The world smelled of smoke and old iron.
Raven's claws faded into shadow, dissolving like mist into the cracked flagstones. Around him the shredded pieces of the Shadow Walker collapsed into nothingness—no body to carry, no corpse to bury—just an absence that left the air colder. The courtyard was deathly quiet. Students stared, mouths slack, faces gone pale with a mixture of awe and something closer to fear.
No one clapped. No one cheered.
Because what they had seen wasn't normal.
Even Raven knew that. The kill had been too clean, too effortless for someone who'd been labeled "talentless" his whole life. He could still feel the echo of the devouring in his bones, the aftertaste of stolen mana. A part of him hummed with power; another part recoiled at how right it felt.
Teachers rushed forward, forming circles of shimmering wards and drawing students back. Mana flared—blue shields, red sigils, a dozen practiced hands working in a choreography born of too many emergencies. One of the teachers, a stern woman with silver hair pulled back in a tight bun, made for him with a look that cut clearer than any blade.
"You," she said when she reached him, tone sharp as flint. The quiet around them made her voice sound larger than it should. "What was that skill? Report your profession immediately."
Raven's mouth went dry. The system's warning flickered behind his vision like a strand of cold light.
[Warning: Shadow Eater ability classified as Forbidden. Concealment advised.]
The words sat like a stone in his gut. He wanted to tell the truth—how could he not?—but the memory of centuries of stories haunted him: the Council erasing anomalies, public executions recorded as necessity, families torn apart to prevent "corruption" from spreading. The wrong truth here would not lead to answers. It would lead to chains.
"I… I don't know," he heard himself say, voice small. "The crystal said error. I panicked. Something… came out of me. I don't understand it."
Instructor Valen—this was her name, he remembered from classes—studied him a long second. Her eyes, pale and sharp, scanned from the faint bruises on his knuckles to the way his pupils had that quick, unsettled flicker. The silence stretched until it felt burned into his ears.
"Unmeasurable, yet capable of killing a Shadow Walker," she said finally, low. "You are an anomaly, Silva." Her voice hardened. "The Council will want a full report."
The room held its breath. Raven felt his stomach drop at the mention of the Mage Council—those lofty towers and louder whispers, the people who spoke of "observation" and "removal" with equal calm.
If they found out I'm a Shadow Eater… the thought crawled under his skin and wouldn't leave.
For a moment he imagined the weight of ropes, the chill of a Council cell. He forced himself to breathe. The wards around them hummed with residual mana as the other teachers hustled students toward the infirmary. He was released with a curt order to report to the healers for a check. Safe. For now.
—Safe, but watched.
That night at the orphanage, the children's whispers were a low electric hum. They clustered around the small heater in the common room, eyes wide as coins, mouths busy with rumor and fear.
"He killed a Shadow Walker," one of them breathed.
"His hand—like claws!" another whispered back.
"No way, he's not talentless. Maybe he's dangerous."
Dangerous. The word tasted different on their tongues than it did in the academy. Here, it carried the grain of admiration beneath it. At the school it meant suspicion; at the orphanage it meant protector.
Raven sat on his narrow bed after lights-out and stared at his hand. The skin on his palm was smooth, ordinary, but if he concentrated—a hard stare at the shadows pooling under the window—he could still summon the memory of the claws, the rasp of black against bone. The energy he'd taken from Marcus and the monster tickled under his skin like the ghost of a current.
On the wall a sliver of shadow pulsed, small as a heartbeat. His system readout hovered inside his mind, sterile and factual.
[Shadow Energy: 20]
[Temporary Skills: Minor Heal, Shadow Claw]
He whispered the word "Forbidden" to the dark and felt it answer with silence. The system sat like a patient thing, waiting, offering nothing but facts. Raven's chest tightened with a bitter mix—exhilaration and dread.
The next morning the academy gathered survivors in the great hall. Teachers lined the walls, clipboards in hand, faces drawn. The air smelled of wet stone and incense from the wards. Marcus limped in, his proud sneer gone, jaw set, a hand clutched to his side like he could keep his life from collapsing back into him.
Valen stepped to the center. "I am Instructor Valen," she said, voice even and controlled. "I will be questioning each of you about yesterday's breach. Tell me exactly what abilities you manifested."
