Chapter One: The Shadow of Greyharbor
Marvis detested the rain. Not for its damp chill, nor for the weight it brought to his heavy cloak, but for its unerring ability to summon memories he had fought so hard to bury. Tonight, Greyharbor wept, its narrow cobblestone streets glistening with puddles and its towers obscured by mist.
He pulled his cloak tighter about his shoulders, his fingers brushing the cold iron of the key concealed within his pocket. It was the last remnant of his old life, a fragment of a betrayal that had burned more fiercely than fire. He had fled the court in disgrace three years prior, seeking solace in the shadows of this forgotten city. Yet solace had remained an elusive thing.
The Crimson Anchor, a dim and weathered tavern tucked into the corner of the square, offered a temporary reprieve from the storm. Marvis entered quietly, shaking droplets from his cloak as the scents of wood smoke and ale enveloped him. He took his usual seat near the hearth, allowing the flames to cast their warm light over his pale hands.
He had scarcely begun to relax when a presence disrupted the rhythm of the room.
A man stood at the far end of the bar, his dark coat unbuttoned to reveal the fine cut of his waistcoat beneath. His hair, black as raven feathers, curled slightly at the nape of his neck, and his face was shadowed save for a pair of striking, amber-hued eyes. Eyes that now fixed upon Marvis with a gaze so unrelenting it stole the breath from his chest.
Marvis looked away, his heart quickening. Yet, before he could steady himself, the man began to cross the room, his steps measured and deliberate.
When the stranger stopped before him, he bowed his head slightly, the faintest hint of a smile touching his lips. "You carry a key," he said, his voice low and resonant, "but do you know what it unlocks?"
Marvis tensed, instinctively curling his hand around the pocket where the key lay hidden. "Who are you to ask such a thing?"
The man chuckled softly, a sound that felt both warm and disarming. "A friend, if you would allow it. Or an enemy, should you insist upon making me one."
Marvis's lips tightened. "A man who speaks in riddles is rarely either."
The stranger inclined his head, a spark of amusement in his gaze. "Touché. But allow me this: you are not safe in Greyharbor. Not with that key. Not with what it means."
"And what, pray, does it mean?" Marvis asked, his voice sharper than intended.
The stranger's expression darkened. "It means the flame you have run from will find you. And when it does, it will burn everything you love to ash."
A chill ran through Marvis despite the warmth of the fire. There was an ominous certainty in the man's words, one that made it impossible to dismiss him as a simple drunk or charlatan.
"Tell me your name," Marvis demanded, his voice quiet but firm.
The stranger hesitated, as though weighing whether to share the truth. At last, he inclined his head. "My name is Elias," he said softly. "And whether you like it or not, I am here to help you."
Marvis met his gaze, torn between distrust and the inexplicable pull of curiosity. Elias's presence felt like a storm, as though his arrival heralded a change Marvis could neither predict nor control.
And though his heart whispered warnings, he could not bring himself to turn away.