Duskfall Central Human District
An ancient palace stood at the heart of the city elvated, a structure of shadow and grandeur woven into the fabric of the night itself. It was a thing of quiet majesty, its spires rising into the darkened sky, sculpted from onyx and veined with silver that shimmered beneath the pale glow of twin moons. No torches marred its walls, no crude fires burned to hold back the night. Instead, the very stone seemed to hum with an innate power, absorbing the darkness and reflecting it in a way that was both unnatural and mesmerizing.
Bridges of black glass arched between its many towers, suspended over shadowed courtyards where fountains ran with something that shimmered like liquid starlight. The gardens below were no less eerie—fields of bioluminescent flora, their petals pulsing with a faint glow, shifting between hues of deep blue and violet as though breathing in the silence. The air carried a scent foreign yet intoxicating, the perfume of nightblooming flowers mingling with something older, something ancient.
Inside, the palace was no less breathtaking. Vaulted ceilings stretched impossibly high, painted with constellations that moved with the sky above, shifting ever so slightly when one was not looking. Tall windows allowed the moonlight to pour in like liquid silver, illuminating walls draped in rich indigo tapestries, each woven with intricate patterns of silver thread, telling stories lost to time. The silence here was not empty but heavy—an unspoken presence that clung to every surface, as though the very air carried the weight of countless secrets.
A grand chamber lay beyond the entrance, its vastness filled with the cold elegance of polished stone and deep-hued velvet. A massive window stretched across one wall, offering a view of the city below—a restless expanse of flickering lights and shifting shadows. From here, one could watch as the kingdom stirred, as the night unfolded its stories in whispered alleyways and grand avenues alike. The palace did not merely stand over the city. It ruled it, an unshaken pillar in the ever-turning wheel of fate.
Dusk the main castle and ancestral seat and home of house Dusk.
....
Within the grand chamber, beneath the celestial mural that adorned the vaulted ceiling, two figures stood cloaked in the quiet gravity of their conversation. Their very presence bent the air around them, warping it with an unseen weight. The walls of the palace, carved from midnight stone and adorned with veins of luminescent silver, seemed to pulse faintly, as though straining under the subdued force that radiated from them. Even at rest, their auras whispered of dominion, of a power too great to be contained in mere mortal form.
The woman stood at the window, her silhouette framed by the glow of the twin moons. She was ethereal, a vision of night's elegance given form. Tall and imperious, her presence was like a shadow draped over the world, its edges brushing against reality itself. Cascading strands of blackened violet hair shimmered under the dim light, shifting between shadow and amethyst with every subtle movement. Her eyes, dark as the void yet kissed with an otherworldly orange radiance, held the depth of centuries—pools of unseen knowledge and power absolute. The air around her carried an intoxicating weight, not oppressive but inevitable, as though the world itself bent slightly in deference to her existence.
"The skies moved," she murmured, her voice smooth yet edged with something unreadable, like silk laced with steel. "Not just the winds, not just the clouds—the heavens themselves shifted. The world does not stir so easily."
The man beside her exhaled, his light gray hair ruffled slightly as though the weight of unseen forces pressed against him. His eyes, the color of velvet twilight, were narrowed in thought. His battle-worn form radiated quiet strength, each scar on his body a remnant of past wars, past victories. Yet now, something far greater loomed on the horizon.
"It wasn't just the sky," he said, his voice deep, edged with quiet certainty. "The shadows recoiled… and then they followed." His fingers twitched at his side, his aura pressing outward for the briefest moment before he restrained it. "They recognized something. They bent toward something."
A heavy silence settled between them. And then, at the same time, they both exhaled the same words, their tones laced with understanding.
"It's that time."
A slow, knowing chuckle escaped the woman's lips, a sound both amused and laced with finality. "It's fine," she murmured, turning slightly toward her companion. "It's not like we don't know where the boy is hiding… or even who he is." The smirk that curled her lips was almost indulgent.
The man laughed as well, a low and rumbling sound, filled with the amusement of one who had seen this game played before. "Yeah, it's not like he declared himself to all the realms." He scoffed. "He's lucky he was shielded, or I bet those bastards over in Snaer would've smited him the moment they caught wind of it." His laughter faded into a sigh, shaking his head. "Hah, well, not like we could make a move even if we wanted to. Shadow has him housed… not that we would have anyway."
