Darkness was not the absence of light. It was a presence, a weight, a living thing that breathed and watched and waited.
Selene Shadowborn had been born in darkness, raised in it, trained to move through it like a fish through water. The eternal twilight of Noctara was her home, and the shadows were her allies. She could slip through them unseen, unheard, a ghost in a world of grey. It was what made her valuable to the Shadowborn Covenant. It was what kept her alive.
But lately, the darkness had begun to feel like a cage.
She stood now in the Hall of Whispers, deep beneath the Imperial Palace of Umbralis, waiting for Master Valen to arrive. The hall was a vast chamber carved from black stone, its walls inscribed with runes that seemed to shift and writhe in the dim light of purple-flamed torches. The air was cold and still, and every sound echoed strangely, as if the walls themselves were listening.
Selene had been summoned from her mission in Valdris, recalled without explanation. That was unusual. Master Valen did not interrupt operations lightly. Something had changed, something important enough to risk compromising her cover.
She did not like it. Uncertainty was dangerous. Uncertainty led to mistakes, and mistakes led to death.
The door at the far end of the hall opened, and Master Valen entered. He moved with the predatory grace of a hunting cat, his black robes flowing around him like liquid shadow. His pale face was expressionless, his violet eyes cold and assessing. He was Stage 6, one of the most powerful practitioners in the Covenant, and Selene had seen him kill a man with a gesture, collapsing the victim's lungs with a twist of Pneumatic force.
She knelt immediately, pressing her forehead to the cold stone floor. "Master."
"Rise," Valen said, his voice soft and sibilant.
Selene stood, keeping her eyes lowered. To meet Valen's gaze directly was to invite scrutiny, and scrutiny was dangerous. The Covenant taught that emotions were weaknesses, that attachments were chains. Valen embodied that teaching. He felt nothing, cared for nothing except the mission and the Imperium.
"Your progress in Ferros," Valen said. "Report."
"I have established my cover as the daughter of a merchant from the Valdric Compact," Selene said. "I have gained entry to the social circles of the merchant-princes. I have made contact with Cassandra Iron-Hand, daughter of Thaddeus Iron-Hand, one of the most powerful families in the Ironbound Republics."
"And?"
"She is intelligent, ambitious, and ruthless. She sees me as a potential ally, someone who can provide information about the Compact. I have been feeding her carefully selected intelligence, building trust."
"How long until you have access to the family's secrets?"
"Weeks, perhaps months. Cassandra is cautious. But I believe I can accelerate the process."
"How?"
Selene hesitated. This was the part she had been dreading. "Cassandra is... lonely. Isolated. She has no true friends, no one she can trust. I believe I can exploit that. Become someone she relies on. Someone she confides in."
Valen studied her for a long moment, his violet eyes boring into her. Selene kept her expression neutral, her breathing steady. She had learned long ago to hide her thoughts, to present only what she wanted others to see.
"You will do whatever is necessary," Valen said finally. "The Imperium's expansion into Valdris is a priority. We need intelligence on the Ironbound Republics' military capabilities, their political factions, their vulnerabilities. The Iron-Hand family is key to that intelligence. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Master."
"Good. But that is not why I summoned you."
Selene felt a flicker of unease. "Master?"
Valen gestured, and a section of the wall behind him shimmered and dissolved, revealing a hidden alcove. Inside stood a man, bound and gagged, his eyes wide with terror. He was young, perhaps twenty, with dark hair and the simple clothing of a laborer.
"This man is a Pneumatic practitioner," Valen said. "Stage 3, Sethian-aligned. He was captured two days ago in the Duskborn Territories, attempting to organize resistance against the Imperium."
Selene looked at the prisoner. His aura was bright, flickering with fear and defiance. She could feel his desperation, his will to survive. It made her uncomfortable, though she did not show it.
"What would you have me do, Master?" she asked.
"Kill him," Valen said.
Selene did not move. "Master?"
"You heard me. Kill him. Prove that you are still loyal to the Covenant, that you have not been compromised by your time among the Valdrisians."