One by one, students spoke—timid hands, steady voices. Fireballs, wooden shields, buzzing healing lights. Each answer was an ordinary talent recorded and classified and understood. There was comfort in the predictability of the list.
When it was Raven's turn the entire hall seemed to lean in.
"And you, Silva. Explain how you destroyed that Shadow Walker."
A dozen heads turned toward him. Marcus's glare burned like a brand. The system inside him flared, noting a new line:
[Assimilation complete.]
[Skill Permanency Progress: 2%]
Permanency. The thought landed like a rock. If a skill could become permanent, then the fleeting theft of Marcus's Minor Heal might one day be more—something Raven could call his own. The possibility was intoxicating and terrifying in equal measure.
He swallowed. "I don't know. I panicked. Something—came out of me. I don't even understand it."
Valen's gaze didn't soften. "Unmeasurable, yet capable of killing a Shadow Walker," she repeated. "You are an anomaly, Silva. The Council will want a report."
The mention of the Council again—threads in Raven's mind tightened into a noose. The stories he'd heard at night in the orphanage, whispered over torn bread, fed his fear of what "observation" could become.
After the questioning, Marcus didn't approach him directly. He kept to the edges, eyes full of something like hatred and calculation. Later, as Raven walked from the hall, Marcus intercepted him, three of his cronies hovering behind like a wall.
"You think you're special now?" Marcus hissed, low. "You embarrassed me. That thing you did—someone's going to pay for that, I swear."
Raven met his eyes. Shadows curled at his feet, hungry; the system pinged an alert.
[Assimilation complete. Skill Permanency Progress: 2%.]
I can't show him anything else, Raven thought. Not yet. Not until I know what's safe.
He let Marcus rant and turned away, each step heavy. Later, when the campus emptied, he slipped to the edge of the city—where old buildings still bore the scars of the first Spill. The place smelled of rust and rain, and moth-eaten banners clung to poles. It was quiet, a broken neighborhood where no proctor dared send patrols without orders.
Perfect for testing.
He closed his eyes and whispered, "Devour."
His shadow rose like a ribbon of smoke, tasting the stale air. It reached for the residue of corrupted mana that still pulsed in the ruins. The shadow wrapped around the filaments of tainted energy and pulled them into itself like a sponge drinking oil.
[Shadow Energy +3]
He felt the addition as warmth, a tightening in his chest that felt oddly like hope. The hunger that lived in the system's core purred; it liked the taste. Raven tried the next command—less a command and more a prayer.
"Assimilate."
The shadow obeyed, curling into a hand and reforming into claws. This time the claws felt less foreign. They slid over his knuckles and into his bones like something finally returned. The system reported in comforting, dry numbers.
[Skill: Shadow Claw Progress +8%]
A small grin tugged at his lips—one he almost felt guilty enjoying. For years kids had called him useless, and now he held something that could slaughter a Walker with an effortless motion. It was vindication, raw and simple.
But the grin faded as quickly as it came.
The system's earlier warning—Forbidden—was a drumbeat in his head. If the Council learned of him now, they would not simply watch. They would act. The memory of ancient purges and the terse decisions of men in robes pressed against him like a cold palm.
High above, in the Mage Council's tower, robed figures studied the latest readings. A projection hummed in the center of their chamber—pulsing mana signatures and a map with a bright dot where the Academy stood.
"The anomaly destroyed a Shadow Walker with an unknown technique," one intoned, voice flat.
"No crystal classification. No profession badge," another added.
"A shadow mutation." The eldest among them, his hair white as bone, frowned. "Shadow Eaters were purged centuries ago. If one has emerged again, it cannot be allowed to spread."
"Capture him?" a junior asked, fingers steepled.
"Not yet. Observe." The elder's decision was final. "We do not spark panic if observation can suffice. If he loses control, we erase him."
Back in the ruins, Raven pressed his palm to the cold concrete and felt the shadow ripple at his touch. He whispered to it, to whatever thing had chosen him, "Whatever this is… you're mine now."
The shadow pulsed like a heartbeat in response.
He had no idea why it had found him. He had no idea what price he would pay for that strange election. He only knew one thing with terrifying clarity—he could not let anyone know. Not yet.
Because the moment they did, the entire world would turn.