The air in the room shifted.
A breath of silence.
Then—change.
The shadows around the man deepened, their edges darkening into something far greater than simple absence of light. They stretched, thickened, yawning into something infinite, something vast, as though they were no longer simply cast by his form but instead drawn from something far deeper, something primordial.
And yet, the light in the room did not retreat. Instead, it grew brighter—sharper. The luminous fixtures lining the chamber walls flared, the golden glow intensifying, battling against the encroaching darkness. The room was caught in a silent war of light and shadow, a manifestation of forces that neither of them had truly unleashed… yet.
The woman's gaze turned thoughtful, her fingers tapping once against the railing.
"This reaction from mana…" The man's voice was lower now, more solemn. "It's serious."
She nodded once. "The potential is there. You know it as well as I do."
A long pause.
His hands tightened behind his back, the war-honed tension in his stance betraying his thoughts. "We're going to have to clash with those bastards over at Shadow sooner or later anyway," he muttered.
The woman only smiled, gaze turning distant, as if seeing something beyond the walls of the chamber, beyond the city, beyond even the heavens themselves.
"Yes," she whispered. "Sooner or later."
The man exhaled sharply, his twilight-colored eyes narrowing as he cast a sidelong glance toward the woman. His tone remained casual, but there was an edge to it, a weight that only those who knew how to listen would catch.
"What about the other four?" he murmured, rolling his shoulders as though shaking off unseen burdens. "Have those assholes finished their tasks?"
The woman let out a quiet hum, a sound of mild amusement, though the gleam in her gaze darkened.
"They move at their own pace," she said, trailing a finger along the railing. "But they know better than to waste time."
The man's lips curled into something between a smirk and a grimace. "Hah. So that's a no."
She chuckled softly, shaking her head. "It's a 'they're handling things.' Just as we are."
His gaze flickered, thoughtful. "Tch. Always so cryptic."
"ha. Always so impatient."
The Two smiled at each other.
Silence stretched between them again, thick with the unspoken. The flickering interplay of shadow and light around them had yet to settle, as if the very room itself was still waiting for something—some inevitability yet to unfold.
.....
Astra sat cross-legged on the cold stone floor of the training hall, his sword resting at his side, its edge catching the dim light that seeped through the high, arched windows. His gaze remained fixed ahead, watching in silence as Vesperion moved like a phantom across the vast chamber.
Vesperion was young—just like him—yet his movements carried the weight of someone who had long mastered his craft. In each hand, he wielded two a long dark Stilettos, their near-sword length betraying their deceptive lethality. He didn't simply use them; he wielded them with an artistry that blurred the line between precision and instinct. Each step he took was measured, effortless. Each strike—a whisper of steel through air—was perfect, as if dictated by some unseen rhythm only he could hear.
Then, the shadows stirred.
It began as a shift, a subtle deepening of the darkness pooled at his feet. But soon, they moved—coiling and twisting around him like living things, eager and alive. They wrapped around his arms, trailed along his daggers, weaving through the air in perfect harmony with his motion. They did not resist. They did not hesitate. They embraced him, as if he were their rightful master, responding not just to his will but to his very presence.
Astra's fingers tightened slightly on his sword's hilt. He had a connection to the shadows too—perhaps even a deeper one in some ways—but not like this. Not so naturally, not so freely. His shadows listened, but they did not dance with joy. They bent to his will, but they did not reach for him on their own.
Vesperion moved with a final flourish, his Dark Stilettos slicing through the air in a perfect arc before he came to a stop. The shadows settled around him like an adoring crowd dispersing after a grand performance.
Astra exhaled slowly.
He could not deny it. He was entranced.
tra sat back, glaring at the dance of shadows around him, muttering under his breath, "That beautiful bastard..."
He clenched his teeth, watching Vesperion with a growing sense of irritation. "How unfair," Astra grumbled. "He's a tall, handsome scion of a great house at the height of their power, not only that, he carries a divine lineage... whatever the hell that means. But what makes me the most annoyed is how the shadows—those damn shadows—dance with joy at that bastard's behest."
