Prologue
Initially, I never aspired to become a villain, but that one incident ultimately determined my fate and shaped who I have become. My story is not for the faint of heart, so if you don’t think you can handle it, then stop reading.
The winter chill made gathering any more grain impossible. The village barely had enough food to last until spring. Our water stores were running low, and the nearby woods teemed with beasts that most villagers couldn’t hope to fight. Even the few men who remained had been conscripted into Knight Commander Darin’s crusade against the western tribes. The guards had executed those who refused to become soldiers.
Evening hours offered the only chance to brave the woods—searching for berries, wild vegetables, or dry wood. My gaze drifted from the frost-covered window to Mother, who had collapsed into despair after Father vanished. She hardly ate anymore. She hadn’t spoken in weeks. “Momma, I’m going to find something to help us,” I said softly. Her honey-colored eyes seemed to sink deeper into emptiness. I closed the door behind me and hurried into the woods, cold biting at my skin as I crossed the tree line. I moved quickly, knowing the next guard patrol would pass soon.
I reached the frozen pond Father had shown me, where he’d kept his blade and bow for hunting. After he left, I’d taken on the responsibility of protecting everyone from the beasts. I clipped on the nearly empty quiver and fastened the blade to my belt before creeping through the underbrush. Fresh war-hound tracks crisscrossed the snow. Patrols were growing more frequent. I’d have to stay out overnight this time. “Bloody hell,” I muttered, climbing a tree to scan the darkening woods.
From my vantage point, I spotted an elk calf. Then I saw the Kinvertha—a deceptively small fox that, when provoked, could slaughter seven armed soldiers. I carefully notched an arrow. The Kinvertha’s meat could feed the village for a week or two, if I could get it back before something more dangerous found us. The beast lunged at the elk, pinning it, teeth sinking into its neck. The calf’s desperate cry echoed through the trees. I aimed for the creature’s eye—one of its few weak spots—and released. The arrow flew true. The Kinvertha howled in agony before collapsing. I dropped from my perch, landing almost silently, then approached while scanning my surroundings. I worked quickly, butchering both creatures and harvesting everything useful—meat, pelts, anything that could be sold or crafted into gear. The meat would last until spring if we were careful.
As I walked back toward the pond, an unnatural quiet settled over the woods. Something else was near. Something far more dangerous than the Kinvertha. The Wimver landed with a heavy thud. The elk-headed creature’s maw dripped thick crimson. I backed away slowly as its gaze pierced through me—eyes burning with both fury and something that resembled regret. Fresh wounds marked its flanks. “Hey there, gentle now,” I said, approaching slowly, keeping my voice soft. The Wimver stepped back. I could see fear dancing behind the intelligence in its eyes.
It stepped forward and lowered its muzzle into my outstretched hand. “Gentle now, bud. I’m not going to hurt you.” I felt myself drawn into its vibrant azure eyes. In their reflection, I saw my disheveled appearance—hair once dark violet now painted muddy brown, eyes that had lost their vibrant shimmer, now a stagnant molten gold. The creature jerked back. I did the same as it suddenly lunged. I barely dodged, and it let out a low growl as it stumbled over itself. I ripped my blade from its sheath and drove it into the creature’s chest, piercing something vital. The Wimver released a hoarse, low cry that I quickly silenced with another deep thrust.
Panting, I pulled the blade free and wiped sweat from my brow. War-hounds howled in the distance, drawn by the scent of blood. Then crossbow bolts tore through my tunic. I stumbled forward, diving beneath the Wimver’s massive corpse. Heat still radiated from its body. No one in their right mind would approach such a creature—it made the perfect hiding place.
I cast aside my blade and empty quiver, then heaved the body up just enough to squeeze beneath it, positioning myself to look like another victim. A silent prayer left my lips. “The kid’s from the village nearby,” I heard a guard say faintly over the thundering of my own heartbeat. Then darkness consumed my vision, swallowing my mind completely.
