"Some evils do not die—they wait, buried in silence, until the world forgets."
Deep within the forbidden ruins of Elaren...
The underground chamber pulsed with a dark rhythm—one that had not echoed in centuries. Crimson symbols, once dormant, glowed faintly on the stone pillars, casting a sickly hue on the marble floor.
A man cloaked in obsidian robes knelt before a massive stone coffin, bound by chains etched in ancient blood runes. The air was heavy with power and decay.
From within the stone casket, a voice—aged, commanding, and drenched in cold malice—slithered through the silence.
"You bring news, Nareth...?"
The cloaked man raised his head. His eyes, the color of dying embers, glowed.
"They are no longer hidden, my King. The girl and the wolf heir—both are within reach. Talon city. Disguised, but not beyond my eyes."
A deep, rattling breath came from the coffin, as if something inside stirred.
"The covenant weakens... soon the blood seal will crack."
"Yes, my liege. When the moon turns crimson, the chains will falter. But we must act before then. The twins grow strong—and there are whispers they remember who they are."
Silence.
Then the vampire king spoke again, voice low and trembling with barely restrained hunger.
"Then we make them bleed. Remind their blood... what it was made to fear."
A soft cracking sound echoed in the chamber. One of the chain links shifted.
The cursed king was waking
Deep in the Riftlands—where the earth cracked from old wars and ash still painted the soil—an underground haven festered beneath the ruins of what once was a border stronghold.
Now, it belonged to wolves who had no allegiance to order.
The Pit, they called it. A kingdom of scum and chaos ruled by Kalen, rogue alpha and self-made king of shadows. The scent of sweat, booze, and sin hung thick in the air. Women danced for coins. Fighters bled for sport. And the laughter of the damned echoed through every stone corridor.
At the back of the main hall, Kalen lounged across a throne of bones, golden rings on every finger, a smirk tugging at his lips as a dancer leaned in to whisper something in his ear.
He waved her off when a guard approached, murmuring,
"He's here."
Kalen sat upright.
"Bring him."
From the shadowed passage came Nareth, his dark presence seeming misplaced among the filth, but the rogue wolves stepped aside regardless. They'd seen what happened when they didn't.
Kalen leaned forward, eyes gleaming.
"To what do I owe the honor, shade-man?"
Nareth didn't bother with pleasantries.
"I bring word. The twins have surfaced—in Talon. A city bloated with secrets, run by power, ruled by no one."
Kalen scoffed, snatching a bottle of spiced blood-wine.
"Talon? You mean that rat nest where liars and losers play king for a day? Not worth a breath."
"It will be... when the blood of Lockwood and the copper wolf reunite," Nareth said coldly. "My master wants them alive. You want vengeance. And I... have placed eyes within the city."
That caught Kalen's interest. He sat up straighter.
"A spy?"
Nareth nodded once.
"Someone who knows the underground. Watches the fighting pits. Whispers into the right ears."
Kalen grinned and downed his drink.
"Then we wait. Let the rats dance in their ring. I'll be there when the flames catch."
As he laughed and the crowd roared again, Nareth turned and vanished into the smoke of the Pit, his plans stitched tighter by the minute.
The alleys of Talon didn't whisper tonight—they stalked.
Sage knew them better than her own heart.
It was supposed to be a quick trade—two vials of wolfbane extract for a scroll of black-market prophecy—but her contact was late. Again.
She glanced around, eyes narrowed beneath the hood of her coat. Radar had been fighting too publicly. They were getting noticed.
Standing still in the half-light of a flickering lantern, hands in the pockets of her cloak, trying not to look too alert. The dealer was late. Again.
She shifted her stance, eyes darting to the shadows behind her.
There. A shuffle. Soft, but not wind. She turned quickly—nothing. The alley was empty.
"Get a grip," she muttered, but her fingers were already twitching, ready to summon.
A second movement, closer this time.
She didn't hesitate. In a fluid turn, her cloak flared like smoke behind her as her hand snapped forward, summoning black chains from the shadows beneath her feet.
They struck fast, wrapping around the stalker and yanking them into the open.
It wasn't a spy. Or a rogue.
It was a child.
The boy struggled, panicked, until Sage's voice cracked through the night like a whip.
"Stop fighting or I'll leave you hanging upside down till dawn."
He froze. Wide, frightened eyes met hers—eyes too old for his small frame.
Sage released the chains, letting them slither back into the stone like obedient snakes. The boy dropped to the ground with a soft grunt.
He was no older than twelve. Dirt-streaked face, too-thin arms, black-tanned skin from long days under sun with no shelter. His shirt was torn. One shoe missing.
"Name?" she asked, tone flat but not unkind.
The boy hesitated. "...Levi. Levi Mandla," he mumbled, avoiding her gaze.
She knelt, tapping into the warmth of her magic to begin healing the bruises along his wrist. He flinched, then watched in awe as the pain faded.
"What are you doing here, Levi?"
His lips tightened. No answer.
"Not a good night to follow people in the dark."
"I was just—looking for food. My sister's sick. We don't have anything." He swallowed hard, blinking too quickly. "Didn't mean to steal. Just... thought you had coin."
Sage looked at him for a long beat, her chest tightening despite herself. She hated this city. She hated what it did to kids.
With a sigh, she reached into her pouch and handed him enough silver to last days—maybe longer if he was smart. His eyes widened.
"Arcade?" he whispered. "You're her. Radar's partner. You're the reason people don't steal on 7th Street anymore."
She raised a brow. "I'm also the reason people disappear when they try."
The boy smiled anyway.
"I'll pay you back someday," he said earnestly, tucking the coins close.
"Just don't die trying," she replied, ruffling his hair. "Now go. Fast."
Levi bolted into the shadows with one last look over his shoulder—half gratitude, half reverence.
Just as he vanished, footsteps echoed softly down the alley behind her.
Finally.
"You're late," she said, grabbing an empty bottle from the ground and hurling it at the approaching figure. He ducked just in time, laughing.
"Business got complicated. This is Talon, sweetheart."
"Don't call me that," she snapped. "Let's talk business."
And in the fading haze of moonlight, they made their trade—one that might shift the streets of Talon without anyone realizing... yet.