By the time Valyn awoke, light was streaming through the bedroom window. With a groan, he pulled himself off the floor and slumped onto the bed. He wiped his tired eyes and stared at the spot where the shadowy figure had stood.
“Was that real? Am I losing my mind?” he muttered to himself.
Groggily, he made his way to the washroom and splashed his face with ice-cold water from a jar. The shock of it jolted him, but it was welcome. He could think clearly again. The strange encounter had shaken him, yet it had also filled him with resolve. He knew the location the figure had mentioned. He had done business on Huntsmen Street countless times over the years. The wool trade was strong there, and it was the main gathering point for the city’s guild of hunters. Most hunted for sport, but some still earned their living hunting the game that thrived in the Weald, the thick forests stretching from Kingsport to Ridderford in the north.
Valyn grabbed a pack from the wardrobe in the corner of the bedroom. He filled it with some clothes, the ceremonial short sword from his days in the King’s Legion, and food from the downstairs pantry. He deliberately avoided looking into his children’s rooms. If he did, the pain and grief would overwhelm him. To achieve his goal, he would have to become a ghost, burying his emotions deep.
He had seen death before. His time in the Legion had been soaked in it. He’d fought at the Battle of the White Cliffs a decade ago against the Yundols, and he’d battled tribes of goblins in the Blackmarsh. He knew death. But he had left that life behind when he met Sena. It had been love at first sight, and when she agreed to be his wife, he abandoned the Legion. Since then, he had become a simple wool merchant, travelling the roads of the realm. He made enough to buy a house and provide a comfortable life for his growing family. They knew the law, the risks of Sena being a wielder. Any magic user found outside the Mage realm of Caldaria was executed. Only there, in the mage city, could wielders legally live and use their powers.
Valyn had once believed the law was just. The tales of the Magic Wars and the devastation they had brought upon the land were seared into his memory, and those with magic were rightly feared—or so he had thought. Meeting Sena had changed everything. The horror stories about wielders weren’t true. He loved her, wholly and completely. They had vowed to keep her magic a secret, but as the years passed, he saw how the weight of it bore down on her. When she became pregnant with Corrin, they discussed the risk of her magic passing to him. Fortunately, the boy had never manifested any abilities, so they thought it safe to have another child. In her five years, Beth had also shown no signs of magic.
Then came the mistake. A small, seemingly insignificant event that led to everything unravelling. Valyn slammed his fist against the wall, savouring the pain that shot up his arm. One stupid mistake had cost them everything. It was his fault. The realisation hit him like a blow to the gut, nearly dropping him to his knees. He fought against the despair and guilt, crying out to the empty house.
“How could I have known what would happen?”
He hefted his pack over his shoulder and, with one final glance at the home that had once been full of life, stepped outside.
It was raining again in Kingsford. Water streamed down the cobbled streets, flowing toward the sewers and harbour. Carriages clattered by, and the few traders braving the weather huddled beneath the cloth roofs of their stalls. Normally, the main street would be packed with vendors, entertainers, and drunken sailors looking to spend their hard-earned coins. But today, the rain had driven everyone indoors, leaving the streets quiet.
Valyn barely noticed. His hair dripped with rain, and his cloak, useless against the downpour, dragged along the ground. His clothes were soaked through, but he didn’t care. His focus was on getting to Huntsmen Street. Was he mad? Had he hallucinated the figure that stood in his bedroom?
“What else do I have to lose?” he muttered as he turned off the main street and into one of the many side streets that made up the Warren. The Warren was a maze of crisscrossing streets and alleys, a once-wealthy district now reduced to chaos and filth after a peasant uprising. Huntsmen Street lay at its heart. As its name suggested, it was where local hunters gathered to butcher their game, but it was also rumoured to be a place where assassins could be hired.
Valyn had heard the stories during his time as a merchant. Gossip was the lifeblood of the trade. He’d been told how two rival brothers had sought assassins on Huntsmen Street to settle a dispute over their father’s business. Shortly after, both were found murdered in grisly ways—victims of their own greed.
