Chapter 1: The Night His Family Died
The night was a veil of inky darkness, the kind that suffocates the light and leaves no trace of the moon. The wind howled through the old, skeletal trees surrounding the mansion, as if whispering secrets long forgotten by those who once lived there. The sprawling estate, once vibrant with the laughter of a family, now stood silent, shrouded in shadows that reached deep into the hearts of those who dared to enter.
Dorian, no older than ten, sat alone in the dimly lit study, his small hands gripping the pages of a book. The crackling fire did little to warm his bones, but he clung to the comfort it offered, a fragile reminder of better times. He could hear his parents arguing from the adjoining room, their voices raised, but the words were muffled—too distant to understand. The night had always been their time for discussions, for things best kept in the shadows.
But tonight, there was something different.
The tension in the air felt too thick, suffocating even, as if something was poised on the precipice of shattering. Dorian's innocent heart skipped a beat. His small body pressed into the armchair, the shadows of the room stretching around him like dark tendrils seeking to pull him into their embrace.
"Dorian," his mother's voice called softly from the doorway, cutting through the tension.
He looked up at her, her face pale and drawn. She looked tired, as if the weight of the world rested upon her slender shoulders. Her warm smile, usually a beacon of comfort, seemed dimmer tonight.
"What's wrong, Mama?" Dorian asked, his voice soft and childlike, filled with the concern only a boy of his age could feel.
She hesitated, then knelt beside him, brushing a stray lock of hair from his face. "Nothing to worry about, my dear. Go to bed. Your father and I have some things to discuss."
But Dorian could feel the tremor in her voice, a quiver of fear, almost imperceptible but enough to make his heart race. He didn't understand it fully, but his instincts told him something was wrong. Something was terribly wrong.
As he lay in bed, he tried to ignore the distant shouts. His parents had fought before, but never like this. There were no comforting sounds of laughter or the gentle hum of his mother's lullaby. Instead, a cold silence replaced them, thick with words unsaid, with promises broken.
Dorian's eyelids grew heavy, but he was too restless to sleep. He tossed and turned, his mind plagued with an unease he couldn't shake. The fire crackled, its flames dancing in the hearth, casting eerie shadows against the walls. Outside, the storm grew louder, the wind rattling the windows as though demanding entry.
Suddenly, a loud crash echoed through the house, followed by the unmistakable sound of shuffling footsteps. The door to Dorian's room creaked open, and his father's figure appeared in the threshold, his face pale, eyes wild with fear.
"Dorian," his father whispered urgently, his voice strained. "Get up. Now."
Dorian, trembling, stood shakily, confusion clouding his mind. "What's happening, Papa?"
His father grabbed him by the arm, pulling him toward the door. "No time to explain. Come with me, now."
As they hurried down the dark hallway, Dorian's heart pounded in his chest. He heard voices—angry voices—rising and falling in the distance. His mother's voice, once so soothing, now sounded foreign, filled with an anger Dorian had never heard before.
"Stay close to me, son," his father warned, his grip tightening on Dorian's small hand.
They reached the staircase, but before they could descend, there was a loud bang—a door slamming open, followed by the unmistakable sound of footsteps. Dorian froze in fear.
Suddenly, a figure appeared at the bottom of the stairs—a shadow lurking in the doorway, its face obscured by the dim light of the hallway. The figure stepped forward, revealing the familiar face of one of his father's closest friends—someone Dorian had always admired.
But there was no warmth in his eyes tonight. Only coldness.
"Get out of the way," the man said, his voice laced with venom, his gaze dark and unforgiving.
"Stay away from my family!" Dorian's father shouted, his voice cracking with panic. He shoved Dorian behind him, trying to shield him from the stranger's gaze. But it was too late.
With a swift motion, the man pulled something from his coat—a glint of metal that reflected the faint light from the nearby chandelier. The flash of silver was followed by a sickening sound, the sharpness of it enough to make Dorian's stomach churn.
His father fell to the ground, the blood pooling around him like a dark river, his life draining away in front of his son.
Dorian screamed, the sound piercing the air like a banshee's wail, but the world around him seemed to slow. His legs gave out, and he collapsed to the floor, helpless to stop the horror unfolding before his eyes.
In that moment, everything Dorian had known was shattered.
The world that had once seemed so safe, so full of love, now lay in ruins. The man who had promised to protect him, his father, was gone. His mother, who had always been the light of his life, was nowhere to be found.
The figure stepped forward, his cold eyes locking onto Dorian's. "Your father should've known better," he sneered. "Too trusting. Too weak."
But Dorian didn't hear him. His world was falling apart, the edges of his consciousness blurring as he was consumed by grief and rage. He couldn't move. He couldn't breathe.
The last thing he saw before everything went black was the dark figure of the man—his father's betrayer—standing over him, the smile of victory curling on his lips.