The rain had not stopped for three days.
It fell over the city like a curse, turning the narrow alleys into rivers of mud and darkness. Thunder growled above the broken rooftops, and every flash of lightning revealed the same cruel truth—
The slums of Black Hollow had no mercy.
Aarav pulled his torn jacket tighter around himself as he ran through the rain-soaked streets, a loaf of bread clutched tightly in his hands.
His breath came out in uneven bursts.
He was late.
Again.
"Aunt Meera is going to worry…" he muttered under his breath.
Despite the cold rain dripping from his black hair, his thoughts remained on the small home waiting for him at the edge of the district.
A place no one else would call home.
But to Aarav, it was everything.
It was the only place where he had ever known warmth.
At sixteen, Aarav had already learned the truth of the world.
The rich lived in towers of glass and gold.
The poor lived in the shadows beneath them.
And people like him?
They survived.
Barely.
No family name.
No inheritance.
No bloodline crest.
Nothing.
He was just an orphan abandoned at the city gates as a baby.
At least, that was what everyone had told him.
A loud crack of thunder split the sky.
For a moment, the entire alley lit up in silver light.
And in that brief flash—
Aarav froze.
The shadows on the walls were moving.
Not because of the storm.
Not because of the lightning.
They were moving on their own.
His heartbeat quickened.
Again.
It had been happening for years.
Sometimes he saw figures standing in corners that vanished when he turned.
Sometimes he heard whispers in empty rooms.
Sometimes, when he was alone, the darkness around him felt alive.
He had never told anyone.
Who would believe him?
He shook his head and forced himself to move.
By the time he reached the house, the rain had become heavier.
The wooden door was half open.
Aarav frowned.
"Aunt Meera?"
No answer.
His fingers tightened around the bread.
Something felt wrong.
Terribly wrong.
He stepped inside.
The room was dark.
Too dark.
The fireplace was out.
The usual smell of soup and herbs was gone.
Instead—
There was blood.
Aarav's eyes widened.
A dark red trail stretched across the floorboards.
The loaf of bread slipped from his hands and fell to the ground.
"No…"
His voice trembled.
"Aunt Meera!"
He rushed deeper into the house.
The kitchen.
Empty.
The hallway.
Silent.
Then he saw it.
Aunt Meera lay near the stairs, blood staining her clothes.
Her breathing was shallow.
Weak.
Aarav dropped to his knees beside her.
"No, no, no…"
Her trembling fingers reached for his face.
"Aarav…"
"Who did this?" he whispered, panic flooding his voice.
Her eyes were filled with fear.
"They came… for you."
The room suddenly grew colder.
A presence.
Heavy.
Killing intent.
Aarav slowly turned.
Three figures stood at the doorway.
Cloaked in black.
Their faces hidden behind silver masks.
Rainwater dripped from their coats.
Each of them carried a blade glowing with dark crimson light.
One of them stepped forward.
"So the heir lives."
Aarav stared at them in confusion.
"Heir?"
The masked man tilted his head.
"The last blood of the Shadow Legacy."
Aarav's heart skipped a beat.
"What are you talking about?"
The man raised his sword.
"You were supposed to die sixteen years ago."
Aunt Meera suddenly grabbed Aarav's arm with surprising strength.
"Run!"
The word had barely left her lips when one of the assassins moved.
A flash of steel.
A scream.
Blood splashed across Aarav's face.
Everything stopped.
His mind went blank.
Aunt Meera's hand slipped from his arm.
Her body collapsed.
Still.
Silent.
Dead.
For a moment, Aarav couldn't breathe.
The world around him became distant.
Muted.
Then something inside him broke.
"No…"
His voice was barely a whisper.
The assassins stepped closer.
"There is no point resisting," one of them said coldly. "The Shadow bloodline ends tonight."
Aarav lowered his head.
His fists trembled.
Rainwater mixed with tears on his face.
Then came the whisper.
A voice.
Ancient.
Cold.
Powerful.
Do you seek vengeance?
Aarav's eyes widened.
The voice wasn't outside.
It was inside his head.
Do you seek power?
The room darkened.
The candles flickered out.
The shadows beneath his feet began to spread.
The assassins stopped.
One of them took a step back.
"Impossible…"
A burning pain exploded in Aarav's chest.
He screamed.
It felt as if fire were carving something into his skin.
A black symbol began to glow through his torn shirt.
A crest.
Ancient.
Majestic.
Terrifying.
A crown surrounded by writhing shadows.
The assassins' voices trembled.
"The Shadow Crest…"
"It's awakened!"
Aarav slowly lifted his head.
His eyes had changed.
One glowed silver.
The other, deep crimson.
The darkness in the room surged violently.
The shadows on the walls rose like living creatures.
Long tendrils of black mist curled around his body.
The first assassin lunged.
Too late.
The darkness moved before Aarav did.
A spear made of pure shadow pierced the assassin's chest.
The man let out a choked gasp before collapsing.
The other two froze in horror.
"He's not human—"
Aarav raised his hand.
The shadows obeyed.
They wrapped around the second assassin's throat and lifted him into the air.
A sharp twist.
A crack.
The body dropped lifelessly.
The last assassin stumbled backwards.
"No… this cannot be…"
Aarav's voice was colder than the storm outside.
"Who sent you?"
The man's breathing turned ragged.
"You… you cannot stop the Six Houses."
Six Houses?
Before Aarav could ask another question, the assassin bit down on something hidden in his mouth.
Poison.
Within seconds, he fell dead.
Silence.
Only the rain remained.
Aarav stood in the centre of the ruined room, staring at his hands.
The shadows slowly retreated.
The crest on his chest pulsed once.
Then the memories came.
Flashes.
A black throne.
A burning kingdom.
Armies kneeling in darkness.
A man wearing the same crest as him.
A king.
A voice echoed through his mind.
You are the last heir of House Umbra.
The world betrayed your blood.
Take back what was stolen.
Aarav staggered backwards.
His body was trembling.
His heart was racing.
Nothing made sense.
Then his gaze fell on Aunt Meera.
The woman who had raised him.
Fed him.
Loved him.
Gone.
Something inside his eyes changed.
The grief became steel.
The pain became purpose.
He slowly knelt beside her and closed her eyes.
"I don't know what this bloodline is," he said quietly.
"I don't know why they came for me."
His fingers clenched.
"But I swear…"
The shadows beneath him rippled.
"I will find the truth."
"I will make them pay."
Lightning flashed across the sky.
For a moment, the room was bathed in silver.
And behind Aarav—
A massive shadow figure appeared on the wall.
A king seated upon a dark throne.
Watching.
Waiting.
The true chronicles had begun.