Chapter 1: Whispers in the ShaowsThe city of Eryndral never slept. Beneath the twin moons that bathed the towering spires in a pale, ethereal glow, its labyrinthine alleys teemed with life—and danger. Merchants hawked stolen wares under flickering lanterns, drunken revelers staggered through cobbled streets, and thieves melted into the shadows, waiting for their moment to strike.
Roy Draven watched it all from the rooftops, perched like a gargoyle above the chaos. The wind tugged at his dark cloak, carrying with it the stench of sweat, smoke, and rotting refuse. His mismatched blades—one curved like a crescent moon, the other straight as an executioner's judgment—hung at his sides, their weight a familiar comfort.
Tonight wasn't about comfort, though. It was about answers.
Roy narrowed his eyes, tracking the figure below. The man moved with the nervous energy of someone who knew he was being followed, his head snapping to every shadow as if it might leap out and swallow him whole. He was right to be afraid. Roy was the shadow that swallowed men whole.
The hunter slipped silently from one rooftop to the next, his boots whispering against the tiles. Years of practice had made him a ghost in the night, a predator unseen until it was too late. His prey—a portly merchant named Varik—had made the mistake of selling secrets to the wrong people. People who now wanted those secrets erased, along with the man who carried them.
Roy didn't much care for the politics of it. The Blackspire Consortium had paid him well, and that was enough.
Varik turned down a narrow alley, his pace quickening. Roy grinned. Rats always ran to their holes when cornered. He leapt down from the rooftop, landing soundlessly in the alley behind the merchant. The shadows seemed to writhe and twist around him, bending to his will as he stepped forward.
"Varik," Roy called, his voice low and sharp. "You've run far enough."
The merchant froze, his pudgy fingers clutching at the satchel slung over his shoulder. Slowly, he turned, his face pale and glistening with sweat. "P-please," he stammered, "I… I'll pay you double what they offered. Triple! Just let me go!"
Roy tilted his head, feigning consideration. "Tempting," he said, his voice like silk over steel. "But I've got a reputation to uphold."
Varik's eyes darted to the shadows behind Roy, searching for an escape that didn't exist. "Y-you don't understand," he said, his voice rising in desperation. "They'll kill me! My family!"
"And you think I won't?" Roy stepped closer, his shadow stretching unnaturally across the cobblestones. Varik stumbled back, his foot catching on a loose stone. He fell hard, his satchel spilling open to reveal a tangle of papers and gleaming trinkets.
One trinket in particular caught Roy's eye: a small, obsidian disk etched with intricate runes that seemed to pulse with a faint, malevolent light. He frowned. "What's this?"
Varik's face went white as ash. "N-nothing! Just a trinket, I swear!"
Roy wasn't buying it. He crouched down, picking up the disk. The moment his fingers closed around it, a jolt of cold shot up his arm, as if the shadows themselves had reached out to greet him. He suppressed a shiver, turning the disk over in his hand. The runes seemed to shift and writhe, as if alive.
"Where did you get this?" Roy demanded, his voice low and dangerous.
Varik shook his head frantically. "I-I don't know! It was just… just part of a shipment! Please, you have to believe me!"
Roy's eyes narrowed. The man was lying, but fear had a way of muddying the truth. He stood, pocketing the disk. "You've got one chance, Varik. Tell me what I need to know, and I'll make it quick."
"I… I can't!" Varik sobbed, tears streaming down his face. "They'll—"
A sharp whistle split the air, and Roy's instincts screamed a warning. He spun just in time to see a bolt hurtling toward him. The shadows surged, coiling around him like a living shield. The bolt struck the darkness and disintegrated, but the force of it sent Roy staggering back.
"Damn it," he muttered, his eyes scanning the rooftops. A figure stood silhouetted against the moonlight, a crossbow in hand. Their face was obscured by a mask, but Roy didn't need to see it to know they weren't here to help.
Varik took the opportunity to scramble to his feet and run, his sobs echoing down the alley. Roy cursed and drew his blades, the steel glinting faintly in the moonlight. The masked figure didn't move, their stance calm and calculated.
"Who sent you?" Roy called, his voice cutting through the night.
The figure didn't answer. Instead, they raised the crossbow again, aiming for his heart. Roy didn't wait to see if they'd miss a second time. He moved, faster than most eyes could follow, the shadows propelling him forward like a wraith.
The bolt fired, but Roy was already gone, melting into the darkness. He reappeared behind the figure, his curved blade flashing toward their throat. They twisted at the last moment, parrying with a dagger that seemed to shimmer with an otherworldly light.
The clash of steel echoed through the alley as they traded blows, shadows and moonlight weaving a deadly dance around them. Whoever they were, they were good—better than most Roy had faced. But he wasn't about to lose to some masked assassin.
Roy feinted left, then struck right, his blade slicing through the strap of their crossbow. The weapon clattered to the ground, but the figure didn't falter. They pressed the attack, their dagger slashing toward his ribs.
Roy sidestepped, his straight blade darting out to catch their wrist. With a twist, he disarmed them, the dagger spinning away into the shadows. He grabbed the front of their cloak, slamming them against the wall.
"Talk," he growled, his blade pressed to their throat. "Who sent you?"
The figure's masked face tilted up to meet his, and for a moment, Roy thought he saw a flicker of amusement in their eyes. Then they spoke, their voice calm and cold.
"You should have left the disk where you found it."
Before Roy could respond, the figure dissolved into smoke, slipping through his fingers like water. He cursed, stepping back as the smoke coiled into the night and vanished.
The alley fell silent, save for the distant hum of the city. Roy sheathed his blades, his mind racing. The disk in his pocket felt heavier than it should, its runes pulsing faintly against his leg.
Whatever he'd stumbled into, it was bigger than some merchant's stolen secrets. And if the shadows were whispering true, it was only the beginning.