The city of Draymoor was a place of shadows. Not just the kind cast by flickering lanterns or moonlight slicing through the rooftops, but the kind that slithered unseen, lurking in alleyways, whispering in the ears of the desperate. It was a city where fortunes were stolen rather than earned, where power was measured not by coin but by secrets. And tonight, Ren was about to steal the most dangerous secret of them all.
Dressed in black, his lean frame hidden beneath a tattered cloak, Ren moved like a ghost through the twisting alleys. The Arcanum Vault loomed ahead, a monolithic structure of dark stone, built to hold the world's most forbidden artifacts. Few dared to approach it; fewer still had ever entered. None had ever left alive after attempting to rob it. But Ren wasn't just any thief—he was the best.
He scaled the outer wall with practiced ease, his fingers finding the slightest cracks in the stone. The chill of the night bit at his skin, but he didn't falter. Reaching the upper ledge, he crouched low, scanning the courtyard below. Two guards patrolled the perimeter, their torches casting flickering pools of light. Timing their movements, he dropped silently between their routes and slipped through the side entrance.
Inside, the air was thick with dust and ancient magic. The vault was lined with towering bookshelves, each packed with tomes bound in strange leathers, their spines marked with runes that glowed faintly in the dim light. Ren ignored them. He had one target—the Grimoire of Shadows.
It was said to be cursed, its pages holding knowledge so dark that even the Arcanists feared it. But Ren didn't believe in curses. He believed in gold, and the buyer who had hired him was offering more than he had ever dreamed. Enough to escape this wretched city and start anew.
He moved deeper into the vault, his pulse steady despite the eerie silence. Then, he saw it—a lone pedestal in the center of the room. Upon it lay a book, its cover as black as midnight, etched with silver markings that seemed to shift when he looked at them. The Grimoire of Shadows.
Ren approached cautiously, his instincts screaming at him to turn back. He had stolen from nobles, merchants, even warlocks before—but this felt different. Dangerous. He shook off the doubt. Hesitation got thieves killed. He reached out and touched the book.
The moment his fingers brushed the cover, a pulse of power surged through him, cold and alien. His breath hitched. The torches in the room flickered violently, their flames turning a deep, unnatural blue. The air became heavy, as if unseen eyes had turned upon him.
Ren snatched the book up, shoving it into his satchel. He turned, ready to escape—but the moment he did, the shadows themselves moved.
A whisper slithered through the air, soft yet deafening. You have taken what was lost… and now you belong to the darkness.
Ren's body froze. The room around him seemed to stretch, the walls bending as if the vault had become something else—somewhere else. Shapes flickered in the periphery of his vision, twisting figures with hollow eyes. He tried to move, to run, but his limbs refused to obey.
Let me go. The thought barely formed before the grimoire in his satchel burned cold against his side. Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the feeling passed. The vault returned to normal, the torches burning steady once more.
Ren stumbled back, his breath ragged. He had to get out. Now.
He forced his legs to move, sprinting toward the exit. Just as he reached the door, a voice called out behind him.
"You shouldn't have taken that."
Ren spun around, daggers in hand. A figure stood in the center of the room, half-shrouded in shadow. The man's robes marked him as an Arcanist, but his face was hidden beneath a hood. His voice was calm, almost amused.
"I don't know who you are," Ren said, "but I don't plan on staying for introductions."
"You don't know what you've stolen." The Arcanist stepped forward. "That book is not just ink and paper—it is a prison."
Ren's grip tightened on his daggers. "I don't believe in fairy tales."
"Then you are a fool." The Arcanist raised his hand, and the shadows at his feet writhed, stretching toward Ren. "The Grimoire of Shadows was never meant to be touched. And now, it will consume you."
Ren didn't wait for whatever magic the Arcanist was about to unleash. He threw a dagger, aiming for the man's throat—but before the blade could strike, it was swallowed by darkness. The Arcanist flicked his fingers, and the same shadows lashed out, aiming for Ren's chest.
Instinct took over. He dove to the side, rolling as the shadows slammed into the stone where he had stood. Without thinking, his hand brushed the satchel, and in that moment, power flooded through him.
The shadows that had attacked him recoiled.
The Arcanist hesitated. "Impossible…"
Ren didn't hesitate. He turned and ran, his heart pounding as he fled the vault. Alarms rang out, voices shouting behind him, but he didn't stop. He scaled the outer wall, landed in the alley, and vanished into the city's maze-like streets.
Only when he was safely hidden in an abandoned warehouse did he dare to breathe. His hands trembled as he pulled the grimoire from his satchel. The silver runes on its cover still shifted, almost… watching him.
And then, a voice—soft, amused, and unmistakably alive.
