Prologue - The Witch's Vendetta
In a time long past, lived Adrian Blackthorn, an unremarkable man in a crowded city. He was a man of plain features—black hair, black eyes—and little to distinguish him, until the moment he encountered someone.
A woman of quiet, overwhelming presence. Luminous ivory skin, striking violet eyes, and platinum-blonde hair that fell in soft waves down her back. With a single glance, she stirred something in him—something immediate and consuming.
Her name was Seraphina, and she was a sorcerer.
Under her guidance, Adrian entered the world of magic with fervor. He learned quickly, driven not only by discipline but by a growing hunger for power, for recognition, for more. And as his abilities sharpened, so too did his vanity.
His attention began to wander.
What began as a fascination with magic became something else entirely. His charm, paired with his growing power, drew others to him. He learned to use both. Admiration fed him. Validation became a need. The city began to whisper his name—not for mastery, but for the trail he left behind.
Seraphina saw it and said nothing, at first.
There was wisdom in her silence, but also hope. Hope that he would see the shallowness of what he chased. Hope that he would return to what he had been when she first met him.
He did not.
Instead, Adrian reached further. Deeper. Into places where magic was not meant to be touched.
Forbidden texts. Forgotten rituals. Promises of sensation beyond mortal limits. What began as curiosity became obsession. What began as control became dependency.
Darkness answered him.
It crept into his thoughts, into his voice, into the way he looked at the world. As his magic changed, so did he.
One night, he attempted something greater—A summoning.
Fog swallowed the city block as he worked, thick and unnatural. The air turned heavy, charged with something that did not belong. Adrian stood at the center of it, chanting, driven by a fevered certainty.
Then her voice cut through it.
There was no anger in it—only pain. And something deeper.
For a moment, it reached him.
His eyes met hers, and something in him broke through the haze. Recognition and hesitation, but it wasn’t enough.
The darkness surged back. Stronger. Hungrier.
The ritual knife in his hand flashed once before it struck. Clean. Precise.
Seraphina staggered, breath catching as the blade found its mark.
She did not cry out.
Her eyes, fixed on him, held no love now—only cold clarity.
“I waited,” she said, her voice low, strained but steady. “I saw everything… and I let it continue.”
Her hand lifted, trembling only slightly.
“I curse you—and your descendants—with the curse of the beast.”
The words settled into the air with weight.
Ancient. Absolute.
Adrian stumbled back as if struck. The knife slipped from his hand, clattering against stone. For the first time, the fog of magic fractured under something else.
Regret, but it came too late.
The ground trembled. Shadows gathered around Seraphina, coiling and shifting, drawn to her like something answering a call. Moonlight cut through a nearby window, casting her in pale silver as the darkness wrapped around her form.
Then—stillness.
The shadows vanished as quickly as they came.
Seraphina pointed at him, her strength fading but her voice unwavering.
“Our fates are bound. You will not escape me. Not even in death.”
Her body gave way.
Adrian caught her as she fell, hands trembling, breath unsteady. He held her as the light left her eyes.
Moments later, his own followed.
And so their story ended.
But not the curse.
It passed down from the trial he left behind.
Bringing us generations later, when it found a most suitable host.
Leo, a boy in a quiet village, deep within the woods.
Unaware.
Unprepared.
And almost ready.
