Oksenheim, the grand capital of towering spires and aristocratic opulence. A city where wealth and power intertwined, home to the most influential noble families.
To the east of the Count's estate, in a modest house, a faint light flickered from a small window. Caleb Withers had just returned to his room. One moment, he was elsewhere—another realm, another existence—and now, as if by divine will, he had been returned.
His mind raced, replaying the events that had just transpired. He had met the Shadow Monarch. The legend was real. Not merely kings, but gods who reigned unseen, shaping the world from beyond the veil.
Excitement surged through him, and he sprang from his bed. He had to act. The Shadow Monarch had entrusted him with a task—to investigate the man who had taken his father. Without hesitation, Caleb grabbed his hat and shoes, fastening them with practiced ease before slipping into the cold night.
His destination was clear—the Count's estate, where he served as a mere errand boy. The journey was brief; his home was positioned at the farthest edge of the estate's vast gardens. Within minutes, he reached the grand entrance and slipped inside.
As he stepped into the marble-clad corridors, he spotted a figure descending the grand staircase. The head butler. The man who oversaw all personnel within the estate.
A spark of hope ignited in Caleb's chest.
He approached swiftly and called out, "Mr. Williams!"
The older man halted, turning his sharp gaze toward him. Caleb dipped his head in greeting before speaking in a measured tone, "Good evening, Mr. Williams."
Williams inclined his head slightly. "Evening, Caleb. What brings you here? Do you have a task to attend to?"
Caleb hesitated, then drew a steady breath. "No, sir. I came to ask you something."
The butler's expression darkened with suspicion. "Ask me? About what?"
Caleb's fingers curled at his sides. His voice dropped to a whisper. "Sir, I know this is a sensitive matter... but I must ask about the servant who escorted my father to Lady Marla's chambers that night."
Williams stiffened. His eyes narrowed. The air between them grew heavy.
"Caleb," the butler's voice was firm, "you know the Count has forbidden any discussion of that incident." A pause. Then, with a sigh, he relented. "Your father was a good man. He knew nothing of sorcery. I believe that with certainty." A shadow passed over his features. "Which is why... I will help you."
Caleb's heart pounded. "Thank you, sir! The man I saw... he had dark skin and blue eyes. His hair was slicked back."
Williams' brows furrowed. "No one of that description works within this estate."
A cold shiver ran down Caleb's spine. The butler's words carried weight—he managed all the household staff. If he did not recognize the man, then...
No. He couldn't give up now.
"I saw him with my own eyes," Caleb insisted. "He didn't feel like one of the servants here..."
Williams tapped his fingers against his forearm in thought. "If someone of that description was present… then he must have been with Lady Marla's fiancé."
Caleb's breath caught.
"Sir Jade visited that evening," Williams continued. "He arrived with a retinue of servants. It's possible the man you saw was among them."
Relief flooded Caleb's chest. He had been close to losing the trail, but now—now he had a lead.
He bowed deeply. "Thank you, Mr. Williams. Truly."
The butler gave a small nod. "Come see me tomorrow morning. I'll look into this further."
Caleb straightened. "Have a good night, sir."
"You as well."
As Williams turned away, Caleb's hands clenched into fists. He had taken his first step. His father's fate remained uncertain, but now... there was hope.
He would find him.
Elsewhere.
Julius remained upon the throne, deep in thought. The starlit hall pulsed with an ancient, unknowable power. This place... it concealed a mystery. One that whispered to him, beckoning him to unravel its secrets.
But his thoughts soon turned to a greater concern—was he trapped here?
His last memory before arriving in this realm had been in the temple, with Lilith. He had no recollection of what had truly transpired. How had he been brought here? Could he return?
His gaze drifted to the ceiling—a vast expanse of stars, each shimmering with a unique glow. Among them, Caleb's star burned a distinct shade of blue, standing out from the rest.
What if... these stars represented individuals he could reach?
A hypothesis took shape in his mind. He reached out, fingers brushing against the celestial dust. The moment he did, his vision fractured.
Suddenly, he was no longer in the throne room. He was soaring above a sprawling city, gazing down upon its streets from the heavens.