Time became meaningless in that void—seconds or hours, I couldn’t tell. When consciousness finally clawed its way back, it came in fragments: the acrid taste of smoke, distant screaming, and the cold realization that I was standing upright in a place I didn’t remember walking to. I stared out at an abyss of sorts, faintly hearing the cries of others. None of them seemed important—except one voice that pierced through the haze. “Thalgrim! Stop this, please!” My mother’s voice forced me to the front of my own mind. The village was shrouded in dark mist. The King’s tax collectors lay dead at doorways, strangled by some new dark force. Fear ripped through me—not only for the village, but for what I had become. “Mother...” I reached toward her weakly. The mist seemed to fade as my anger dulled, replaced by fear and worry. Mother’s hand trembled as she reached toward me, then stopped mid-air. Her honey-colored eyes, once vacant with despair, now burned with something far worse—recognition mixed with horror. “What have you done?” she whispered, her voice cracking like ice on the frozen pond.
I looked down at my hands. Dark mist still clung to my fingertips, writhing like living smoke. The tax collectors’ bodies lay scattered around us, their faces frozen in terror. I hadn’t meant to kill them. I didn’t even remember doing it. “I don’t know,” I managed to say. My voice sounded different. Deeper. Hollow. She took a step back. That single movement hurt more than the crossbow bolts that had pierced my flesh. More than the blade I’d driven into the Wimver. My own mother was retreating from me as though I were one of the beasts from the woods. “Momma, please.” I moved toward her, but she flinched, raising her arm as if to shield herself. The mist responded to my emotion, billowing outward. She gasped and stumbled backward until her back hit the wall of our home. “Don’t come closer.” For the first time since Father vanished, she spoke with strength in her voice. But it wasn’t the strength of love or protection—it was the strength of survival. Self-preservation.
I stopped. Stood there in the blood-soaked snow as villagers began emerging from their homes, drawn by the commotion. I could see their faces in the doorways. The same fear. The same horror. “I was trying to help,” I said weakly. “I brought food. I brought meat for everyone.” But no one was looking at the supplies I’d dropped when the darkness took me. They were only looking at the corpses. At the unnatural shadows that still danced around my form. The mist-like shadows obeyed my will alone. I concentrated on making them disappear, and as more villagers emerged, the shadows began to fade.
The Elder stepped carefully over the carnage, his withered face taking in what had happened. Others had begun to scream. “Monster!” one woman shouted—she’d taken over one of our farms after her husband was conscripted. “Murderer!” another screamed as children began weeping. Mothers quickly pushed their young ones behind them. A different kind of coldness filled my body. I dropped my gaze to the ground in shame, taking slow breaths to steady myself. “Thalgrim, come with me for now.” The Elder’s voice was surprisingly gentle, as though he understood what was happening. I nodded and carefully removed the pack of supplies from my back—I hadn’t even realized I was still wearing it. I set it down and followed the Elder into his home.
The room was similar to my own house. My gaze was immediately drawn to an image on the wall, heavily aged by time, but I could still make out what it depicted. A lone man with features similar to mine stood in dark armor, holding my mother gently in his arms. My father, Alric—the man who had vanished a year before the tax collectors began appearing.
I heard the Elder rummaging through a hidden cache, struggling with something. I walked over and grasped the armor easily, pulling each piece out carefully. It wasn’t well maintained, but it would provide decent protection.
“Alric spoke of a day when his past might catch up with him,” the Elder began, his hand grasping my wrist with surprising strength.I could feel the resolve in his eyes—the deep brown hues that normally held warmth and kindness, even toward those who had taken from our village. “Thalgrim, you mustn’t forget who you are in the face of this new power. Your light is the most precious thing you possess. It must be protected.” He spoke with quiet desperation. “Please, swear this to me.” I gently covered his grasping hand with my own. “I will never let anything take my light, Elder. But please, let me ease the others’ fear. I’ll leave for now.” A different kind of resolve hardened in my chest—one that would never be extinguished by grief or doubt. The Elder released his grasp on my wrist and walked to a pot of stew resting over the fire. He quickly produced two bowls—I hadn’t even noticed he’d been cooking. I rose slowly, wincing as pain flared through my body. Everything still hurt. “You may rest here until your wounds are healed, child,” he said, handing me a bowl. “But after that, I’m afraid you’ll have to leave the village. Follow the main road east.” I carefully lowered myself onto one of the two stools. Outside, I could hear the villagers whispering among themselves.
