The moon cast a pale light across the city's skyline as Alaric stood atop a vacant rooftop, overlooking the shifting gears of a world still too blind to notice the force building in its shadows. Wind swept through his coat as he watched the quiet movements below—men with secrets, deals forged in alleys, greed masquerading as power. They had no idea they were prey now.
His fingers closed around the pendant at his chest, the cool metal vibrating with faint warmth. The crescent moon wrapped in flame shimmered—just briefly—as though sensing what was to come.
Behind him, footsteps approached.
Balen's voice cut through the night. "You always were quiet when planning to shake the ground."
Alaric didn't turn immediately. "It's time to pull another thread."
Balen stepped beside him, eyes tracing the horizon. "Then say the word. We've tracked the Hollow Society's recent movements. One of their satellite leaders—Zyre Calden—has resurfaced. He's hidden in the old Midvale complex, surrounding himself with mercs and ghosts."
Alaric's gaze didn't waver. "He was the one who managed the disappearances, wasn't he?"
Balen nodded grimly. "Yes. Disposed of Vane loyalists before they could ever speak your name. Midvale reeks of their blood."
Alaric closed his eyes briefly, remembering the faces of the lost—names he had never known, but whose memories were stitched into the silence of his family's fall. He opened them again, and something colder burned behind his stare.
"Then we end it," he said.
Midvale was a decaying husk of a building—once a government storage site, now forgotten, reclaimed by weeds and criminals. Vira crouched by the black van outside the perimeter, eyes sharp behind her visor.
"They've got motion sensors at both entries and five heat signatures inside—Calden included. He's seated near the control room. They think they're ghosts." She smirked. "Let's show them the real specter."
Alaric nodded, stepping into the shadows. The pendant flickered again—this time brighter. His breath slowed, syncing with an ancient rhythm. The martial form he slipped into was not one found in any manual. His movements flowed like water, his energy coiled and precise.
The moment he entered the compound, the atmosphere shifted.
Inside, a mercenary glanced toward the hallway—and barely saw the blur before his weapon clattered to the floor, his body dropping with a sharp thud. Alaric didn't pause. Another came charging from the left. A single movement—Alaric's hand snapped forward, pressing two fingers into the man's sternum. The merc dropped instantly, unconscious from a precise disruption of his nervous flow.
From the surveillance room, Calden watched the screens in rising panic. "What the hell—where's the breach team?"
But no breach team responded.
Only silence.
Until the door burst open.
Alaric entered with the calm of a storm already in motion.
Zyre Calden backed up against the wall, his bravado dissolving. "Wait—listen, we can negotiate. I didn't kill those people myself. I was just doing what I was told—"
Alaric's voice was low, but it echoed with authority. "You wore their blood like a uniform."
He raised one hand.
And the lights died.
The entire room went black—save for the faint glow of the pendant against Alaric's chest, casting a crimson light through the gloom. When it flickered again, Zyre screamed.
Outside, Vira and Balen waited. After a few minutes, Alaric emerged into the moonlight, his coat untouched, expression unreadable. Behind him, Midvale's lights began to flicker back on. Inside, Zyre Calden was still alive—but just barely. His memory shattered. His will broken.
"He'll send a message," Alaric said. "But he won't remember who made him deliver it."
Balen stared at him for a moment. "That technique—what you did to him. That wasn't anything I've seen before."
"It wasn't," Alaric answered. "Not in this age."
Vira stepped forward, quieter than usual. "You're growing too fast, Alaric. It's like... even the air bends differently when you move now."
He didn't respond immediately. His fingers brushed the pendant again. "Because it's no longer just me. Every time I rise, they rise too. The blood remembers."
Later that night, back in his apartment, Alaric stood by the window, the pendant glowing faintly in the dark.
He thought of Celeste.
He could've gone to her tonight—could've explained what he had done. But a quiet pull in his chest held him back.
She deserved peace. Not the weight he now carried.
And he… he was no longer sure he could offer her anything but shadows.
With a breath that felt heavier than steel, he turned away from the window. Outside, the city still buzzed, unaware that one of its monsters had fallen—and that a far greater force was rising in his place.
.