Astra's gaze dropped to his own shadow, half in anger and half in disbelief. "They never behave like that for me."
He let out a long sigh, and then, as if in defiance, looked down at the dark shape on the floor beside him. The shadows around him quivered slightly, a soft shift in the light. Astra scowled. "Ugh, no way you just proved my point!"
The shadow froze for a moment, as if contemplating its existence, before it gave a subtle twitch, then seemed to react—shuddering slightly in what could only be interpreted as... deference?
Astra raised an eyebrow. "Wait. Did you just...?"
Then, as if taunting him, the shadow rippled, flowing with a newfound vitality, shifting joyfully as though dancing—a mimicry of the graceful flow he had just witnessed from Vesperion.
Astra threw his hands up in frustration, a small, exasperated laugh escaping him. "There ya go. Better."
"Uh... Astra?" came a voice from across the room, filled with equal parts confusion and concern. "Why are you arguing with your shadow?"
Astra's eyes shot up in shock, but not toward Vesperion. No, his gaze was fixed on his shadow, which had now relaxed into a satisfied stillness, as if basking in its victory. His lips tightened in a mix of annoyance and disbelief.
"Ugh," Astra muttered under his breath, seething. "You bastard."
Vesperion raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "What, are you telling me your shadow doesn't like you anymore?" he teased, the amusement in his voice clear.
Astra shot a glare at the older man, suddenly feeling rather sheepish. "Oh, it's nothing. I'm just... uh... studying," he began, fidgeting awkwardly, "yeah, studying the bast... shadow."
Vesperion's smirk deepened, and the faint glimmer of laughter that danced in his eyes betrayed his amusement. "Studying the shadow, huh? Sure you are, Astra."
Vesperion stopped, his eyes narrowing slightly as he regarded Astra with a glint of amusement. His daggers spun in his hands for a moment, the blades catching the light as he tilted his head.
"Say..." Vesperion's voice was light, almost teasing, but there was an edge to it. "Care for a spar?"
Astra's eyes narrowed, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. He stood slowly, stretching his arms as he gazed at Vesperion, the energy in the room shifting. The frustration with his shadow still simmered beneath the surface, but Astra wasn't one to back down from a challenge.
"Sure," Astra replied, his voice calm but with a hint of anticipation. He flexed his fingers, feeling the cool air around him, every nerve coming alive.
Vesperion's smirk deepened, a knowing look passing through his eyes. "Let's see if you can keep up then."
Astra's lips twitched as he adjusted his stance, the playful challenge hanging between them. "Don't get too cocky, bastard."
Astra's heart raced as he called upon the shadows, the tendrils of darkness obeying his command, wrapping around him like a second skin. His dark armor rippled, tendrils of shadow forming whips that lashed through the air before settling to an eerie calm. His long sword gleamed with cold malice as he raised it, the blade reflecting the faint light in the room, turning it into a thing of haunting beauty.
Vesperion watched, his expression shifting from mild curiosity to genuine intrigue. "The way the shadows react to you..." He shook his head, his voice almost wistful, "It's scary. It's like they can't break your will..." His eyes narrowed, a hint of something darker flickering across his features. "How tyrannical... How sad."
Astra's lips twitched, but before he could respond, something changed in the air. The shadows around Vesperion seemed to thicken, swirling and embracing him with a joy that Astra hadn't expected. The dark tendrils wrapped around the scion of House Vesperion, more eager, more than willing to serve him. Astra blinked, caught off guard by the strange, almost sentient response.
And then, Vesperion was upon him.
Before Astra could even react, a Stiletto flashed toward his throat.
"Fast!" Astra barked, barely raising his long sword in time to deflect the strike. The force sent a jolt of power through his body as he sidestepped, narrowly avoiding the second dagger that followed swiftly.
Without missing a beat, Astra dropped low, kicking hard at Vesperion's stomach, his foot aimed with precision. But Vesperion was quicker. His foot hit Vesperions foot as he used the force from Astras kick and jumped, flipping backward into the air with a fluidity and flexibilty that Astra couldn't help but admire.
