chapter 1
Gloomborne: Rise of the Grim
Gloomborne had known nothing but darkness for as long as he could remember. The cage was his world—cold, iron-bound, and silent except for the sound of his own ragged breathing. He had been a child when they put him there, and now, ten long years later, he had grown into a boy of frail strength, his limbs thin and his body wasted from hunger.
His parents were gone—consumed by something unknown—and no one had come to claim him. Each day, he was fed spoiled scraps that barely kept him alive, and each day passed in a blur of loneliness. No friends. No guardians. No warmth. Only the rusting bars of the cage and the hollow echo of time.
But that day was different.
The iron gates, which had not moved in a decade, creaked open. Gloomborne froze. The cage was empty, yet it felt alive—as though it had been waiting for him to leave. Fear knotted his stomach, and for a heartbeat, he longed to retreat to the familiar misery of confinement. Yet a spark of curiosity, fragile and bright, stirred deep within him. Slowly, hesitantly, he stepped through the threshold.
The world outside the cage was unlike anything he had ever imagined. Sunlight spilled over the Lustrous City, illuminating streets paved with polished stone and lined with towers that gleamed like glass. Children laughed and danced in the open squares, merchants called out in lively tones, and music floated through the air. Gloomborne’s heart pounded—not with joy, but with a fear of the unknown. The world was alive, and he felt painfully, achingly small in its presence.
He tried to retreat. He even returned to his cage, pretending nothing had happened. But the city haunted him, whispering promises of freedom, warmth, and life beyond iron bars. In the end, curiosity triumphed over fear. He returned to the streets, moving like a shadow among the bustling citizens, drawing their curious stares.
At the tavern, questions came at him like arrows: “Who are you?” “Where are your parents?” He had no answers. He had never known himself. Nightfall found him curled in an alleyway, shivering and exhausted, when an old woman appeared. Her eyes were kind but wary, her hands wrinkled like folded parchment. She extended one to him.
Gloomborne hesitated. No human had ever touched him. Fear, longing, and something undefinable warred inside him. Finally, trembling, he grasped her hand—and felt warmth for the first time in his life.
She led him to her home, a modest but welcoming place filled with the scent of bread and herbs. For the first time, Gloomborne ate food that was more than scraps. He drank water that tasted of life itself. That night, he slept in a bed, feeling the softness beneath him and the weight of the world momentarily lifted.
The following morning, the woman took him to a healer. Years of neglect had left him sickly, weak, and near death. Disease clung to him, but through careful treatment and tireless care, he slowly regained his strength. The frightened, shriveled boy began to emerge as something new—a boy who could grow, learn, and, perhaps, survive.
During this time, the woman told him of the land above—a place bathed in light, abundant and free, where life thrived beyond the shadows of Thalmorra. It was a land of wonder, she said, and it became a dream he could not ignore. There were two ways to reach it: one, to pay a tax so enormous it would take a lifetime to gather, or two, to become a knight of King Aric.
Gloomborne chose the path of the sword.