Selene felt her heart begin to race. This was a test. Valen suspected something, some weakness, some hesitation. And if she failed this test, she would not leave the Hall of Whispers alive.
She drew the knife from her belt, a slender blade of black steel, and approached the prisoner. He struggled against his bonds, making muffled sounds through the gag. His eyes pleaded with her, begging for mercy.
Selene raised the knife. Her hand was steady. She had killed before, many times. It was part of her training, part of her duty. The Covenant taught that mercy was weakness, that hesitation was failure. To serve the Imperium, one had to be willing to do anything, sacrifice anything.
But as she looked at the prisoner, she saw not an enemy, not a target, but a person. A young man who had made the mistake of awakening, of seeing the truth, of trying to resist. A man who would die because he had dared to hope for something better.
And she realized, in that moment, that she did not want to kill him.
The realization was terrifying. It meant she had changed. It meant the darkness was no longer her home. It meant she was compromised.
But she could not show it. Not here. Not now.
She drove the knife into the prisoner's throat, a quick, clean strike. Blood sprayed across her hand, hot and wet. The man's eyes went wide, then dim. His body went limp.
Selene withdrew the knife and wiped it clean on the prisoner's shirt. She turned to face Valen, her expression calm, her voice steady.
"It is done, Master."
Valen studied her for a long moment, then nodded. "Good. You may return to Ferros. Continue your mission. And Selene?"
"Yes, Master?"
"Do not disappoint me."
"I will not, Master."
Valen turned and left the hall. Selene remained, staring at the corpse at her feet. The blood was pooling on the stone floor, spreading in a dark circle. She could smell it, metallic and sharp.
She had passed the test. She had proven her loyalty. But as she stood there, alone in the Hall of Whispers, she felt something she had not felt in years.
Shame.
....
Selene returned to Ferros three days later, traveling by ship across the Shattered Sea. The journey was long and uncomfortable, but it gave her time to think, to process what had happened in Umbralis.
She had killed the prisoner without hesitation, without mercy. It was what the Covenant demanded, what Master Valen expected. But it had left a stain on her soul, a weight that pressed down on her chest and made it hard to breathe.
She tried to tell herself it did not matter. The prisoner was an enemy of the Imperium, a heretic, a threat. His death served a purpose. It was necessary.
But she could not shake the image of his eyes, the way they had pleaded with her, the way they had dimmed as the life drained out of him.
She wondered if this was what it meant to be compromised. If this was the beginning of the end.
Ferros greeted her with its usual cacophony of noise and smoke. The city was a stark contrast to Umbralis, all fire and industry where Noctara was shadow and silence. Selene found it overwhelming at first, but she had learned to adapt. Adaptation was survival.
She made her way to the townhouse she had rented in the merchant district, a modest but respectable dwelling that suited her cover. She changed into the clothing of a Valdric noblewoman—a gown of deep green silk, jewelry of silver and emerald—and prepared for the evening's engagement.
Cassandra Iron-Hand was hosting a dinner party, and Selene had been invited.
....
The Iron-Hand estate was a fortress of stone and iron, perched on a hill overlooking the city. It was designed to impress and intimidate, with high walls and guard towers, with gates of reinforced steel. Selene presented her invitation to the guards and was admitted without question.
The interior of the estate was opulent, filled with expensive furniture and artwork, with tapestries and sculptures that spoke of wealth and power. Selene moved through it with practiced ease, playing the role of the curious foreign noblewoman, admiring the décor and making polite conversation with the other guests.
Cassandra found her in the gallery, standing before a portrait of Thaddeus Iron-Hand. The painting showed him as a younger man, strong and confident, his mechanical hand gleaming in the light.
"My father," Cassandra said, appearing at Selene's side. "Before the accident that took his hand."
"He looks formidable," Selene said.
"He is," Cassandra replied. "Though he's grown cautious in his old age. He used to take risks, seize opportunities. Now he hesitates, weighs every decision. It frustrates me."
"You wish to be more like he was?"
"I wish to be better than he was," Cassandra said. "To build something greater than what he built. But tradition holds me back. I'm the second child, the daughter. My brother is the heir, even though he has no interest in the family business."
