The shack was silent, save for the faint rustle of the wind slipping through the cracks in the walls. Valen sat cross-legged on the cold floor, his gaze fixed on his hand. Tendrils of shadow writhed around his fingers, faint but unmistakable, like living threads pulled from the void.
The power felt alien, yet familiar, as though it had always been a part of him, waiting for the right moment to awaken. His chest tightened with a mix of fear and exhilaration. Two nights ago, he'd stumbled into the ancient ruins beneath the city, desperate and broken, and walked out with this gift—or curse.
"Dark magic…" Joran's voice broke the silence, thick with unease.
Valen didn't look up. "Afraid?"
The older man hesitated. "You should be. That kind of power... it always comes with a price."
Valen smirked, flexing his fingers. The shadows coiled tighter, responding to his thoughts. "Everything comes with a price, Joran. The question is whether you're willing to pay it."
Joran crossed his arms, leaning against the wall. "And what did you pay?"
For a moment, Valen's expression darkened. He remembered the whispers in the ruins, the chilling sensation of something vast and unfathomable brushing against his mind. The words it had spoken were seared into his memory: "Power demands sacrifice. Your heart, your soul, your humanity—they are all mine to claim."
But he hadn't hesitated. There was nothing left to lose.
"Enough," Valen said, his tone sharp. He pushed himself to his feet, the shadows retreating into his skin. "What matters is that I have it now. And I'll use it to take back everything they stole from me."
Joran shook his head. "Magic or no magic, you're still one man against the lords of Corvin. You can't fight them alone."
"I won't," Valen said simply. He walked to the table and spread out the crude map Joran had brought him. His finger traced the city's layout, pausing over the district controlled by Trask's gang.
"They're thugs, Valen," Joran said, following his gaze. "Barely better than animals."
"And that's why they'll be useful," Valen replied, his voice cold and calculating. "Trask has numbers, influence in the streets. He's a piece on the board I can use."
Joran frowned. "You think he'll just follow you because you can make shadows dance?"
"No," Valen said, his lips curling into a dangerous smile. "He'll follow me because I'll leave him no choice."
The streets of the lower district reeked of filth and desperation. Valen moved through the shadows, his tattered cloak blending into the darkness. Joran had stayed behind, muttering something about not wanting to watch a fool's errand.
Ahead, the dim glow of a tavern spilled into the street. The Rusty Pike—Trask's territory.
Valen pushed open the door, stepping into the haze of smoke and stale ale. The room fell silent as heads turned, eyes narrowing at the sight of the stranger.
A hulking man near the bar rose to his feet, his scarred face twisting into a sneer. "You're in the wrong place, boy."
Valen met his gaze without flinching. "I'm here to see Trask."
The room erupted in laughter, rough and mocking. The scarred man took a step closer. "You don't just see Trask. You crawl, beg, and maybe—if you're lucky—he lets you live."
Valen's expression didn't change. "Then take me to him, or I'll show you why luck has nothing to do with it."
The man's sneer faltered, his eyes flicking to the faint tendrils of shadow curling around Valen's hands. The laughter died, replaced by a tense, uneasy silence.
A door at the back creaked open, and a man stepped out. He was tall and wiry, with a face that seemed perpetually amused, as if the world were a joke only he understood.
"Enough, Brag," the man said, his voice smooth and commanding. "Let the boy speak."
Trask.
Valen inclined his head slightly. "I have an offer for you."
Trask raised an eyebrow, leaning against the doorframe. "Do you now? And what makes you think I'd be interested?"
"Because I can give you what no one else can," Valen said, stepping forward. The shadows around him grew darker, more tangible, pooling at his feet like ink. "Power. Fear. Control."
Trask's smirk widened. "Bold words. But words don't mean much in this business."
Valen held his gaze, then extended his hand. The shadows surged forward, wrapping around Brag's legs and lifting him off the ground. The scarred man thrashed, cursing, but the shadows held firm, tightening until he choked.
The room erupted in chaos, chairs scraping and weapons drawn, but Trask held up a hand. "Enough!"
The gang froze, watching as Valen released Brag, letting him collapse to the floor in a gasping heap.
Trask's eyes gleamed with interest. "You've got my attention, boy. Speak."
Valen smiled, cold and predatory. "I don't want your territory, your men, or your gold. I want an alliance. You keep your throne, but you answer to me. In return, I'll give you the power to crush anyone who stands in your way."
Trask studied him for a long moment, then chuckled. "You've got guts, I'll give you that. But guts only get you so far."
"They'll get me far enough," Valen said, his voice like steel. "You'll see. This is just the beginning."