A moment later, shadow blades erupted from Vesperion's hands, shooting toward him with deadly speed. Astra's heart pulsed in time with the surge of magic beneath him as he summoned the shadows below, bending them to his will. The ground cracked as a solid wall of darkness shot up in front of him, the shadow blades piercing it with ease but altering their course just enough to miss him. Astra rolled to the side, the sharp whizzing of the blades grazing his ear as they flew past.
Vesperion stood at the far end of the room, a wide grin spreading across his face. His eyes gleamed with excitement, the very air around him vibrating with joy.
"Yes, finally..." His voice rang out like a bell, pure excitement in every syllable. "Someone of my rank and decent caliber! I can finally let loose! I was getting tired of battling that boring wench, Velora... thank you, Astra!"
Astra's chest heaved, his breath coming in ragged gasps, but his smirk never faltered. He raised his sword, his shadowy aura still swirling around him. "Don't thank me yet," Astra said, his voice low and steady, despite the thrill running through him."Crazy bastard" Astra chuckled
Vesperion's smirk widened, his stance shifting ever so slightly, betraying the sheer confidence he carried. The two long stilettos in his grip seemed almost an extension of his own body, wielded with effortless mastery.
"Say, Astra... Shall we kick it up a notch?" His voice was almost teasing, but the way the shadows deepened around him spoke volumes, his voice was infused with mana making the air reverberate. And then—his aura roared to life.
It was suffocating.
If a normal mage's Rank One aura was like a small stream trickling down a mountainside, Vesperion's was an untamed river crashing through jagged cliffs. Wild, unstoppable, at the very pinnacle of its tier. A rank one prodigy
And then, it surged even higher.
Astra felt it—the exact moment Vesperion got serious. His aura, already oppressive, sharpened into something undeniable. The shadows around him swayed as if entranced, his mere presence bending them to his will. The weight of it bore down like an oncoming storm, thick and absolute. It was the pinnacle of Rank One, the very limit of what a mage could achieve before stepping into a new realm entirely.
Astra's grip on his sword tightened.
"I won't use these stilettos of mine on you... Not when I'm like this," Vesperion mused, twirling the daggers in his hands one last time before they sank into the shadows, swallowed completely by the darkness. In their place, a longsword—almost identical to Astra's but of lesser quality—rose from the depths, settling into Vesperion's waiting grasp.
Astra couldn't help but think about how damn cool he looked.
Vesperion ran a hand over the blade, his smile sharpening. "With your swordsmanship, you wouldn't last if I used my stilettos and my unique mana... However..." He stepped forward, adjusting his grip as he assumed a textbook-perfect back-left sword stance. "I am just as proficient with a longsword."
Astra let out a slow breath. He knew from the way Vesperion held his blade—steady, refined, as if it were an extension of his will—that he wasn't bluffing.
"How cocky," Astra shot back deciding to also infuse his voice with mana, but there was no real malice in it but it was powerful as Astra held nothing back.
Raising his sword high above his head, he summoned the depths of his focus. Shadows surged in response, flowing onto him in thick, curling wisps. His aura roared, answering his call, the tendrils of darkness clinging to him like an extension of his soul.
If Vesperion's aura was a mighty, rushing river, then Astra's was a smaller one, yet steady, powerful in its own way.
Vesperion's eyes flashed with something unreadable—approval, excitement.
"You just keep on surprising me..." he murmured, his voice almost reverent.
Then Vesperion was upon Astra.
Astra swung down with full force, his blade slicing through the air like an executioner's strike. But Vesperion's sword flashed to meet it, their steel colliding in a burst of sparks.
Before Astra could press the attack, Vesperion twisted his wrist, smoothly riposting off Astra's blade. The maneuver left Astra just enough time to raise his sword into a desperate block—only to see Vesperion's fist rocketing toward him.
Astra saw stars. The force of the punch sent him staggering back, his vision blurring for a heartbeat. Gritting his teeth, he thrust his sword forward, choosing to go on the offensive.
Vesperion danced between Astra's attacks, moving with an effortless, almost mocking grace. His blade intercepted every strike with precise, flowing movements, his bright smile never fading. The shadows around them rejoiced, twirling and flickering in delight as the clang of steel echoed through the chamber.
They exchanged blows for what felt like an eternity, Astra pushing himself harder with each passing moment. But deep down, he knew—Vesperion wasn't even trying. His swordsmanship, refined and lethal, was leagues beyond Astra's. If he truly wanted to end this, he could have done so in an instant.
