The air in Nocthaven reeked of damp stone, rotting wood, and the ever-present scent of desperation. The city slithered beneath the ruined bones of the old kingdom, a labyrinth of shadowed alleys, forgotten tunnels, and markets where stolen goods changed hands as quickly as whispered secrets.
A thin crescent moon hung in the sky, barely strong enough to cut through the thick mist curling through the streets. Down in the heart of the underground district, beyond the reach of the Shadow King's enforcers, a game of dice was about to change the course of history.
Eryndor leaned against a broken column, his sharp gray eyes scanning the dimly lit tavern. The Hollow Thorn was packed tonight—mercenaries, smugglers, and those who thrived in the lawless underbelly of the kingdom. A stolen ring gleamed on his finger, and a dagger rested easily at his hip.
The dice clattered across the wooden table, tumbling to a stop.
"Seven," rasped the old gambler across from him, his fingers curling around a pile of gold coins.
Eryndor clicked his tongue, rubbing his jaw as if calculating his next move. He had nothing left to bet—except the one thing he knew he could afford to lose.
His name.
"Double or nothing," he said, sliding a slip of parchment onto the table. "Winner takes it all, plus my debt to the Black Fangs."
The murmurs around the room grew hushed. The Black Fangs were not the sort of people to owe favors to. The old gambler narrowed his eyes, studying Eryndor.
"You really that desperate, boy?"
Eryndor gave a cocky grin. "Always."
The dice rolled again.
A heartbeat later, the gambler cursed, slamming his fist against the table. "Damn the shadows."
Twelve. A perfect roll.
Eryndor swept the coins into his pouch, offering a mock bow before rising. "Pleasure doing business with you, old man."
But before he could step away, the room went still.
The door creaked open, and a figure in dark armor stepped inside. The torches flickered, as if the air itself recoiled from his presence. The gambler's face went pale.
A Duskborn Enforcer.
Eryndor stiffened. Malagar's elite hunters rarely came to Nocthaven unless they had a name to carve off the ledger of the living.
The enforcer's helmeted gaze swept the tavern. Then, in a voice like rusted iron, he spoke:
"Eryndor of Nocthaven. You are summoned by the Shadow King."
The weight of the words pressed against his chest like a blade. The name he had just gambled away no longer belonged to him.
But the past always had a way of claiming its debts.
And this time, there was no running.
Chapter 1 – Whispers in the Dark (Extended)
Eryndor's pulse pounded in his ears. A summons by the Shadow King. No one came back from that.
The Hollow Thorn had gone deathly silent, its usual rowdy patrons now little more than specters watching from the dim candlelight. The enforcer took a step forward, boots heavy against the wooden floor.
Eryndor didn't wait.
With a flick of his wrist, he sent the dice tumbling across the table, knocking over a half-filled goblet of ale. The old gambler cursed as the liquid splashed over his lap, but Eryndor was already moving.
He vaulted over the table, boots landing hard against the floorboards. The Duskborn enforcer reacted fast, faster than any ordinary man. A gloved hand shot out, grasping at Eryndor's cloak—but he twisted, letting the fabric rip free.
A knife whistled through the air.
He barely ducked in time.
The dagger embedded itself in the wooden beam beside him. Another patron wasn't so lucky—the blade had been poisoned, and the poor bastard slumped forward, veins already blackening.
No time.
Eryndor bolted toward the back exit. The Hollow Thorn had plenty of hidden ways out, but the Duskborn knew that too. He had to make this count.
He kicked open the door—only to find two more enforcers waiting for him.
"Dammit," he hissed.
The taller of the two reached for his sword, its blade glistening with the eerie, liquid-dark sheen of shadowforged steel.
Think. Think.
Eryndor spotted an open window above—a tight squeeze, but he'd slipped through worse. Without hesitation, he ran straight for the enforcers.
The move surprised them just enough.
At the last moment, Eryndor planted a foot on a nearby crate, kicked off, and twisted his body mid-air. His fingers caught the window ledge, and with a grunt, he yanked himself through.
He landed on the roof just as the first enforcer's sword slashed through empty air beneath him.
The rooftops of Nocthaven were treacherous—rotting wood, loose shingles, and sudden drops into dark alleyways. Eryndor had grown up on these streets, but tonight, even they seemed to betray him.
Behind him, the Duskborn enforcers pursued—inhumanly fast, impossibly silent.
They didn't just run. They moved through the shadows themselves.
A flicker of movement to his left—one of them appearing from thin air.
Eryndor ducked just in time, rolling across the slanted roof and barely avoiding a slash meant for his throat. His heartbeat pounded, his breath ragged.
He couldn't outrun them forever.
He needed a plan. Or a miracle.
And then—
A figure emerged from the darkness ahead, standing at the edge of the rooftop. A woman, cloaked in deep blue, her silver hair catching the moonlight.
"Jump," she commanded.
Eryndor's mind screamed against it. The drop beneath her led straight into one of Nocthaven's deepest canals—too high, too dangerous.
But the Duskborn were closing in.
He jumped.
