The end of the world was quieter than anyone expected.
Blood and fire had scorched the skies. Gods had fallen. Monarchs had torn cities apart with claws and wings. Yet when the final battle ended, there was only silence.
Kang Jin-Woo—the Shadow Monarch—stood on a mountain of corpses, his body broken, his soul heavier than any blade he had ever drawn. The army of shadows at his back, once countless, flickered like dying stars. He had won. Humanity would live. But the cost…
The cost had been everything.
He had buried friends, family, and strangers alike. He had slaughtered enemies until his hands no longer trembled, only to discover there was nothing left of himself beyond the fight. The boy who once laughed awkwardly in a hospital hallway, who worried about his sister's schooling, who scraped to survive—was gone. All that remained was a monarch, and a throne that brought no comfort.
When the last Monarch fell and the final God turned to ash, Jin-Woo looked up at the night sky. The world would move on. But he would not. The shadows never let go.
"...Maybe it's time," he whispered.
And for the first time in years, he let the darkness claim him.
When he opened his eyes again, it wasn't to a battlefield. It was to the cries of a newborn.
The air was sterile, the light too bright. A woman's exhausted voice whispered soft comforts. A man's proud laughter filled the room.
Jin-Woo—no, the infant in the crib—felt confusion like he hadn't since his awakening. He was alive. Weak. Small. Human again.
And he was not in Korea.
The names he overheard confirmed it. Howard Stark. Maria Stark. Tony Stark. Ethan Stark.
Ethan. That was the name they gave him.
For a long while, he thought this was a punishment. To be reborn in a world of men in suits and machines, stripped of shadows and soldiers. To grow up under the shadow of a genius brother, ignored by his powerful father. Forgotten.
But then the dreams began.
He dreamed of quests. Of cold blue windows hanging in the air. Of dungeons that reeked of blood and stone. And sometimes, when he looked into the dark corners of his room, he thought he saw eyes staring back.
It started when he was four.
One night, Ethan woke in his crib, the house silent except for the faint hum of Stark Manor's security system. He blinked groggily and rubbed his eyes, only to freeze when he saw it.
In the farthest corner of his room, where the nightlight didn't reach, something moved. Not a person. Not an animal. A shadow, deeper than black, stretched unnaturally long, rippling like smoke.
Most children would have screamed. Ethan only stared. Somewhere deep inside, something ancient recognized the shape.
The shadow stared back.
For a heartbeat, the world held its breath. Then, as suddenly as it appeared, the darkness folded in on itself and vanished.
Ethan lay back down, his tiny hands gripping the sheets. He wasn't afraid. Not really. If anything, the encounter filled him with an odd warmth, like seeing an old friend across a crowded street.
The next morning, he woke with faint words burned across his mind:
[System Initialization – Pending.]
He couldn't read them yet. But he would.
And the shadows would return.
From that night on, Ethan Stark grew up with two secrets: the family that ignored him, and the darkness that never left his side.