Oksenheim.
It was a city both familiar and foreign—memories stirred within him, yet they were not his own. They belonged to Julius.
The realization struck him like a blade to the chest.
He was not merely inhabiting this body. He was inheriting its history, its burdens.
Julius had been a student at the Nightmoor Academy of Arcane Arts. A scholar, a fanatic—obsessed with magic, to the point of recklessness. His insatiable hunger for knowledge had driven him to the very edge, leading him to make contact with the Organization.
And what had been the result?
Sacrifice.
A ritual intended to summon an unknown entity. Yet, by some cruel twist of fate, it was him who had been pulled into this world instead.
Coincidence? Or was there something more?
A plan began to form in his mind. He would abandon the Organization. He would live as Julius, infiltrating the academy once more.
If he could retrace Julius' steps, he might uncover the truth behind the ritual—the entity they had sought to summon.
Was it the Shadow Monarch?
Only time would tell.
Julius drifted through the city, his spectral form weaving through streets lined with towering buildings and obscured by a perpetual mist. Gas-lit lamps flickered, casting an eerie glow upon the cobblestone roads. Aristocrats adorned in lavish attire traversed the wealthier districts in horse-drawn carriages, while the common folk navigated the streets on foot.
Eventually, he reached the academy.
He needed to reclaim his life.
But there was one issue. His body was still spectral.
Julius ran his fingers over the mark on his palm, the sigil of the Shadow King, before uttering in a firm voice, "I am the Heir of the Shadow King. Obey my command!"
Silence.
He waited, expecting a surge of power, a flicker of darkness—anything. But nothing happened. After a few moments, he let out a chuckle, shaking his head. "Hah... seems I've been reading too many novels."
Still, the question remained: how could he activate the sigil's power?
Closing his eyes, he focused, trying to meditate on the mark's essence. Perhaps he could grasp the method through intuition alone. Yet, the moment he surrendered himself to concentration, the world around him collapsed into an abyss.
A cold, devouring darkness swallowed him whole.
His breath hitched, his heartbeat pounding against his ribs. What's happening? The suffocating void felt endless, stretching his mind to its breaking point—until, suddenly, the sensation ceased.
Julius found himself standing before a colossal stone slab. Ancient inscriptions glowed across its surface:
First Level: Shadow Watcher
Shadow Dagger ,Phantom Clone ,Dark Tendrils ,Shadow Step
His eyes widened in disbelief. It wasn't just a list of abilities—each technique had precise instructions etched beside it, detailing its use.
So it really was connected to the sigil…!
The language of the engravings was arcane, yet he could understand them instinctively. The reason was obvious—this body, these memories. Julius had once been a student at Nightmoor Academy, a place dedicated to the study of the occult.
Then, something else caught his attention—a chilling message, scrawled in blood-red text at the base of the stone:
"To advance to the second level—Shadow Hunter—you must perform the Crimson Ritual under the full moon."
Julius exhaled slowly. So there's another stage… this is a test, not a mere inheritance.
His fingers curled into a fist. Power would not come easily. If he wished to stand against the Dark Sovereign and the organization that had sacrificed him, he would need to earn every fragment of the Shadow King's might.
For now, he had gained a formidable edge. As a Shadow Watcher, he could traverse unseen, wield spectral weapons, and manipulate darkness itself. But the true depths of this inheritance remained unknown.
One step at a time.
Determined, he reached for the sigil once more and murmured, "Drop-out."
The world around him twisted.
In an instant, he stood before his dormitory, his body still in its ethereal state. A thrill coursed through him—he had done it. He had returned.
Now, only one question remained.
Could he shift back into his physical form?
Gritting his teeth, Julius focused. He reached deep within, gripping onto the knowledge the stone had imparted.
"Transition."
A shadowy cocoon enveloped him, its tendrils tightening around his frame. Then, in the blink of an eye, he felt solid ground beneath his feet.
It worked!
Excitement surged through him—until a wave of vertigo crashed against his senses. The world spun violently, his balance faltering. What—?
His vision blurred, legs giving way beneath him.
Before he could comprehend what was happening, Julius collapsed onto the ground.