The wind howled across the desolate plains, carrying with it the brittle scent of old ash and broken earth. For centuries, the Shadow Kingdom had been nothing more than a whisper, a ghost of a legend told by grandmothers to children who refused to sleep. It was said to be a land buried in twilight, where the sun never rose, and where shadows lived as though they were flesh and bone. A cursed dominion, cut from the fabric of the world after a war no one remembered, ruled by a king who had not aged in a thousand years.
Kaelen had never believed such tales. He was a scholar, raised among books and scrolls in the city of Thryvale, where superstition was laughed at. But when he found the fragments of a map hidden inside an ancient tome of forgotten kingdoms, something stirred in him. It was not belief that drove him—only curiosity, that relentless hunger to uncover truth where myth had buried it.
The map was peculiar: black ink scrawled on animal hide, edges singed by fire, and in the corner a mark resembling an eye surrounded by shadows. At its center was a place unmarked on any known atlas: Umbriel, the Shadow Kingdom.
Kaelen had taken it to the council of historians, but they dismissed it as forgery. "Every decade, a dreamer like you finds such relics," one elder had said, waving his hand. "The Shadow Kingdom does not exist. Let it remain a story." Yet that night, Kaelen could not sleep. His mind played with the image of a land veiled in darkness, of knowledge hidden from the living world. What truths lay there? What secrets?
By dawn, he had packed his satchel and left Thryvale. His journey was long and treacherous, guiding him through forests where the trees groaned like weary giants, and across mountains whose peaks tore the sky. Yet the deeper he traveled, the stranger the world became. The stars above dimmed as if afraid to be seen, and the light of his torch bent oddly, casting shapes that moved even when he stood still.
Three weeks later, Kaelen reached the Black Marsh. The locals warned him that no traveler ever returned from its mists, but he pressed forward. The marsh stretched endlessly, thick with fog that clung to his skin. Strange whispers followed him, though no figures appeared. Then, one night, he saw them—shadows that detached from the trees, drifting like smoke but with faces twisted in silent screams. He froze. His heart hammered, but they did not harm him. Instead, they circled him, guiding him deeper, until he stumbled upon a ruined stone arch. Across its surface were runes, glowing faintly as though remembering their purpose.
Kaelen stepped through—and the world changed.
On the other side was not marshland, but a vast valley bathed in eternal twilight. A black sun hung in the sky, casting long shadows that moved like living things. Towers of obsidian and glass jutted from the ground, sharp and jagged, as if the land itself had been carved by claws. And in the distance, a castle rose, its spires piercing the heavens, cloaked in storm clouds.
His breath caught in his throat. The Shadow Kingdom was real.
But as he took his first step forward, the shadows around him thickened. A figure emerged from them—a woman draped in midnight robes, her eyes gleaming silver. "A mortal," she whispered, her voice carrying like smoke. "Few dare enter Umbriel. Fewer still leave. Why are you here?"
Kaelen swallowed, clutching the map. "To learn the truth."
The woman's lips curved in a faint smile, though it held no warmth. "Truth is costly, scholar. And in the Shadow Kingdom, every truth is bought with blood."
The shadows tightened around him, and Kaelen realized the stories had not been warnings—they had been promises.
The Shadow Kingdom had claimed him.