The sun vanished at midday, not eclipsed, but swallowed whole by a predatory darkness. Moments later, a chorus of unearthly shrieks erupted, a sound that tore through stone and steel as if they were parchment, vibrating bone-deep, a promise of madness. Acrid smoke, seared my lungs, each breath a rasping agony. Through my window, the courtyard was a canvas of slaughter: bodies lay strewn like broken dolls, a gruesome testament to a battle fought and lost in moments.

Suddenly, the heavy oak of my chamber door splintered inwards. Two of my father’s knights, their armor a ruin of dents and crimson stains, filled the doorway. Their brutal entrance snapped my gaze from the massacre below. They advanced, their movements devoid of ceremony, only grim, terrifying haste.

“How… how can I serve you?” I stammered, my voice a thready whisper ill-suited to the chaos. Defenders. They should be out there, protecting the people, not accosting me, a frantic alarm blared in my mind.

Without a word, one seized my wrists. His mailed gauntlet was an iron vise, crushing bone against bone.

“Let me go!” I cried, the demand hollowed out by a fear that had leached all strength from my limbs.

They offered no reply, their silence more menacing than any threat. Their grip tightened, and they began to drag me from my room. The palace halls were a ruin. Tapestries, once vibrant with history, hung in scorched, skeletal tatters. Walls were not merely shattered but bore deep, vicious gouges, as if clawed by some colossal beast. Lifeless knights, men whose names I knew, whose laughter I remembered, slumped in grotesque heaps, their lifeblood a glistening, obscene stain on the once-gleaming marble.

What is happening? The question hammered against the inside of my mind, a desperate drumbeat against the symphony of distant screams and the crash of collapsing masonry. “Unhand me!” I shrieked, my voice cracking, raw.

“Silence, girl!” one of them snarled, his breath, rank and hot, ghosting against my ear. “The King commands your presence, Princess.”

The King? A glacial dread seeped into my bones. Father? But why now? He discarded me years ago, a forgotten relic of a daughter.

My frantic thoughts were severed as they shoved me, hard. My body slammed against the unyielding stone of the throne room floor. Searing, pain shot through my knees; a raw cry tore from my throat. I tried to scramble up, to regain some dignity, but a brutally heavy hand slammed me back down. My knees screamed in protest.

“Please,” I choked, biting my lip so hard that the metallic tang of blood filled my mouth. Desperate to hold back tears of agony and humiliation, I pleaded, “Let me go.”

“Oh, Thalia,” a voice drawled from the shadows cloaking the dais, deep and chillingly familiar. “Why do you insist on struggling?”

My father’s voice. A shiver, colder than any winter wind, traced its icy path down my spine. He was not a man to be trifled with; his displeasure was a harbinger of ruin.

My body began to tremble uncontrollably, the air catching in my throat as if physically blocked by an unseen hand. I gasped, each breath a desperate, shallow flutter. “I… I’m sorry, Father,” I managed, the words ragged shards.

“Sorry?” His voice, a low purr laced with contempt, sent fresh waves of cold, numbing terror through me. “You are always sorry, Thalia. Look at me.”

Dread, a living serpent, coiled in my stomach. Slowly, my gaze crept upwards to meet his. His eyes, a startling, glacial blue that seemed almost to burn white in the gloom, raked over me with cold, dispassionate assessment. His dark brown hair, usually impeccably styled, was disheveled. A jagged, discolored scar, a livid slash across his left cheek, lent a permanent, cruel twist to his lips.

“It is time,” he hissed, his voice itself a venomous caress, “for you to serve your purpose, child.”

As if summoned by his words, Blair materialized from the deeper shadows beside the throne. She took a single, graceful step forward, her lips curving into a chillingly serene smile that did not reach her eyes. With a subtle, almost elegant flick of her wrist, tendrils of dark, viscous energy—corrupted and vile mana—erupted from her, slithering across the stone floor like sentient tar. They wrapped around my body, constricting like icy serpents, and agony, sharp, absolute, and all-consuming, ripped through every nerve. A silent scream built in my chest, a pressure threatening to crack my ribs. My vision blurred, thoughts fragmenting into jagged shards as I fought the crushing darkness that sought to pull me under. The ravaged throne room tilted and spun around.

Blair’s deceptively soft hand gripped my chin. A long, sharp fingernail, lacquered black, dug cruelly into my skin, forcing my gaze upwards. She leaned into view, her waterfall of jet-black hair framing a face of cold, sculpted beauty. Her deep, knowing brown eyes, ancient and devoid of mercy, met mine. My heart hammered against my ribs. I tried to pull my head away, but her grip was like forged steel, snapping it back. She brought her lips close to my ear, her breath a cold, sterile whisper against my skin.

“It’s time for you to die, little one.”

She released my chin abruptly, a deadly, triumphant smirk twisting her lips as she pulled back.

No! The thought was a desperate, silent shriek in the core of my being. I will not die like this! Not for them!

A primal surge of defiance, hot and fierce, cut through the haze of pain. With every ounce of will I possessed, I fought to rise. From the corner of my eye, I saw her and my father watching, their faces alight with a shared, cruel amusement.

“No need to struggle, daughter,” my father drawled, the sound like stones grinding together. “It will all be over soon.”

Ignoring the agony that lanced through me with every movement, I lunged. “Get her!” he barked, his composure cracking.

A knight loomed, his gauntlet closing around my wrist. I stomped down hard on his steel-cased foot with all my might. He grunted, a sharp exhalation of pain, his grip momentarily loosening. It was enough. I wrenched free. The unearthly shrieks from outside the throne room grew louder, closer, echoing like the cries of the damned in the vast, ruined chamber.

