled.

Before Aeon could reply, the air around them seemed to shift. A deep, guttural hum filled the marketplace, sending shivers down Aeon's spine. The fractures in the sky began to pulse, the mist swirling faster as if caught in an invisible storm.

"Oh, no," someone whispered nearby. "The Vale's bleeding through again."

The trader's grip loosened just enough for Aeon to break free. He didn't wait. He darted back into the crowd, weaving through the panicked chaos as the humming grew louder.

He had barely made it to the edge of the marketplace when the ground cracked beneath him.

The world tilted.

Aeon fell hard, the breath knocked from his lungs as darkness swallowed everything.

When Aeon came to, the world was… wrong.

He pushed himself to his feet, his hands sinking into ash and dust. The sky above him was a churning mass of black and gray, no stars, no fractures—just an endless void. The air was heavy, thick with the metallic tang of blood.

He wasn't in the slums anymore.

"The Hollow Vale," he whispered, dread settling like a stone in his stomach.

The stories were true. The Vale wasn't just some abstract dimension bleeding into reality—it was a place, a twisted mirror of the world he knew. And now, it had claimed him.

Aeon turned in a slow circle, taking in his surroundings. Jagged cliffs loomed in the distance, their edges sharp as broken glass. The ground beneath him was barren, cracked like dried skin.

Then he saw it: a figure standing motionless in the haze.

It was tall and skeletal, its limbs too long, its head tilted at an unnatural angle. Its eyes—if they were eyes—glowed faintly, twin orbs of sickly green light.

Aeon's pulse quickened. He had no weapon, no Mark like the stories described. He was nothing here.

The creature moved, its steps slow and deliberate, its head twitching as if it were studying him.

"Think," Aeon muttered. "Think, damn it."

His hands scrambled over the ground, searching for anything he could use. A rock, a shard of glass—anything. But the Vale was barren, offering no salvation.

The creature lunged.

Aeon rolled to the side, the movement instinctive. He felt the air ripple as the creature's claws raked past him, tearing through the ground where he had been moments before.

He scrambled to his feet, running blindly through the haze. His breaths came in ragged gasps, his legs burning with every step. The creature's footsteps thundered behind him, closing the distance with terrifying speed.

A sharp pain exploded in his side as the creature's claws caught him, sending him sprawling. Blood dripped onto the cracked ground beneath him.

This was it. He was going to die.

"No," Aeon hissed, forcing himself to his knees. "Not like this."

Something inside him stirred, a faint warmth spreading through his chest.

The ground trembled.

Aeon looked up, his vision blurring as a dark shape emerged from the haze. It was a chain, massive and glistening like oil, its links writhing as if alive. It coiled around the creature in an instant, dragging it back with a force that made the ground quake.

The creature thrashed, its claws raking against the chain, but it couldn't break free.

Aeon stared, his breath catching in his throat. The chain… it was coming from him.

"What the—"

The chain pulsed, sending a wave of energy through Aeon's body. He felt stronger, sharper, his mind clearer than it had ever been. The pain in his side faded as if it had never existed.

The chain tightened around the creature, and with a final, bone-snapping crunch, it went still.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Aeon stared at the chain, now slack and coiled at his feet. It shimmered faintly before sinking into his skin, leaving behind a faint, black mark on his arm—a tattoo of interlocking links.

"What is this?" he whispered, his voice trembling.

The answer came in a voice that wasn't his own, a deep, resonant tone that echoed in his mind.

"𝒲𝑒 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝒷𝑜𝓊𝓃𝒹, 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝐼. 𝒯𝒽𝓇𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽 𝑒𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓉𝓎 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓈𝒽𝒶𝒹𝑜𝓌."

Aeon swallowed hard. The voice wasn't comforting—it was cold, ancient, and full of something he couldn't quite name.

He looked around the Vale, his gaze hardening. He didn't know what had just happened, but he wasn't about to waste this second chance.

"Alright," he said, his voice steadier now. "Let's see what you've got."

The chains shimmered faintly in response, and for the first time, Aeon felt a glimmer of hope.

He wasn't just a thief anymore.

He was Marked.

And in the Hollow Vale, that meant he might just have a fighting chance.

[Hey everyone,author here if you haven't realised already,this story is similar to shadow slave at least the start of it.This doesn't mean that I don't have any creativity but rather I'm inspired by Shadow Slave and I'd to make something similar but way different at the same.If you think the story is promising you can help me by either adding it to your library,power stones or reviews]

Thanks everyone for reading!