Vesperion sighed as Astra's blade came down in another vertical slash. "I'm getting a little bored."
With a single fluid motion, Vesperion parried, sidestepping into Astra's guard. Before Astra could react, Vesperion's sword cut downward, stopping just shy of severing Astra's arm. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he reversed the grip—bringing the hilt of his sword crashing into Astra's chest.
The impact sent Astra flying. He hit the ground hard, skidding across the stone floor before coming to a stop, sprawled and gasping for breath. Blood trickled from his nose, his body aching from the beating.
Vesperion smiled as he stepped closer, looming over Astra with an amused glint in his eyes.
Astra, still sprawled on the ground, let out a tired breath, a slight frown creasing his face. Yet, despite the bruises and exhaustion, he couldn't help but smile back. The battle had been exhilarating—perhaps a little too much.
Vesperion tilted his head. "Astra, when did you actually start wielding a sword?"
Astra exhaled sharply, wiping the blood from his nose before answering. "About… two days ago."
Vesperion blinked. His expression, once playful, froze in sheer disbelief. "Two days?"
"oh gods your funny" he smiled as he stared down at Astra as if trying to decipher whether he was joking. When he found no trace of deceit, his brows furrowed.
"You know… for a mere adopted pawn of House Shadow, you're ridiculously talented. Too talented, in fact." He clicked his tongue, shaking his head. "Two days? What the fuck... And here I thought I was the prodigy."
Vesperion let out a short laugh, though there was something sharper beneath it—a newfound understanding, maybe even wariness. He crossed his arms, regarding Astra with a more scrutinizing gaze.
"No wonder the elders put so much effort into you… backing you like this…" His voice trailed off, unreadable thoughts flickering behind his sharp eyes.
Astra stood slowly, still wiping away the remnants of blood from his nose as he glared at the floor, catching his breath. His muscles ached, but his mind was sharp.
Vesperion clapped a hand on his shoulder, his grin never wavering. "Alright, Astra, let's hit the showers and grab some food. I know you've got that tournament to prep for, and while training is all well and good, too much and you'll either kill yourself or perform terribly when it matters most."
Astra's eyes flashed as his curiosity piqued. "You're not participating, Vesperion?"
Vesperion chuckled, shaking his head. "No. No real reason for me to. See, no great house sends their best prospects forward. And, not to brag or anything, but I'm the best. Velora's second, and there's a third and fourth, but they're the ones participating. The rank ones, of course. Same goes for rank two and three—we wouldn't flaunt our strength so openly. Most of our true prospects are tucked away back in Shadowkeep, safe in the Umbral Keep…"
Astra raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by the mention of rank ones. "But there are others…?"
Vesperion nodded, his smile never faltering but growing slightly colder. "Yeah, there are some crazies out there. Like that Aster of Hunt from Alfheim." He let out a low whistle, his tone darkening with both respect and a touch of amusement. "She's terrifying… And so crass, but gorgeous, let me tell you. She's probably the strongest person at rank one in the entire realms."
Astra couldn't help but scoff. "Stronger than you?"
Vesperion smiled as if this question was expected, though his eyes grew distant for a moment, as if contemplating something far darker than Astra could ever know. "Well… not exactly. But if she and I were to clash, it wouldn't end well. She hard counters my mana, after all. There's only so much I can do against her."
Vesperion shook his head, almost in disbelief at the thought. "After all, she's a hunter first, a warrior second. And hunters? Well, they've got their own way of fighting. The way she controls the flow of mana is… otherworldly." He paused, his smile returning, though it was tinged with a sense of respect. "I'd never want to fight her. Not unless I had no choice."
Astra couldn't help but feel a chill as the thought of Aster haunted him. She sounded dangerous, and if she could even make someone like Vesperion pause, then she was certainly a force to be reckoned with.
"Oh by the way, just call me Vesper, it's what my friends call me." Vesperion smiled at astra
"Alright" Astra replied as he thought."damn that bastard really is beautiful"
But still....Astra had seemingly made a friend and a powerful one with a bright future at that.
"Also you have training with Velora soon so hurry it up, she's pretty boring so go and learn from her"