Kael's boots pounded against the cobblestones as he fled, the satchel slamming against his side with every step. The rooftops had been his sanctuary, but now the streets were his only escape. The shadows from the massacre on the rooftop still lingered in his mind, coiling like serpents, their screams echoing in his ears.
It wasn't me, he told himself, gripping the satchel tighter. It was them. The shadows.
But he knew better. They may have acted on their own, but it was his fear, his rage, that had given them life. That much he couldn't deny.
The alley ahead twisted into darkness, the faint glow of Essentia lamps barely reaching its corners. Kael ducked into it, pressing his back against the wall and trying to steady his breath. He could still feel the shadows stirring, an unnatural chill creeping up his spine, as though they were waiting for him to call on them again.
"No," he whispered under his breath. "Not this time."
He forced the thoughts aside, focusing on his surroundings. The streets of Eryndel were alive even at this hour, the faint murmur of distant voices mixing with the clang of metal and the crackling of fires. The city never slept—especially not in the slums. Here, the law had no hold, and even the Lunaris Elite were wary of stepping too far into its depths.
Kael moved cautiously, keeping to the shadows. He pulled his hood lower, the coarse fabric scratching against his face. His fingers brushed the satchel, feeling the faint hum of the crystal inside. It was warm now, its pulsing energy steady, almost as if it were alive. He didn't know why he had stolen it, only that he couldn't let the Crown have it.
And now I've killed for it.
The thought hit him like a punch to the gut. His breathing quickened, the image of the twisted bodies flashing through his mind. He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms as he fought the rising nausea.
"You look like you've seen a ghost," a voice drawled behind him.
Kael spun, his heart leaping into his throat. A figure stepped from the shadows, cloaked in black and gold, his face obscured by a deep hood. The faint glint of steel at his side betrayed the presence of a blade.
"Relax," the man said, raising his hands in mock surrender. "If I wanted to kill you, I'd have done it already."
Kael didn't lower his guard. "Who are you?" he demanded, his voice harsher than he intended.
The man chuckled, his voice smooth and infuriatingly calm. "A friend. Or an enemy. That depends on you."
Kael's fingers twitched toward the satchel. "I'm not in the mood for games."
"Neither am I." The man stepped closer, and Kael caught a glimpse of his face—a sharp jawline, pale skin, and eyes the color of molten gold. There was something unnervingly familiar about him, though Kael couldn't place it.
"You've caused quite a mess tonight, Stormcloak," the man said, his gaze flicking briefly to the satchel. "The Crown doesn't take kindly to Wielders, especially ones with… your talents."
Kael stiffened. "How do you know my name?"
"I know a lot of things," the man replied, a smirk playing at his lips. "Like the fact that the crystal you're carrying isn't just a trinket. It's a key. And if you're smart, you'll use it before they find you."
Kael's eyes narrowed. "A key to what?"
The man tilted his head, his expression unreadable. "That depends. Do you want revenge? Power? Or just a chance to stop running?"
Kael hesitated. He didn't trust this man, but the words struck a nerve. For years, he had been running—hiding from the Crown, from his past, from himself. And now he was standing in an alley with blood on his hands and a crystal that hummed with secrets he didn't understand.
The man stepped closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "The shadows aren't your enemy, Stormcloak. They're your weapon. Learn to wield them, or they'll consume you."
Kael's grip on the satchel tightened. "Why should I trust you?"
"You shouldn't," the man said with a shrug. "But you'll need someone to watch your back if you want to survive. And I happen to be very good at that."
Before Kael could respond, the distant sound of armored boots reached his ears. The Lunaris Elite were closing in, their torches casting flickering light against the walls of the alley.
The man's smirk widened. "Looks like your friends are here. Time to decide, Stormcloak. Do you want to keep running, or do you want to fight back?"
Kael hesitated, his mind racing. The shadows stirred around him, their chill seeping into his bones. The voice in his head whispered again, soft and coaxing. You can end this. All you have to do is let go.
"I—"
The man didn't wait for his answer. He grabbed Kael by the arm and pulled him deeper into the alley, toward a hidden door Kael hadn't noticed before. He pushed it open, revealing a staircase spiraling downward into darkness.
"This way," the man said, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Kael glanced over his shoulder. The torches were getting closer, the voices of the enforcers sharp and angry. He clenched his jaw and followed the man into the shadows, the door slamming shut behind them.