The wind howled like a mourning widow across the blood-slicked fields of Elarion. Smoke coiled from the ruins of once-proud towers, their ivory spires shattered and blackened like broken teeth. The air reeked of fire, steel, and something worse—betrayal.
Among the carnage, where the last banners of House Valemir lay torn and trampled in the mud, a body twitched.
Not from life.
From something else.
He had been dead for three days.
Prince Kael Valemir, first of his name, heir to the Obsidian Throne, beloved son of the Lion Queen—was now a forgotten corpse in a shallow grave, hidden under bramble and moss. His royal robes were scorched, his armor dented and bloodstained. A gaping wound, clean through the heart, marked where the assassin's blade had ended his mortal claim.
He should have passed into the gentle veil of the afterlife.
But the shadows had other plans.
Beneath his grave, a pulse thrummed in the dirt—low and ancient, like a heartbeat not meant for this world. The roots that curled around his limbs trembled. Darkness seeped into the wound in his chest, stitching flesh like thread drawn from night itself. His eyes, long dulled by death, flared open—pale white at first, then bleeding into a hue of deep obsidian.
He gasped.
And the forest gasped with him.
The trees bowed, shivering. Birds shrieked and took flight. The air grew cold, colder than death.
Kael sat up with a hiss, dragging in a breath that smelled of rot and shadow. His hands clawed at the earth, nails broken and blackened. He touched his face—flesh was intact, but something had changed. His veins pulsed with power not born of men.
"Where...am I?" he rasped, though no one answered.
Only the shadows.
They whispered to him, coiling like serpents around his soul.
"You were wronged."
"You were betrayed."
"You belong to us now."
Visions flooded his mind—his mother's last scream, echoing through burning halls. The captain of the royal guard plunging a sword through his chest, whispering, "Forgive me, Your Highness." And then… a hooded figure in crimson, watching it all from the tower's edge, unmoved.
Lord Atheon.
Kael's uncle.
That snake-tongued traitor had feigned loyalty, then twisted it like a dagger into the heart of the kingdom. He'd orchestrated the coup. Poisoned the council. Burned the archives. Slaughtered every remaining Valemir loyalist. Even Kael's younger sister, Seris…
Kael's fingers clenched the soil until blood seeped from beneath his nails.
"...I'll kill them all," he whispered.
The forest shivered again. And the shadows...they laughed.
From the darkness, a figure emerged—tall, robed in black stitched with silver veins. Its face was bone, smooth and gleaming, with hollow sockets and no eyes. In its hand, it held a lantern that bled smoke instead of light.
"The pact is sealed," it said, voice like wind over graves.
Kael's breath caught. "Who… what are you?"
"I am the Harbinger. Warden of the Black Path. Shepherd of the Forsaken Flame." The creature bowed with a mocking grace. "And you, Kael Valemir… are now the Prince of Shadows."
Kael tried to stand. Pain lanced through him—sharp, burning, wrong. His body was no longer entirely human. His heartbeat sounded distant, echoed as though heard through water. And his reflection, faint in a pool nearby, showed a face too pale, too sharp, with irises like pits of shadow.
"I didn't agree to this," Kael growled.
The Harbinger chuckled. "You bled your soul into vengeance. That was enough. The world betrayed you, and you called to the dark. We answered. In death, you were reborn."
Kael's hands trembled as power curled in his veins. He could feel it now—how the shadows bent toward him. The forest dimmed wherever he walked. His will pulled darkness like a magnet draws iron.
"What do you want from me?" he asked.
"We want nothing," the Harbinger said, voice fading as it turned to leave. "Only that you feed the flame. That you become what the world made you."
And then it was gone, vanishing into smoke.
Kael stood alone, but not afraid.
Because he was no longer alone.
The shadows followed him now.
---
The first soul he claimed was the scavenger who tried to loot his grave.
The man was young, hungry, armed with only a rusted dagger. When he saw Kael standing by the grave, pale and unmoving, he hesitated—then lunged.
Too slow.
Kael turned without blinking. Shadows shot from beneath his cloak like tendrils, wrapping around the man's throat. He struggled, gagging, eyes bulging with terror.
"Who do you serve?" Kael asked, voice hollow.
"P-please—I don't—I'm no soldier—I just—I heard the prince was dead and thought—"
"You were right." Kael's eyes glowed with cold fire. "He is."
And then, he clenched his fist.
The shadows snapped the man's neck cleanly.
His soul fled his eyes—only to be caught. The darkness slithered from Kael's fingertips, drawing a wisp of pale-blue light from the corpse. It entered Kael's chest, burning like cold fire.
+1 Soul Claimed.
He gasped, staggered—but something inside him grew stronger.
Strange symbols burned briefly on the back of his hand, then faded.
His system had begun.
---
By dusk, Kael had slaughtered five more: bandits, deserters, and one knight who recognized his face and screamed in disbelief.
Each soul fed the system. Each death brought back a piece of him—not the old Kael, the hopeful prince—but the new one. The killer. The revenant. The monster cloaked in royalty.
He didn't sleep. He didn't need to.
Instead, he walked—eastward, toward Blackspire Keep.
His kingdom.
His revenge.
---
Meanwhile, in Blackspire Keep...
Lord Atheon stood in the royal court, where red banners now replaced the obsidian ones of House Valemir. He sipped dark wine from a gilded goblet, his face smug.
"The rebellion is no more," he declared to the nobles. "The last of the loyalists have been routed. Prince Kael is dead. The boy was never fit to rule."
Gasps of agreement followed. The court was filled with flatterers and opportunists—those who had bent the knee the moment fire rose from the palace gates.
But not everyone bowed so easily.
In the shadows of the balcony, a young woman watched Atheon with burning eyes.
Seris Valemir.
Alive.
Hidden.
Waiting.
Brother, she thought. Wherever you are... please forgive me. I failed you.
Outside the walls of the keep, the night grew darker than usual. The moon vanished behind thick clouds. Dogs whined. Candles flickered.
And far in the woods, something ancient stirred.