But my escape was a fleeting breath. One of Blair’s dark mana tendrils lashed out like a obsidian whip, coiling around my ankle with crushing force. It yanked me off my feet. I crashed face-first onto the marble, the impact driving the air from my lungs in a painful, explosive whoosh. Gasping, I clawed at the slick floor, fingers scrabbling desperately for purchase, finding only cold, unyielding stone.

The shrieks from beyond the walls intensified, horribly close now, seeming to claw at the very air. Then, before my disbelieving eyes, a figure began to emerge from the deepest shadows clinging to the shattered entrance. It was a creature of pure nightmare, its form a shifting vortex of roiling black smoke, vaguely humanoid but impossibly tall, with long, razor-sharp claws extending from limbs that were more suggestion than substance.

A Shadowviel! My mind screamed the name. I’ve only ever read of these horrors in texts sealed away!

Shadowy appendages, like extensions of the smoke itself, whipped out from the creature, ensnaring my limbs with impossible speed and strength. It began to drag me across the floor, not with the blind, mindless rage I’d always read they possessed, but with a chilling, terrible deliberation. It’s being controlled. The horrifying realization struck me with the force of a physical blow.

“Do you like my friends, Thalia?” Blair’s voice, sickly sweet and dripping with malicious amusement, cut through my terror.

The creature dragged me, my body scraping uselessly against the stone, each inch a new agony. I was utterly, terrifyingly helpless. Every attempt to struggle was futile; the shadowy tendrils were cinched so tightly around me it was becoming hard to breathe, each gasp a painful, shallow effort. Despair, cold and absolute, began to extinguish the last embers of defiance. There’s no escape. The creature hauled me onward, out of the throne room, out into what had once been the serene beauty of the back gardens, now swallowed by an unnatural, oppressive darkness that pulsed with unseen menace.

Smoke, acrid and thick, stung my raw lungs – the scent of Tirilla, our city, burning to ash. The air vibrated with the horrifying shrieks of unseen monstrosities and the desperate, fading screams of its people. What is Father thinking? The question clawed at my sanity. Everything is gone, consumed by this devastation. For what?

Suddenly, the dragging stopped. An ominous red light pulsed from the ground beneath me, staining the encroaching darkness a bloody hue. No… a dark magic circle! My mind reeled in fresh terror. The tendrils pinned me to the ground, spread on my back like a sacrifice.

A young woman, perhaps in her early twenties, stepped into the crimson glow. Her black hair was starkly streaked with silver, framing a face of striking, sorrowful beauty. Her blue eyes, luminous and wide, were filled with unshed tears. A sword was strapped to her back, a dagger to her thigh. Tears began to stream down her pale cheeks as she looked down at me, her expression one of profound, unbearable grief. “I’m so sorry,” she sobbed, her voice thick with an anguish that felt genuine, yet utterly out of place in this nightmare.

“Lyra, cease your sniveling and begin!” Blair snapped from somewhere beyond my immediate vision, her voice sharp and impatient.

Then, an unseen force began to channel mana – raw, potent energy – directly into me. I’d never possessed any magical aptitude; my body was an empty vessel, a conduit and nothing more. Now, it was being forcibly, brutally filled. It burned, an inferno igniting beneath my skin, spreading through every vein, every fiber of my being. It was too much, an overwhelming torrent that crackled and swirled within me, utterly beyond my control, a raging tempest trapped in human form. Lyra stumbled back, her hand flying to her mouth as she turned away, unable to watch. The mana, now a raging inferno within, felt like it was trying to tear its way out, to incinerate me from the inside. Every nerve ending shrieked in agony. Sweat poured down my temples; I was burning, consumed from within.

Suddenly, a sharp, brutal pain lanced through my stomach, so intense it stole even the capacity for a scream. I gasped, a wet, choking sound. Warm, sticky liquid pooled beneath me, spreading outwards, mingling with the crimson light. The red glow of the magic circle pulsed erratically, faster now, and the world began to spin violently, a vortex of pain and disorienting color.

Then, the crimson light sputtered and died. Darkness, absolute and complete, enveloped me. I couldn’t see, couldn’t move, couldn’t even feel the stone beneath me anymore. It was then I heard it – a voice, not in my ears, but slithering, cold and ancient, into the deepest, most secret recesses of my mind. It was powerful, resonant with millennia of malice, and utterly malevolent, sending a fresh wave of icy, soul-deep dread cascading through my being. “You are all mine now,” it whispered, a soundless echo full of dark, possessive hunger.

A high-pitched, piercing ringing filled my ears, drowning out all else. Staying conscious was an agonizing battle against a tidal wave of blackness; my breath hitched in ragged, shallow gasps that barely stirred the air. The pain was a relentless, consuming tide, threatening to drown me.

“No! You follow me, K’tthar!” my father’s voice roared, distant yet burning with fury.

A chilling chuckle echoed, seeming to emanate from the Shade that still held me in its smoky grasp, yet carrying the deep, sinister resonance of that inner, parasitic voice. “That’s… amusing.”

Suddenly, the night erupted with a fresh, deafening chorus of monstrous screams from all around, closer now, a cacophony of the damned. This was it. There was no coming back from this. The world was ending, and I was at its horrific epicenter.

My eyelids grew impossibly heavy, a final, unyielding weight pressing them down. My breathing faltered, a shallow whisper that hitched, then stuttered into silence. The thready, frantic flutter of my pulse against the encroaching darkness beat once… twice… then stilled completely. The pain, the fear, the chaos—all of it receded, swallowed by a vast, empty, silent nothingness.