The last thing he saw before the cold water swallowed him was the woman's outstretched hand, reaching for him as if she had been waiting for this moment all along.
Chapter 1 – Whispers in the Dark (Extended Further)
The water swallowed him whole.
Cold. Deeper than he expected.
Eryndor barely had time to brace before he hit the surface, the impact knocking the air from his lungs. The canal was frigid, its dark depths wrapping around him like an unshakable grip. He sank fast, disoriented by the swirling currents and the muffled roar of the world above.
Panic clawed at his chest.
Swim. Now.
But his limbs felt sluggish, heavy—his clothes dragging him down, the weight of his stolen coins now a cruel burden. His mind screamed at him to move, but for a moment, his thoughts slipped into darkness.
A memory—distant, blurred—a hand pulling him from the water long ago, the echo of a soft voice saying his name.
He kicked hard, breaking through the trance. His lungs burned. The world above was only a distorted shimmer of moonlight. He thrust his arms upward, but just as his fingers neared the surface—
A shadow passed over the water.
Then—a hand.
Firm. Unwavering.
Eryndor had no choice but to take it.
Selene yanked him upward with impossible strength. His head broke the surface, and he gasped in a ragged breath, coughing as she dragged him toward the stone embankment.
They tumbled onto solid ground, his body aching from the cold. He rolled onto his back, chest heaving, blinking up at the night sky. Somewhere above, distant figures moved along the rooftops—the Duskborn were still searching.
"You're either incredibly lucky," Selene murmured, "or incredibly foolish."
Eryndor turned his head, squinting at her. She was kneeling beside him, her cloak dripping from the canal water, silver hair clinging to her face. Her blue eyes—sharp, calculating—studied him like he was some puzzle she wasn't sure was worth solving.
He coughed. "I prefer 'resourceful.'"
Selene huffed a breath, neither amused nor convinced. "You'll be dead if we don't move. Get up."
He gritted his teeth and pushed himself upright. His muscles protested, but he forced himself to stand. "Who the hell are you?"
Selene's expression darkened. "Someone who just saved your life. And someone who needs you alive."
Eryndor wiped water from his face. "Yeah? And why's that?"
She hesitated. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, she said:
"Because you're the only one who can kill the Shadow King."
The words struck like a dagger to the gut.
Eryndor laughed once—harsh and humorless. "Wrong guy."
Selene met his gaze, unwavering. "No. You're exactly who I've been looking for."
A sharp whistle cut through the air. Above, the Duskborn were closing in.
Selene grabbed his wrist. "No time to argue. Run."
And with that, they vanished into the shadows of Nocthaven, the hunt far from over.
Whispers in the Dark
The water swallowed him whole.
Cold. Deeper than he expected.
Eryndor barely had time to brace before he hit the surface, the impact knocking the air from his lungs. The canal was frigid, its dark depths wrapping around him like an unshakable grip. He sank fast, disoriented by the swirling currents and the muffled roar of the world above.
Panic clawed at his chest.
Swim. Now.
But his limbs felt sluggish, heavy—his clothes dragging him down, the weight of his stolen coins now a cruel burden. His mind screamed at him to move, but for a moment, his thoughts slipped into darkness.
A memory—distant, blurred—a hand pulling him from the water long ago, the echo of a soft voice saying his name.
He kicked hard, breaking through the trance. His lungs burned. The world above was only a distorted shimmer of moonlight. He thrust his arms upward, but just as his fingers neared the surface—
A shadow passed over the water.
Then—a hand.
Firm. Unwavering.
Eryndor had no choice but to take it.
Selene yanked him upward with impossible strength. His head broke the surface, and he gasped in a ragged breath, coughing as she dragged him toward the stone embankment.
They tumbled onto solid ground, his body aching from the cold. He rolled onto his back, chest heaving, blinking up at the night sky. Somewhere above, distant figures moved along the rooftops—the Duskborn were still searching.
"You're either incredibly lucky," Selene murmured, "or incredibly foolish."
Eryndor turned his head, squinting at her. She was kneeling beside him, her cloak dripping from the canal water, silver hair clinging to her face. Her blue eyes—sharp, calculating—studied him like he was some puzzle she wasn't sure was worth solving.
He coughed. "I prefer 'resourceful.'"
Selene huffed a breath, neither amused nor convinced. "You'll be dead if we don't move. Get up."
He gritted his teeth and pushed himself upright. His muscles protested, but he forced himself to stand. "Who the hell are you?"
Selene's expression darkened. "Someone who just saved your life. And someone who needs you alive."
Eryndor wiped water from his face. "Yeah? And why's that?"
She hesitated. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, she said:
"Because you're the only one who can kill the Shadow King."
The words struck like a dagger to the gut.
Eryndor laughed once—harsh and humorless. "Wrong guy."
Selene met his gaze, unwavering. "No. You're exactly who I've been looking for."
A sharp whistle cut through the air. Above, the Duskborn were closing in.
Selene grabbed his wrist. "No time to argue. Run."
And with that, they vanished into the shadows of Nocthaven, the hunt far from over.
---
End of Chapter 1