There was bitterness in her voice, a resentment that Selene recognized. She had felt it herself, once, before the Covenant had trained it out of her.
"Perhaps tradition can be changed," Selene said carefully.
Cassandra looked at her, her dark eyes sharp and assessing. "Perhaps. But it would require... drastic measures."
Selene said nothing. She had learned that silence was often more effective than words. It invited people to fill the void, to reveal more than they intended.
"Walk with me," Cassandra said.
They left the gallery and moved through the estate, eventually arriving at a private study. Cassandra closed the door behind them and poured two glasses of wine from a crystal decanter.
"I like you, Selene," Cassandra said, handing her a glass. "You're intelligent, perceptive, and you don't waste my time with flattery or false modesty. You understand how the world works."
"Thank you," Selene said.
"I want to trust you," Cassandra continued. "But trust is earned, not given. So I'm going to test you. I'm going to tell you something, and we'll see what you do with it."
Selene felt her pulse quicken. This was the moment she had been working toward, the breakthrough she needed. But it was also dangerous. If Cassandra suspected her true purpose, this could be a trap.
"I'm listening," Selene said.
Cassandra took a sip of wine, then set the glass down. "My brother, Marcus, is a heretic. He's been studying forbidden texts, associating with Pneumatic practitioners. I have proof."
Selene kept her expression neutral, though her mind was racing. This was valuable intelligence, the kind of leverage that could destroy the Iron-Hand family. If Marcus was exposed, Thaddeus would be forced to choose between his son and his empire. The family would tear itself apart.
"Why are you telling me this?" Selene asked.
"Because I want your advice," Cassandra said. "Should I expose him? Use this information to force my father to name me heir? Or should I protect him, keep the secret, and find another way to secure my position?"
Selene studied Cassandra. This was a test, as Cassandra had said. But it was also a genuine question. Cassandra was torn, uncertain. She wanted power, but she also cared for her brother, despite her resentment.
It was a weakness. And weaknesses could be exploited.
But as Selene looked at Cassandra, at the conflict in her eyes, she felt something unexpected. Not calculation, not the cold assessment of a Shadowborn agent. But sympathy.
Cassandra was lonely, isolated, trapped by the expectations of her family and society. She had no one she could trust, no one she could confide in. And now she was reaching out, hoping that Selene might be that person.
It reminded Selene of herself. Of the loneliness she had felt in the Covenant, the isolation of being a tool, a weapon, a thing without value beyond its function.
"I think," Selene said slowly, "that you should protect him. For now."
Cassandra frowned. "Why?"
"Because exposing him will destroy your family," Selene said. "And while you may gain power in the short term, you'll lose everything in the long term. Your father's empire will collapse, your rivals will seize the opportunity, and you'll be left with nothing. But if you protect Marcus, if you help him hide his secret, you'll have leverage over him. And over your father. You can use that leverage to secure your position without destroying the family."
Cassandra considered this, then nodded slowly. "That's... pragmatic. Ruthless, but pragmatic."
"You asked for my advice," Selene said. "That's what I would do."
Cassandra smiled, a genuine expression that transformed her face. "I knew I was right to trust you."
She stepped closer, and Selene felt her heart begin to race. Cassandra reached out and took her hand, her touch warm and gentle.
"Thank you," Cassandra said softly. "For understanding. For not judging."
Selene looked at their joined hands, at the contrast between Cassandra's pale skin and her own darker complexion. She felt something stir in her chest, something warm and unfamiliar.
It was dangerous. It was a complication. It was everything the Covenant had trained her to avoid.
But she did not pull away.
"Of course," Selene said. "What are friends for?"
Cassandra's smile widened, and for a moment, Selene allowed herself to believe that the word meant something. That she was not just a Shadowborn agent, not just a tool of the Imperium. That she was a person, with a friend, with a connection to someone who saw her as more than a weapon.
But as they stood there, hands clasped, Selene felt the weight of her duty pressing down on her. She thought of Master Valen, of the prisoner she had killed, of the mission she had been sent to complete.
And she wondered how long she could maintain this lie. How long before Cassandra discovered the truth. How long before the darkness claimed her again.