( Before chapter 1)
The night sky above Valmyria was on fire.
Shouts, steel, and the stench of blood filled the Kaelthorne estate.
Adrian stumbled into the grand hall, his boots slipping on crimson stains. His father's banner—once bright and proud—was torn and trampled on the marble floor.
He could hear his sister Serenya screaming somewhere behind the collapsing walls. His body wanted to run, but his heart was breaking, tearing apart with every sound of steel and every dying cry of loyal retainers.
Then—
A soldier burst through the door, blade raised, eyes wild with killing intent.
Adrian's hands were empty. His body was weak. He had no weapon, no training, no strength.
He thought, I can't fight him.
But something inside him answered.
A black mark—like a circle devouring its own light—burned across the back of his hand. His vision blurred, his chest tightened, and the world around him went eerily silent.
The soldier's strike came down.
Yet the blade touched his shoulder as if it had turned to dull wood. Sparks flew, but no wound appeared.
The soldier froze, eyes wide. His arm trembled, his grip loosening, as though all the strength had been sucked out of him.
"What… what is this…?" he whispered, staggering back.
Adrian raised his shaking hand. The mark glowed faintly, a black eclipse. He didn't understand it, but he could feel it. The man's courage, his intent to kill—it was unraveling before Adrian's eyes, stripped away, erased.
The soldier dropped his weapon. His knees buckled. His gaze went blank with terror.
Then he turned and fled, screaming as if chased by death itself.
Adrian stood there, trembling, staring at his hand.
The black sigil pulsed once, then faded, sinking beneath his skin.
His breath came in ragged gasps.
He didn't understand what he had done.
But in that moment—
Adrian Kaelthorne realized he carried something more terrifying than steel or fire.
A power that could deny the strength of kings.
A power that could erase fate itself.
The Null Sigil had awakened.