The city bled with unrest. Whispers of assassins in the alleys had grown into fearful chants. Doors shut early, torches lined the streets, and soldiers patrolled in iron ranks. The Iron Fangs—the Emperor’s chosen hunters—moved like wolves, their crimson armor glinting under the lantern light.
At their head strode Commander Ren, a towering man with scars crossing his face like claw marks. His eyes, cold and sharp, had seen countless executions.
“Find the rat,” Ren barked. “If the Shadows breathe, we will snuff them out tonight.”
The soldiers roared in unison.
In the ruined temple, the heir studied the scroll by dim candlelight. The wax had cracked with age, but the symbol of the black fang was unmistakable. Inside, a single line was written in the ancient code of the clan:
“The bloodline endures. Seek the river where moonlight drowns.”
The heir’s gloved fingers brushed the letters, heart tightening. It was proof. Somewhere, others of their clan still lived.
The old man spoke softly, breaking the silence.
“You carry their weight well. But you cannot remain nameless forever.”
The heir’s gaze flicked up. “Names are forbidden.”
“Perhaps,” the old man replied. “But even shadows need a name to anchor them to the world.”
The heir hesitated, then pulled back the mask just enough for their voice to steady into something almost human.
“…Kael.”
The word felt foreign on their tongue, like a secret buried too long. Yet it carried weight—sharp, unyielding.
“I am Kael, heir of the Shadows.”
The old man bowed his head. “Then Kael… your path has begun.”
Before Kael could respond, a crash thundered outside. The temple doors splintered as armored figures stormed in, their blades gleaming red. The Iron Fangs had arrived.
Commander Ren’s voice cut through the smoke.
“So the whispers were true.” His lips curled into a cruel smile. “The last rat wears a mask.”
Kael rose slowly, blade sliding free with a hiss. Shadows clung to his form as if the night itself obeyed him.
“Leave,” Kael said flatly, voice echoing like steel against stone.
Ren laughed, his men advancing. “You think the empire fears a relic?”
Kael’s stance lowered, eyes cold. “The empire should.”
And then the temple erupted into chaos—steel against shadow, the forgotten art of the clan awakening under the Hunter’s Moon.
Steel shrieked as the Iron Fangs surged into the ruined temple, their crimson blades flashing in the firelight. Dust and smoke swirled, cloaking the air.
Kael exhaled slowly. His pulse was steady, his eyes calm.
“The Shadows do not fight. They end battles before they begin.”
He moved.
In a blur, Kael vanished into the smoke, his cloak dissolving into the darkness. An Iron Fang swung wildly, striking only air—before his throat opened silently, blood spraying across his armor.
Another guard turned, shouting. A blade pierced his heart from behind. The body fell before the cry even left his lips.
The temple became a graveyard of echoes—steel clashing, screams cut short, and the hiss of a blade striking true.
“Form a circle!” Commander Ren bellowed, rallying his men. The Iron Fangs shifted, back-to-back, weapons raised.
But the shadows themselves betrayed them. Their own torches flickered and died, plunging the temple into pitch black.
In that suffocating darkness, Kael’s voice whispered from everywhere at once:
“Fear the dark. It remembers you.”
Panic spread. The disciplined hunters struck at phantoms, blades slicing only shadows. One fell. Then another. Blood splashed across stone.
Finally, Ren roared, slamming his greatsword into the ground. Sparks lit the hall, revealing Kael standing before him, mask gleaming with crimson light.
“Enough tricks, rat,” Ren spat. “Face me like a warrior!”
Kael tilted his head. His blade lowered into a stance only the Shadows knew—the Fang of Silence.
Ren charged, greatsword cleaving through the air with monstrous strength. Stone shattered where his blade struck. But Kael was already gone.
A flicker. A blur. A cut too fast to see.
Ren staggered, a deep slash carved across his chest.
“You… move like death itself,” he growled, blood staining his armor.
Kael’s voice was cold, unwavering. “Death moves like me.”
With a final step, Kael’s blade struck. Ren fell to his knees, the greatsword slipping from his hands. His eyes widened in disbelief before darkness claimed him.
The last Iron Fang collapsed. Silence returned to the temple.
Kael stood among the bodies, his breathing steady, his blade dripping scarlet. The old man emerged from the shadows, his expression grim.
“You’ve announced yourself to the world tonight,” he said. “The Emperor will not rest now.”
Kael wiped his blade clean, sliding it back into its sheath. His mask caught the faint glow of the moonlight.
“Good,” he murmured. “Let him know.”
He turned toward the shattered doors, eyes burning with resolve.
“The Shadows have returned.”
And somewhere, in the heart of the palace, the Emperor’s lips curved into a thin smile as the first reports reached him.
“The heir shows himself,” he whispered.
“Then the game begins.”
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