He pulled his cloak tighter and quickened his pace. Shady figures loitered in the shadowy alleys, their eyes tracking his movements. Valyn hoped his sodden appearance would deter any would-be robbers. He certainly didn’t look like a worthwhile target. At one of the many crossroads, he paused to get his bearings, then turned left down a narrow dirt path between two crumbling buildings.
At the end of the lane, embedded in the muddy ground, was a metal grate. Nervously, he glanced over his shoulder before bending down and gripping the grate’s edges. With a grunt, he heaved, but it wouldn’t budge. Gritting his teeth, he planted his feet and tried again. This time, the cover shifted, and with a yell, he managed to push it aside.
Panting, he sat in the mud, staring into the darkness below. A foul stench wafted up from the sewer, making him question his sanity.
“Here goes,” he muttered, lowering himself into the hole.
His foot slipped on one of the metal rungs, and he almost tumbled down, catching himself just in time. Breathing hard, he steadied himself and continued his descent. At the bottom, he lit his lantern and stepped onto a narrow platform above a river of putrid water. The sound of rushing water was deafening, but Valyn kept moving. His eyes caught sight of a symbol drawn in chalk on the wall ahead—a cross. He was on the right path.
The tunnels seemed endless, and more than once, he thought he heard footsteps behind him. Finally, he reached a second marker, this one beside a separate tunnel. Grimacing, he realised he’d have to wade into the water to reach it.
Gasping as the freezing water reached his waist, he pressed on, holding the lantern above his head. He ducked under a stone arch and emerged into a vast, echoing chamber—the city’s water cistern. Arches spanned the ceiling, and several channels poured into a central pool. He scanned the walls for the next marker.
A cold blade pressed against his throat.
“Keep walking,” a voice commanded over the roar of the water.
Valyn obeyed. His assailant, a tall figure in a black cowl, guided him toward a hidden doorway. With a press of a brick, part of the wall slid aside. Valyn was shoved through, and the wall sealed behind them, muffling the noise of the water. A spiral staircase led down.
At the bottom, they entered another chamber, this one filled with the scent of burning incense. Valyn glanced around—a raised wooden platform stood at the front, practice dummies lined one wall, and alcoves filled with boxes occupied the other.
“What is this place?” he asked, his voice echoing.
The man in the cowl pulled down his hood, revealing dark eyes, a crooked nose, and a scar running down his face.
“I ask the questions,” he growled. “Who are you, and why were you in my sewer?”
Valyn’s hand drifted to the hilt of his sword, but before he could touch it, the man’s blade pressed harder against his throat. Blood oozed from the wound.
“I am Valyn. This will sound insane, but a shadow told me to find this place.”
The blade pressed harder.
“You lie.”
“I swear it’s the truth. I’ve lost everything. The Knights of Niveren murdered my children. My wife is missing. I seek vengeance, and a shadow came to me, telling me to find you.”
The man hesitated, then stepped back and tossed his dagger aside.
“You should leave. You have no idea what that thing is,” he snarled. “I won’t do it again. Do you hear me? I won’t!”
Suddenly, the chamber grew icy cold, Valyn’s breath misting in the air. Ice crystals formed on his clothes, and the light dimmed until he could barely see.
A voice hissed from the shadows: ‘The Darkness is in his heart. Who are you to deny her? Train this one. It is what the Lady demands.’
Fear gripped Valyn, raw and primal, but then he heard another voice—‘KILL THEM ALL’—and rage surged through him, driving out the cold.
The darkness lifted as quickly as it had come. The man before him trembled, but he met Valyn’s eyes.
“You want vengeance? Fine. I am known as Hallow Hood. I will train you in the ways of death and darkness. You will become a wraith, striking from the shadows and vanishing like a ghost. You will take lives and feel nothing. You will serve her. And you will be damned.”