The world hadn't changed when Quinn opened his eyes again. The alley was still damp with the stink of rot, the moon hung just beyond the clouds, and the flickering streetlamp buzzed in rhythmic protest.
But Quinn had changed.
The ring on his finger no longer felt like a foreign artifact. It felt like it belonged—like it had always been there, quietly waiting for him to be ready.
He moved his fingers. The shadows at his feet responded, coiling, rippling, forming patterns in the air like obedient beasts. They no longer fought him. They listened.
"I'm not dreaming," he whispered.
"No, you're not."
Quinn turned quickly, his hands already twitching with shadow. A voice—not Graxion's this time. Something lighter, younger.
Emerging from behind the trash bins was a boy—barefoot, pale, and no older than twelve. His black eyes shimmered with violet light, just like Graxion's.
"You don't need to do that," the boy said, nodding toward the swirling tendrils around Quinn's arm. "You'll only tire yourself out. Shadow feeds on purpose, not panic."
Quinn narrowed his eyes. "Who are you supposed to be? Another ghost?"
The boy smiled faintly. "Not a ghost. Not quite. I'm a… residue. A shard of what's left of Graxion's humanity."
"You mean you're him?"
"One of many pieces," the boy said, stepping closer. "The shadows remember his pain, his rage, his power. But they also remember the boy he was before it all broke. That's me."
Quinn studied him in silence. It made sense in a strange, metaphysical way. After what he'd just seen, anything felt possible.
"So why are you here?" Quinn asked.
"Because the ring chose you," the boy said, tilting his head. "And I need to make sure you survive long enough to understand what that means."
Quinn crossed his arms. "Look, I didn't ask for any of this. I just wanted to fight back. To not be weak anymore."
"And now you aren't," the boy replied softly. "But power doesn't change who you are. It only reveals it."
Suddenly, the air shifted. Quinn felt a chill not from the wind, but from something else—something watching.
The boy's expression darkened. "They felt it. The other beings. You touched the Shadow Core. They know you exist now."
"Who are they?"
"Hunters. Guardians. Things even Graxion feared. When shadow rises, they respond."
Quinn instinctively summoned a blade of darkness from his palm. The shape formed instantly—sleek, curved, and solid. It pulsed with his heartbeat.
"You'll need more than a blade," the boy said. "You need to learn the names."
"The names?"
"Shadows have names," the boy whispered. "Each one is alive, a piece of something ancient. You don't command them—you form pacts. Allies, not tools."
Quinn let the blade dissolve. "Show me."
The boy smiled.
He knelt to the ground and pressed a palm into the darkness. Immediately, the shadows around him danced—swirling into the form of a long, lean hound with horns and glowing violet eyes.
"This is Karth, the Silent Watcher. He sees what you cannot. He waits in the void."
Quinn stared in awe.
"You must learn the others. One at a time. If they accept you, they will lend their strength. If not…"
The boy didn't finish.
Quinn took a breath. The world was suddenly bigger, darker… and far more dangerous than he'd thought.
But for the first time, he didn't feel alone.