Prologue
30 Years Ago — Harper Manor, Midnight
The wind howled through the cracks in the ancient walls of Harper Manor, carrying with it whispers that seemed to crawl up the spine of anyone who dared to listen. The air was thick with the scent of old wood and decay, but deeper still, an acrid stench lingered, one that hinted at something far more sinister. The candles flickered wildly, their dim light casting twisted shadows that danced along the walls.
At the center of the grand, decaying hall stood a group of five, their heads bowed in silent concentration. At the forefront, a man in a dark cloak—Vincent Harper—clutched a weathered leather-bound book, its pages filled with arcane symbols. His voice, low and gravelly, echoed as he chanted an ancient incantation.
So far, everything was going according to plan. They believed the ritual would grant them what they sought—power, wealth, immortality.
But there was one thing they hadn’t counted on.
The Shadow.
Suddenly, the temperature in the room plummeted. The once flickering candles were extinguished, leaving only the suffocating darkness. A cold, invisible presence washed over them, and for the first time that night, the bravest among them felt true fear.
“What have you done, Vincent?” one of the group whispered, their voice trembling.
Vincent’s eyes widened in terror as he looked up from the book, his voice faltering. The words that had once spilled from his lips now caught in his throat, replaced by a dreadful silence. The others began to back away, but it was too late.
Out of the shadows, something moved. It slithered at first, a formless mass creeping along the edges of the hall. Then it took shape—an inky, grotesque figure with no discernible face, just a void where its eyes should have been. It hovered in the darkness, watching, waiting.
Screams filled the air as the Shadow lashed out, swallowing the group one by one, their cries cut short as they were pulled into the abyss. Vincent tried to flee, but the force of the ritual was too strong. The last sound he heard before the darkness consumed him was the voice of the Shadow, whispering in his ear.
“Your fear is mine now.”
When the townspeople arrived the next morning, the manor was empty. Not a trace of the ritual, or the people who had conducted it, remained. But the legend of the Shadow was born that day, and the manor’s doors would remain forever closed… until tonight.
