In the lands ruled by the Seven Great Houses, dusk always came early to Blackthorn Keep.
Here, where the shadows moved as if alive, even the sun seemed wary. Darkness coiled around the tall spires of House Valemir's fortress, painting its stone walls in silken black long before night truly fell. Whispers of power echoed through its ancient halls, a reminder of the bloodline that ruled from its heart.
Kaelen Valemir stood at the highest balcony, unmoving. The wind tousled his dark hair as he looked across the horizon, where day met the edge of night. His hands were clasped behind his back, posture upright—noble, yet distant. Despite being just fifteen, he had the quiet presence of someone who bore a weight too heavy for most.
Below, servants hurried through courtyards, preparing for the noble gathering that was to be held tonight. A celebration, they called it. A feast of unity. But Kaelen knew better. It was a parade of masks—where every word carried a blade and every smile hid poison.
Behind him, the sound of soft footsteps echoed gently. Only one person walked like that.
"You're brooding again," came the voice—warm and teasing.
Kaelen turned his head. "Mother."
Lady Lysara Valemir stepped beside him, her long silver hair flowing in waves behind her elegant black gown. Though she wore the clothes of nobility, the faint scars on her fingers told of a woman who once held blades more often than silk.
"The ball is tonight," she said, gazing out with him. "You should be dressing."
Kaelen's voice was low. "Why must I attend? All they do is talk in circles and compare their children like prized beasts."
Lysara laughed softly. "That's precisely why you must be there. House Valemir cannot afford to be unseen, Kaelen. You're the heir. Your presence means more than you think."
He looked away. "I'd rather be training."
"Training shapes the body," she said. "But presence... presence shapes the world's opinion. And that can be far more dangerous."
Kaelen didn't answer. She stepped closer and gently took his hand.
"Kaelen," she said, her tone softening, "I know what you carry. The Aspect of Shadows is a gift—and a burden. But you must show them that the heir of Valemir is not a boy hiding behind his bloodline. He is its future."
---
They descended the marble staircases, passed guards in dark armor, and entered the inner wing. As they walked, Kaelen glanced at the great tapestry lining the corridor walls—depictions of the Seven Great Families, each bearing the mark of their Aspect.
The Aspect System.
A mysterious primordial force passed down through bloodlines—an echo of creation itself. Every noble house inherited a unique Aspect, a manifestation of their lineage and soul. When a child turned fifteen, their soul naturally awakened it.
Each Aspect was different:
Valemir wielded Shadow—manipulating darkness, moving unseen, and bending light.
Roseria controlled Rot and Grace, both beautiful and deadly.
Gravemarch commanded Gravity and Strength, giants among men.
Vortigan had Blood Manipulation, able to weaponize life itself.
Ravaryn channeled Divine Light, wielding pure, radiant force.
Byle, most feared, held Abyssal Tempest, a corrupted storm tainted by the Outer Gods.
And the Imperial Line alone had the mysterious Aspect of Dominion, able to suppress or empower others.
Each person was ranked by their Aspect Tier, indicating their mastery:
> Awakened → Novice → Intermediate → Adept → Grand Master → Transcendent
Few ever reached the final tier. Those who did, shaped history.
Kaelen had awakened at thirteen. Earlier than most. But unlike the heirs of other houses, his growth had been... slower.
He paused at the entrance to his room and whispered, "Status."
A faint shimmer flickered in the air, seen only to him.
---
[Status]
Name: Kaelen Valemir
Aspect: Shadow
Tier: Awakened
Traits: Calm, Observant, Stubborn
Skills:
Shadow Tendrils (Basic) – Manipulate tendrils of shadow for binding or striking.
Veil Step (Unstable) – Attempt short-range teleportation through shadows. May fail.
Progress to Next Tier: 32%
---
He sighed.
"Still not enough."
Others his age had reached Novice. Some even Intermediate—especially those of House Gravemarch or Vortigan, where power came violently. Kaelen trained daily, meditated, read battle manuals. But the shadows inside him responded on their own terms. They were alive—watching, waiting.
He clenched his fists.
"I won't be left behind."
---
A knock interrupted his thoughts.
"Enter," he called.
The door opened and in stepped Ser Rikard, his personal guard and combat instructor. Towering in build, with a faded scar across his jaw, the man carried himself with the calm of someone who had faced death more than once.
"You're not dressed for the ball," Rikard said, glancing at the ceremonial outfit still folded on the bed.
Kaelen didn't respond. Rikard walked in and raised a brow.
"I assume you're not planning to go wearing your training robes."
"I wasn't planning to go at all," Kaelen replied.
Rikard snorted. "That won't sit well with your father. Especially when he's arranged for you to meet the heirs of the other great families tonight."
Kaelen frowned. "Is this a ball or a battlefield?"
"Both," Rikard said. "The only difference is the weapons are words—and everyone's smiling while aiming."
Kaelen moved to the outfit and began changing reluctantly. "Why now?"
Rikard paused. "The Empire's growing restless. The Outer Gods stir. Demon contractors are appearing more frequently, even near the borders. The Duke believes... alliances must be watched. Tested."
Kaelen's eyes narrowed. "Demon contractors?"
Rikard nodded. "There have been disappearances. Rituals. Those who bind themselves to demons in exchange for twisted power. House Byle has been unusually quiet."
Kaelen looked into the mirror as he finished dressing. His reflection stared back—not the face of a boy, but someone forced to mature too fast.
"Then this ball isn't just for pleasantries," Kaelen muttered.
"No," Rikard said simply. "And neither are you."
---
As they left the room, Kaelen took one final glance at the darkening sky.
He didn't know it yet, but tonight... everything would begin.
The betrayal.
The fall.
The descent into death.
And the return from it.
The heir of shadows was about to lose everything.
And be reborn into something far darker.
---