They didn’t think I could hear them. I turned my gaze toward the window. A few children who’d been staring at my back flinched away. A heavy sigh escaped my lips. The entire village was terrified of me now. “Elder,” I called softly. His gaze turned to me, spoon held halfway to his mouth. “What, child?” There was hidden understanding in his voice. “May I ask why you’re not afraid of me?” My head bowed as I stared at the table and my now-empty bowl. His free hand settled over mine. Familiar warmth spread through me. “Your powers are like a blade—one that responds to your will,” he said. “No force in this world is inherently good or evil. It’s only a tool to be used by another’s will. Your sword and bow are neither evil nor good. The magic you now hold is the same.” He spoke with the wisdom that could only come from many years in this realm.
I slowly forced my gaze to meet his eyes. The gentleness within them made something inside me break. “I-I never wanted to be a threat to the village.” My voice—normally calm and confident—cracked. The faint shadows in the room began to darken around us, as if shielding us from any threat, offering comfort to my fragile state of mind. Tears threatened to fall. “I only wanted to help everyone.” The Elder pulled his hand away for a moment, then moved closer, wrapping me in a gentle embrace. Warmth enveloped me once again. “I don’t wish to be a monster in their eyes,” I choked out. “Even my own mother is terrified of me.” The emotions I’d been holding in erupted. The sobs came hard and violent, radiating from my chest and aggravating the pain in my back. “Child, you’re no threat to these people,” he soothed, carefully running a hand through my mud-caked, tangled hair. Chunks of dried mud fell onto my shoulders and bloodied tunic. “You acted in our defense, and that holds more worth than anything they might think of you.” His hand continued its gentle motion through my hair. “People only fear what they don’t understand. Even I don’t fully understand what happened.” His voice remained steady, anchoring me. “But I will not abandon a child who needs my guidance.” His steady voice grounded me to the present. The sobs began to fade, replaced by small hiccups that scraped my parched throat. My grip on the Elder’s tunic was crushing—my knuckles white—but I felt myself beginning to calm as a different kind of exhaustion wrapped around me. “Come, child. You need to rest.” He spoke gently. I slowly pulled away from him. “Thank you, Elder.”
The older man gave a soft smile and guided me into a small room. It was barely furnished, but homey in that familiar way. “Get some sleep, Thalgrim. We can speak more in the morning.” His voice was soft, treating me as though I were glass—which, after that breakdown, I might as well be. “There should be extra clothes in the cabinet. Use them if they fit.”
“I’ll do my best to repay your kindness, Elder.” He gave a quiet laugh. “Rest, child. And let me look at those wounds you’ve gained.” His voice took on a more serious tone. I sighed softly and walked fully into the room, my back screaming at me to rest. I carefully removed my bloodied tunic just as he stepped out. The house fell into tense silence. I looked down at my hands and tried to call the shadows. Nothing. They didn’t respond. It couldn’t be a one-time fluke—there must be something linked to these powers.
The Elder entered with the village physician. She flinched when our eyes met. I looked away and carefully knelt, pain flaring through my back again. A sharp gasp escaped her lips. She rushed over immediately. “What the hell are you doing? Get to the bed—now!” I moved as quickly as my back would allow, carefully sitting on the edge with my back turned toward her. “Elder, get clean water and linens, along with the extracts,” she ordered briskly. I heard him moving as fast as his aged body could manage. “What in the Silvarian’s name were you thinking, Thalgrim?” She scolded me like she had every right to. “Running around with crossbow bolt wounds? Are you trying to get yourself killed?” Her tone was harsher than even my mother’s had been back when Father was still with us.
The Elder returned quickly with the requested items. I flinched as the cold cloth touched my back. “Hold still. These wounds need to be cleaned,” she said sharply. I tensed, my body going rigid. I folded my hands carefully in my lap and waited for the cleaning to pass. “Will they heal alright?” I asked, more concerned about the repercussions of killing the King’s tax collectors. It could have harsh effects on the village. “They’ll heal fine, but you can’t go hunting for a while.” Her voice softened. “And don’t worry about the bodies. We’ve already handled them for you, dear.” My stomach curled at the implication. She began applying ointment to the wounds. I winced as pain ripped through each one, followed by a dull burning sensation. I could smell the sharp herbs in the ointment. She wrapped linens around my chest and back, with a few around my shoulders as well—probably to keep everything in place. “There, all finished. Now get some sleep. I’ll be back in two days to check on you.” I managed a faint smile. She returned it. “Thank you, ma’am.” After she left, I carefully lay back and pulled the blanket around me, drifting into the abyss of rest.
