The fire still clung to Daemon's senses—the stench of ash, the screams that rang even after silence had fallen. His feet dragged as he followed Kaelen through the dense forest, the moon a crimson coin above the trees.
Every branch snapped like a whip beneath his boots, but she moved soundlessly, as though she were a shadow wrapped in flesh.
Finally, the forest broke. Before them, hidden in the cliffs, stood a ruined shrine. Its stone walls were cracked, its statues eroded by time. Vines curled across its pillars, and torches flickered faintly at the entrance. To Daemon, it looked abandoned.
But Kaelen pressed forward with confidence.
"This way," she murmured.
Inside, the air was cooler, heavy with damp stone and smoke from hidden fires. Daemon's hand brushed against the wall, feeling grooves carved long ago—inscriptions in a language he didn't recognise. The Dominion's history books never mentioned shrines like this.
Voices drifted from deeper within.
"Another one?" a sharp, mocking tone echoed. "Kaelen, do you just collect strays now?"
Daemon froze as shadows emerged from the dim torchlight. A tall man leaned lazily against a pillar, a spear of dark steel strapped across his back. His amber eyes gleamed with amusement.
Behind him stepped a woman draped in a cloak of raven feathers. Her hair was white as snow, and a jagged scar cut across her cheek. Her gaze, unlike the man's, was cold and piercing.
"Daemon," Kaelen said flatly, gesturing toward them. "This is Ryn. And this is Selvara. Both are Nightfall."
Ryn gave a mocking bow. "Welcome to the family, little lamb."
Daemon bristled. "I'm no lamb."
Selvara's scarred lips curled in the faintest smirk. "We'll see."
The room opened into a vast chamber carved from stone. Maps covered the walls—maps of the Dominion, marked with pins and circles. Weapons lined the racks: swords, bows, and stranger devices Daemon had never seen. And at the centre, on a raised platform, rested something unlike anything else.
A blade, black as obsidian, with veins of crimson running along its edge. It pulsed faintly, as though alive.
Daemon's breath caught. "What… is that?"
Ryn's grin widened. "A Relic. One of the old weapons forged before the Dominion even rose. Each is unique, each deadly. And if the Dominion has them, so must we."
Kaelen's voice cut in, sharper than steel.
"Do not touch what you don't understand, Daemon. A Relic chooses its wielder… and it kills those unworthy."
Daemon swallowed hard, eyes glued to the weapon. Something about it called to him, like a whisper from the shadows.
Selvara stepped closer, her raven cloak brushing the ground.
"Before you dream of touching one, boy, you'll need to prove you belong. Nightfall doesn't need dreamers."
Her eyes narrowed.
"Nightfall needs killers."
Daemon's chest tightened. The memory of the burning village clawed at his mind—the mother's scream, the child's blood. His hands trembled, but he clenched them into fists.
"I'm not afraid of killing," he said, voice low but steady. "Not anymore."
The chamber went silent.
Ryn chuckled, shaking his head. "Bold words. Let's see how long they last."
Kaelen's crimson eyes softened, just slightly, as she looked at him. "Then tomorrow," she said, "we see if you survive your first mission."
And in the flicker of torchlight, surrounded by assassins, weapons, and whispers of ancient power, Daemon took his first step into the shadows of Nightfall.