The city of Grimwald was never silent. It breathed in smoke and exhaled whispers, its lungs made of steel and stone. The chimneys of the Rust District spat black plumes into a sky that had long forgotten the stars, while the fog that curled between the gas lamps was thick enough to choke on. Machinery clanged, water wheels groaned, and from somewhere in the endless alleys came the soft shuffle of footsteps that did not always belong to men.
For most of Grimwald's people, this was ordinary. The city's filth was as constant as its breath. But for Elias Veyrin, the fog felt different tonight. He had walked these streets nineteen years, and he knew the city well enough to tell when it was watching.
He pulled his fraying coat tighter around his shoulders, trying to hide the shiver that ran through him. The lamps sputtered dimly, casting fractured circles of light against the cobblestones. Beyond them, the shadows seemed too thick, as though something lingered just beyond the reach of vision.
He should have gone home hours ago. His shift at the dock warehouses ended before midnight, but his ears had caught something dangerous—something that refused to leave his mind.
In the backroom of the Broken Anvil tavern, two men cloaked in authority whispered about an artifact. A book. Not a book for reading, but a book that read back. They had called it the Codex. Their voices had been low, meant only for each other, but Elias's ears were sharp, and his curiosity sharper.
Now, like a moth chasing the faint glow of flame, he wandered the alleys where their hushed words had pointed.
The path split ahead. One street curved toward the water canals, its air heavy with tar and brine. The other plunged deeper into the district of abandoned factories, where printing houses had once thundered with presses before fire and debt swallowed them whole.
Elias paused. His breath puffed white against the cold. And then he heard it.
Not in his ears. Inside his skull.
…closer…
The whisper was soft, almost tender, but it struck his heart like a knife. His knees weakened, and for a moment he considered running, yet something in the voice tugged at him. It wasn't merely sound—it was recognition, as if the voice already knew his name.
Elias swallowed. His feet moved left.
The old printing house rose before him like a burned carcass. Its blackened bricks leaned inward, its windows shattered, its sign hanging by a single chain. Once it had printed broadsheets and books for the common folk, until a fire gutted it. No one rebuilt it. No one dared.
He stepped inside.
The air was stale with ash. His boots cracked against glass, and dust stirred like ghosts in the rafters. Piles of ruined wood lay scattered, printing presses melted into twisted heaps. The silence pressed against his ears.
Then he saw it.
At the center of the ruin stood a pedestal of dark stone, untouched by time or flame. Resting upon it was a book.
No ordinary book.
Its cover shifted faintly, like something breathing beneath its surface. Black iron chains bound it closed, but the links were slick and untarnished, as though rust refused to touch them. Symbols crawled across the leather—strange, sharp sigils that rearranged themselves the moment his eyes tried to settle on them.
The whisper returned, louder.
…I remember you, Elias Veyrin…
Elias's heart pounded so hard it shook his chest. He stumbled back, eyes darting to the door. "What—how—"
Take me.
His throat tightened. This was madness. The sensible thing would be to leave, to never speak of this again. Yet something burned hotter inside him, pushing against reason: hunger.
Elias had been no one his entire life. A dockhand, an errand boy, a shadow among thousands. No wealth, no future, no family name. Just another voice swallowed by Grimwald's endless noise.
But here—here was something that called to him. Something that saw him.
Step by step, trembling, he approached the pedestal.
His hand hovered over the iron chains. Cold radiated from them, a chill that stabbed into his bones. He hesitated, but the whisper was relentless.
You are mine. I am yours. Take me, Elias.
His fingers brushed the chains.
The world shattered.
Visions stormed through his mind: fog drowning entire districts; streets filled with faceless men whose shadows moved while their bodies stood still; towers collapsing beneath a sky split by a red eclipse. At the center of it all, a lone figure cloaked in living darkness, a Codex in hand, shadows kneeling before him.
Elias screamed, collapsing to his knees. Blood dripped from his nose. His breath came ragged, but the Codex trembled with anticipation. The chains rattled—and then slithered away, falling to the floor with metallic sighs.
The book opened on its own. Pages fluttered in a frenzy, though no wind stirred. Strange ink swam across them like rivers alive. On the first page, a single line seared itself into existence.
Name the shadow, and it will answer.
Elias staggered back. His pulse thundered in his ears.
A sound scraped from behind him.
He spun toward the doorway.
A figure emerged from the fog, framed in the ruined arch. Thin, draped in black robes torn at the edges, and faceless—its head covered by an iron mask etched with cracks. No lantern, no torch, but the shadows followed it like loyal hounds, curling at its feet, stretching along the walls.
The air grew heavier. The temperature dropped. Elias's skin prickled as though touched by unseen hands.
"You should not touch what was never meant for you," the figure said.
The voice did not pass through the air. It bypassed his ears and pressed directly into his mind. Each word was heavy, like stone grinding against stone.
"The Codex chooses. But its choice is flawed. Return it."
The shadows at its feet writhed, lengthening into clawed shapes.
Elias stumbled backward, clutching the Codex to his chest. His voice cracked. "Who—what are you?"
The mask tilted. "One who remembers. One who serves. Do not make me take it."
The shadows stirred. They lunged.
The Codex's pages flipped violently, stopping on a blank leaf. Ink bubbled upward, smoke-like, twisting into letters.
Speak me.
Elias's chest tightened. His fear screamed at him to drop the book and flee, but his voice rose before thought could stop him. He shouted the word.
The Codex flared.
Darkness exploded outward, coiling around him like living flame. A claw of shadow erupted from the ground, sharper than steel, and struck the masked figure with a thunderous crack. The force hurled it into the wall. Bricks splintered, dust cascaded.
The figure's shriek echoed in his skull—not pain, but recognition. "So… another begins…"
Its body unraveled into smoke, dissolving into the broken cracks of the city.
Silence crashed back into the ruin. Elias's knees gave out. He collapsed, clutching the Codex, his chest heaving.
On the page, new words burned into existence:
One shadow bound. Ninety-nine remain.
His blood ran cold. Ninety-nine? Bound? What did that mean?
The whisper returned, no longer soft but coiling, wrapping around his mind like chains.
Welcome, bearer. The first page has been written.
Elias raised his shaking hands, staring at them as if they no longer belonged to him. Outside, the fog thickened, curling into the ruins like a silent witness.
He had taken the first step. And Grimwald, the city of whispers and shadows, would never let him walk it back.
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