Prologue
A young girl, Anna, sits near a tranquil pond, her small hands deftly maneuvering the controls of a remote-controlled boat. The air is crisp and cool, a perfect complement to the shimmering water. Her parents watch from a short distance, their casual conversation masking a vigilant eye on their daughter. Beneath the pond’s serene surface, ancient symbols carved into stone begin to pulse with an eerie purple light. Hidden doors, long sealed, slide open with a soft rumble, unleashing a surge of energy.
On the ground, there’s a faint rumble. A tiny wave spreads out from the center of the pond. Anna furrows her brow as she steers the boat back to the water’s edge. As she retrieves it, she feels an unusual warmth emanating from the water. Soon, steam begins to rise.
Her father, Mason, calls out with a mix of concern and urgency, “Anna, come here.”
Although he tries to stay calm, worry lines his face as he watches the pond water begin to boil. The family staggers as purple lightning manifests from nowhere, slamming into the water. As the lightning fades, a ring of red energy pulses across the ground. Anna's mother instinctively pulls her close and hurries towards the house. Mason stands frozen, watching in shock as a figure materializes beneath the water, enveloped in a swirling mist of red energy. Smaller bursts of red, purple, and black lightning strike the pond, filling the air with mystical sparks and mist. This continues until the figure, now clearly a woman with glowing red eyes, begins to rise from the water.
She has blood-red hair and fair skin, and as the red glow fades, her eyes shift to a light blue. The woman wears badly rusted armor that is missing pieces, with the under-suit reduced to withered threads that threaten to come apart under the tiniest of movements.
Mason, his voice full of concern, asks, “Oh my God, are you okay?”
Confused, she tilts her head, responding in a language unfamiliar to him, “Nuz’coc’tuv?”
Her English is as rusty as her armor. It has been two million years since she last walked the surface. Part of her wonders if the common language has evolved or if she is in a territory that never spoke it. Before the Great Flood, several territories did not speak Unity Common, often calling it the language of the Mystics.
Mason, now more puzzled, asks, “Do you speak English, ma’am?”
He steps toward her hesitantly, trying to offer help. She wiggles loose the armor on her right arm, which crumbles into rust dust and corroded metal fragments, and reaches out, placing a hand on his shoulder. Channeling her power, she probes his mind for knowledge of English, assimilating the language.
Pulling her hand away, she says, “I apologize for the condition under which I greet you. It seems it has been quite some time since my conscious mind has been linked with my corporeal body.”
“Are you alright?” Mason asks again, his confusion deepening.
Although she knows that her seal is broken and one of the Nine chains has shattered, she opts to lie, answering with bone-chilling calmness, “Physically, I am fine. However, my armor is in disrepair. Do you have any cloth I could wear?”
Mason hesitates for a moment before nodding. “Yeah, we have spare clothes back at the house. My wife took my daughter there. We can help you.”
Despite an unnerving aura surrounding this woman, he feels compelled to assist. Still, he can’t shake the sense that something very dark, yet calm, emanates from her.
Before he can stop himself, he asks, “Who are you?”
“I am Raven,” she replies, her voice carrying the weight of ages. “Founder of the Shadows Bane, forged to combat the forces of darkness.”
This leaves him even more confused. If Raven possesses demonic abilities, wouldn’t it be counterproductive to create a faction specifically to fight demons? Perhaps the Shadows Bane were the ones who imprisoned her. Or maybe, judging by her deteriorated armor, she is some entity long separated from her body.
Putting his questions aside for now, he waves for her to follow and starts towards the house. As Raven moves, her armor crumbles into dust and corroded metal chunks. Using her power, she holds the remaining fabric together. For most cambion, this would be difficult, but for her, it is as effortless as breathing.
Walking through the woods towards the house, Mason says, “I’m Mason, by the way.”
“What year is it?” Raven asks softly.
Her voice carries the weight of her two-million-year displacement. The world she once knew is gone, yet the mission of the Shadows Bane endures. Knowing the year will help her decide how to move forward, regardless of technological advancements.
“It’s 2013,” Mason answers, even more bewildered.
How could she not know the year? Is she disconnected from time? Whatever the case, he and his wife will have a chance to ask questions later.
