The night should have been quiet.
The Veil Weavers had lived well in quiet for hundreds of years, their home hidden in the dark cliffs above the River Spine. A thousand years of knives pulled only in secret, of jobs done perfectly, of whispers feared across the lands. Quiet had been their story.
But tonight, quiet was gone.
The home burned. Fire roared through the holy halls, curling around cut stone towers and bridges made of shadow-metal. Bodies—family, brothers, sisters, teachers—lay thrown in red piles across the yards where Kaelen Shadowsong had learned since he was small.
He tripped over a dead body, coughing smoke from his lungs, his ears ringing from the sound of swords and the cries of dying men. He was twenty, still young for his people, but old enough to know what real killing looked like. His hands shook, wet with blood—his, theirs, everyone's.
And in those hands lay the thing the Crimson Cabal had come to steal.
The Black Book.
It beat weakly, its leather cover blacker than the night, lines of dark moving under the surface as if the book itself was alive. It was warm, almost hot, as if it took strength from the bloodshed around it.
Kaelen didn't remember how it had reached him. The last picture he had of his father—the clan's leader—was the man pushing the book into his arms before disappearing into the fire with two knives ready.
"Run, Kaelen. Live. Guard the Book."
He hadn't seen him again.
Kaelen stumbled into the burned yard, smoke heavy in his lungs. The screams were fading now, replaced by the sound of fire eating wood and flesh. He was the last one alive. He knew it. He felt it like a hot mark cut into his chest.
His blood dripped onto the Book's cover. For a moment the air froze. The firelight grew dim, shadows stretching long and thin as if the world bent toward the book. Then, before his eyes, words burned themselves onto the first page, written in fire letters:
[Soulcut Blade – Crimson Cabal Killer]
Kaelen's heart jumped. He hadn't opened it. He hadn't spoken. Yet the words cut themselves into the page as if carved into his bones. His shaking fingers touched the line.
The world broke apart.
Pain exploded in his head. He screamed, falling to his knees as unseen steel split his mind in two. He wasn't in the yard anymore—he was in another place, another body. His sight blurred with the leftover picture of a blade. He felt its swing cutting through him, slicing muscle, breaking bone.
When the picture ended, Kaelen lay curled in the ash, his throat sore from the scream. The pain stayed, sharp as real memory. But with it came knowing—the way of the blade burned into him. He could feel it in his muscles, in the beat of his breath, as if he had swung that blade a thousand times.
The Book beat.
*You lived. Now the blade is yours.*
The voice wasn't spoken out loud. It was in him, like a second heartbeat.
Kaelen shook. His people had always whispered of the Black Book—a thing their old ones had hidden, a cursed book that ate men's souls for stolen power. They had kept it safe, not used it. And now, with his blood, it had picked him.
The sky split with a scream. Kaelen stood up unsteadily, shadows twisting at his feet. Across the yard, a shape came from the fire—a huge man in red armor, helmet shaped like a growling beast. His big sword shone weakly, wet with the blood of Kaelen's family.
A Crimson Cabal killer.
The man's voice was iron grinding stone. "One rat left. Give it here, boy."
Kaelen's legs shook. He had no chance. The killer was a strong magic-level fighter—Kaelen could feel the magic power in his blood, burning with held-in anger. Against that, Kaelen was barely first-step magic level, little more than a shadow-runner with one family trick.
But he had the Book.
And payback.
He whispered the word that had carried his people through a thousand killings:
"Shadow-jump."
The shadows at his feet rose. The world blinked—and Kaelen vanished into the dark.
The killer's blade cut through empty air. Kaelen came back behind him, stumbling with the effort, the Book pressed tight against his side. The Soulcut Blade's memory burned in his muscles. He let it lead him. His knife flashed in a mean curve.
The killer yelled, turning just in time. Steel met steel, Kaelen's weak weapon breaking under the hit. The shock threw him across the yard, his ribs cracking against stone.
He couldn't breathe. Couldn't move. His sight blurred, fading with smoke. The Book beat against his chest, wanting, pushing. *Live.*
The killer walked forward, blade ready. "You'll die screaming like the rest."
Something in Kaelen broke. He pushed his hand against the Book, not knowing, not caring what it would do. Shadows burst outward, eating light, pulling the fire into a spinning pool of darkness.
The killer froze mid-step. His blade shook, caught in the pull. Kaelen got up, every breath pain, every heartbeat a fight, and screamed as he threw himself forward, shadows leading his broken knife handle like a spear.
The Soulcut Blade's memory rushed through him. His hit landed—not steel against steel, but mind against mind. He felt his knife cut through shadow into flesh, slicing the killer's chest in the same curve the Cabal fighter had used against him in the mind-picture.
The man's eyes went wide. He coughed blood and fell, his big sword clattering against stone.
Kaelen swayed, blood spilling from his mouth, sight swimming. His body couldn't take it. He fell beside the dead body, the Book falling open. Another line cut itself across the page, shining weakly:
[Firebrand Strike – Crimson Cabal Killer]
Kaelen laughed, broken and harsh. His people were ash, his body wrecked, but their killers' power was now ink in his book.
The Book beat again, stronger now, as if it ate death itself.
*More*, it whispered. *Take more.*
Kaelen pulled himself through the yard, past the bodies of family and killers alike. The fires lit the night like a funeral fire, a sign to the world: the Veil Weavers were gone.
But Kaelen Shadowsong was not.
He held the Book tight against his chest. His sight blurred with tears and smoke, his mind filled with the whispers of stolen skills and the screams of his dying people.
"I will find you," he said roughly to the night. "Every last one of you. Crimson Cabal… I'll cut you out from the shadows and burn your names into this book."
The Book beat, hungry.
And Kaelen walked into the darkness of the woods, the last of his people, a hunted killer armed with payback and a cursed book that would either make him a great story—or eat him whole.