The world ended quietly.
No thunder.
No prophecy.
No warning.
Just a moment—barely a breath—when the sun flickered… and died.
Aren Nightflare stood in the academy courtyard, unnoticed among the chattering students, when the sky dimmed as if someone had drawn ink across the heavens. Conversations faded. Every head turned upward.
The sun was no longer gold.
It was black.
A perfect, lightless orb.
Aren felt it first—an icy pressure creeping across his spine, curling around his shadow like fingers dragging it awake. Students gasped. Teachers shouted for calm. But the darkness ignored them all.
It was watching.
Then the screaming began.
The ground split with lines of dripping ink. Shapes clawed their way out—twisted, spined silhouettes with eyes like dripping lanterns. Inkborn. Creatures no story dared name. Students ran. Teachers summoned light, their spells flaring like dying candles.
The Inkborn tore through them.
Aren couldn't move. Not because he was afraid—fear was familiar. Normal.
This was different.
His shadow wasn't obeying him.
It rose from the ground like smoke in reverse, curling around his legs, his arms, his throat. Alive. Pulsing with a heartbeat that wasn't his. Whispers coiled in his ears—hundreds of voices speaking with one will.
You are awake.
Aren staggered back, clutching his head. He didn't know the voice. Yet it felt ancient. Patient. Expectant.
A wounded teacher crawled toward him, eyes wild with terror.
"Run… boy… run…"
A monster fell upon the teacher before Aren could move.
Light shattered. Blood sprayed. The world drowned in shadow.
And his shadow surged forward.
It tore the monster apart.
Not with claws or fangs, but with shapes—shifting silhouettes wrapping, constricting, devouring. Each movement precise. Elegant. Terrifying. Shadows moved as though they had waited centuries for a command that had finally been given.
Aren collapsed to his knees, breath trembling, darkness coiling around him like a cloak.
"What… what am I…?"
The whisper answered with a whisper soft as scripture and sharp as fate.
The last of the Veil.
The heir of the forgotten throne.
The one born to eclipse the light.
Aren looked up at the black sun as more Inkborn poured from the rift.
Somewhere deep inside the darkness, something smiled.
And the world—his world—learned its first truth:
When Light fails, Shadow awakens.