You belong to me now, thief.
Ren dropped the book, his blood turning to ice. For the first time in his life, he realized he might have stolen something he could never escape.
He sat in the dim warehouse, his breath shallow, his pulse still racing from the encounter at the vault. The book lay before him, its cover gleaming faintly even in the darkness. He should run. He should destroy it. But something deep inside him refused.
He reached out hesitantly, fingers brushing against the cool leather. The moment he did, a whisper curled through his mind.
You hear me now, don't you?
Ren yanked his hand back, his body rigid. The voice wasn't external. It was inside him, slithering through his thoughts like a serpent. He had heard tales of cursed artifacts, but this was something else entirely.
What are you? he thought, unsure if the voice would even respond.
A chuckle echoed in his mind. I am knowledge. I am power. And you, little thief, are mine.
Ren's jaw clenched. He had survived Draymoor's cruelest streets, outwitted the best bounty hunters, and yet, for the first time, he felt truly helpless. He needed answers. And there was only one person who might have them.
Lyara.
She had once been a scholar of the Arcanum before she was exiled. If anyone knew what this book was, it would be her. He didn't trust easily, but right now, he had no other choice.
Ren pulled his hood over his face, secured the grimoire in his satchel, and disappeared into the night. He had to find Lyara before the book found a way to claim him entirely.
---
The streets of Draymoor were emptier than usual. It was the witching hour, that silent time between night and dawn when the city seemed to hold its breath. Ren moved swiftly, staying in the shadows, avoiding watchful eyes. Word of the vault's break-in would spread soon, and bounty hunters would be on the lookout for him.
The warehouse district wasn't far, but he took the long way, circling back through the abandoned docks and the crumbling ruins of the old city. Lyara never stayed in one place for long, but he had a feeling he knew where she'd be—an old apothecary, hidden beneath the collapsed arches of a forgotten temple.
When he arrived, he found the door locked, but he knew better than to knock. Instead, he rapped his knuckles against the wood in a specific rhythm. A test.
A long silence. Then, the sound of movement behind the door.
It cracked open slightly, and a pair of sharp green eyes peered through the gap. "Ren?" Lyara's voice was cautious, but not surprised. "What have you done this time?"
"Let me in."
She sighed, unbolted the door, and stepped aside. The room was cluttered with books, dried herbs, and half-melted candles. A worn-out cot sat against the far wall, and a single lantern cast flickering shadows across the stone floor.
Ren wasted no time. He pulled the book from his satchel and set it on the table. "Tell me what you know about this."
Lyara's gaze flicked to the grimoire, and her expression darkened instantly. She took a step back, folding her arms. "You're a damn fool."
"I need information, not insults."
"That's not a book," she said quietly. "That's a death sentence."
Ren exhaled sharply. "I stole it from the Arcanum Vault. It spoke to me."
Lyara swore under her breath. She turned away, pacing. "Do you have any idea what you've done? That's the Grimoire of Shadows. It doesn't just hold spells—it binds them. Every sorcerer, every warlock who's ever tried to control it has been consumed by it."
"Then why would they keep it locked away instead of destroying it?"
"Because they can't." She turned back to him. "The book isn't just magic—it's alive. It feeds off those who open it."
Ren's stomach twisted. He had suspected as much, but hearing it confirmed made his skin crawl. "Then how do I get rid of it?"
Lyara hesitated. "You don't."
Silence hung between them, heavy as a noose.
"There has to be a way," Ren pressed. "Someone who's broken its hold before."
"If there were, don't you think the Arcanum would have done it already?"
He clenched his fists. He refused to accept that he was trapped. "Then I'll find another way."
Lyara sighed, rubbing her temples. "There's a legend. A place called the Shadow Sanctum, hidden beyond the Wailing Wastes. Supposedly, it's where the book was first created. If there's any hope of severing its hold, it would be there."
Ren exhaled. A direction. A goal. It was better than nothing.
But Lyara wasn't finished. "Listen to me, Ren. This book—it wants you to seek out the Sanctum. It's part of the game. You think you're in control, but you're not. If you follow this path, there's no turning back."
He met her gaze, unflinching. "Then I guess I better win."
Lyara shook her head but didn't argue. "If you're serious about this, you need to leave now. The Arcanum will be hunting you. And if they catch you with that book…"
"I know."
Ren grabbed the grimoire and slung his satchel over his shoulder. The shadows in the room seemed to stretch toward him as if drawn to the cursed artifact. He turned toward the door, but Lyara caught his wrist.
"Be careful, Ren."
He gave her a half-smile, one that didn't reach his eyes. "I always am."
Then he slipped into the night, the weight of the book heavier than it had ever been.
The journey had begun.