Chapter 2: The Awakening of Shadows
A Noble in Chains
Caelum Reinhardt stood at the cracked mirror, his crimson eyes locked onto the flickering shadows at his fingertips. The darkness swirled unnaturally, coiling around his arm like living tendrils before dissipating into the air.
This was Umbra, the ancient magic of his bloodline. A power feared by the empire, cursed by the gods, and nearly erased from history.
A power that now belonged to him.
He flexed his fingers, watching as the black wisps reappeared, dancing between his fingertips like embers in the wind. The sensation was unfamiliar yet instinctual, as if the magic had always been a part of him, merely waiting to be awakened.
But something was missing.
The power felt raw, unstable. It responded to his will, but only in fragments, flickering in and out of existence. If this was the ability that once made the Reinhardts feared, then he had barely scratched the surface.
I need to understand this power. Control it. Master it.
A sudden knock on the heavy wooden door snapped him out of his thoughts.
"My lord," came the voice of Elias, his loyal steward. "You have a visitor."
Caelum frowned. A visitor? That was unexpected. As far as he knew, his exile was absolute—no nobles, no allies, no outsiders were supposed to contact him.
"Who?" he asked, keeping his voice calm.
"A representative of the Imperial Court." Elias hesitated. "He brings an official decree."
The words sent a chill through Caelum's spine. The empire still remembers me.
The Empire's Messenger
Minutes later, Caelum sat in the dimly lit hall of his ruined estate, facing the so-called imperial representative.
The man was clad in black and gold robes, the sigil of the empire embroidered across his chest—a golden phoenix clutching a sword in its talons. His posture was rigid, his expression unreadable.
He was flanked by two imperial knights, their hands resting on the hilts of their swords. A silent warning.
Caelum remained still, his fingers resting lightly on the arm of his chair. He could already tell—this was no friendly visit.
The representative unrolled a parchment and began to read in a clipped, formal tone.
"By decree of His Majesty, Emperor Darius Everhart, the last heir of House Reinhardt is to present himself at the Imperial Capital in one month's time."
A pause.
"Failure to comply will be considered an act of treason."
The room fell silent.
Caelum exhaled slowly, keeping his expression unreadable. The weight of those words settled over him like chains.
This was not an invitation. It was a summons.
The empire hadn't just remembered him—they wanted him back.
And they had made it clear that refusal was not an option.
He met the messenger's gaze, his voice calm but sharp.
"For what purpose does the emperor call upon a forgotten heir?"
The representative's lips thinned. "That is not for me to say. You are expected to comply, my lord."
Of course. The empire never revealed its hand.
But Caelum wasn't a fool. There were only a few reasons the emperor would call him back.
A trap. A test. Or a political game.
If they had wanted him dead, they would have sent an execution order, not a summons. That meant he still had value.
But why now? After all these years?
Caelum leaned back slightly, considering his options. He was not ready to face the imperial court—not yet. His power was still unstable, and his enemies outnumbered his allies.
Yet refusing meant certain death.
He had one month to prepare.
One month to become strong enough to stand in front of the emperor without being crushed.
His fingers curled slightly, and for the first time in years, a slow smirk formed on his lips.
"Very well," he said. "Tell His Majesty that the last Reinhardt will answer his call."
The messenger nodded stiffly, rolling up the decree. Without another word, he turned and exited the hall, his knights following closely behind.
Elias stepped forward as soon as they left, his expression dark with worry.
"My lord, this is dangerous."
"I know."
"Then why agree so easily?"
Caelum's gaze flickered toward the fading shadows at his fingertips.
"Because," he murmured, "this is an opportunity."
He would go to the capital.
But he would not go as a pawn.
He would go as a Reinhardt—and carve his name into history once more.
A Cursed Legacy
That night, Caelum stood in the ruins of his family's once-great training hall. The stone floor was cracked, vines creeping through the broken walls, and shattered weapons lay scattered like remnants of a forgotten war.
This was where the Reinhardts had once trained, where their warriors had honed their deadly craft.
He raised his hand, calling forth the darkness.
The Umbra slithered across his palm, flickering weakly. It was still too unstable, like a blade dulled by time.
He needed to push further.
Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and reached into the power deep within his bloodline.
And then—
Pain.
A sharp, searing agony lanced through his veins, as if his body was being burned from the inside out. His breath hitched, and he staggered, nearly collapsing to his knees.
His mind flashed with visions—fragments of memories not his own.
A battlefield drenched in darkness.
Swords clashing against shadows.
A voice whispering in an ancient tongue.
Then, a single phrase echoed in his mind.
"The abyss does not serve. It devours."
Caelum gasped as the pain subsided, his body trembling from the sheer force of the magic.
This was the curse of his bloodline.
The more he used Umbra, the more it would try to consume him.
His fingers dug into his palm.
Then I'll devour it first.
If the shadows threatened to consume him, then he would bend them to his will instead.
He had one month to master this power.
One month to prove that the last Reinhardt was no weak exile—but a force that even the empire would fear.
As he stood in the ruins of his family's legacy, his crimson eyes burned with newfound determination.
Let the empire summon him.
Let them try to chain him again.
He would shatter their expectations—
And rise once more.