The forest at night was alive with sound.
Crickets hummed, owls cried, and the distant rustle of leaves hinted at things unseen. For most travelers, the southern wilderness was perilous, a place where wild beasts prowled and desperate men lingered in the shadows of the roads. For Kael Ardentis, cast out and alone, it was both grave and proving ground.
Two days had passed since his exile. He had no coin, no food beyond what he scavenged, no allies. The battered sword at his side would not have been enough to protect him—at least, not before. Now, it was different. The whisper of Nytheris, the god of shadows, lingered in every step, every flicker of dusk around him. The power was real.
And tonight, it would be tested.
Kael's stomach growled as he followed a narrow deer trail through the underbrush. The shadows of the trees stretched long in the moonlight. He paused at a clearing, crouching low, eyes scanning for movement. He was hunting, though not with bow or snare. Hunger drove him, but so did curiosity—what else could this power do?
Then he heard it: the snap of a branch.
Kael froze. It was not the cautious tread of an animal. It was heavier, deliberate.
From the darkness of the trees, figures emerged—five men, ragged but armed. Their armor was mismatched, scavenged from old battles, but their weapons gleamed with deadly familiarity. Bandits.
"Well, what do we have here?" the leader drawled, a scarred man with a crooked grin. "A boy wandering the forest with a rusty sword. Lost, are we?"
Kael's pulse quickened. His hand brushed the hilt at his side. He could feel the shadow within it stir, eager.
"I don't want trouble," Kael said evenly.
The bandits laughed. "Hear that, boys? He doesn't want trouble. Shame the world doesn't ask what you want."
They spread out, encircling him. One carried a spear, another a hatchet, the rest swords. Their eyes gleamed with hunger—the hunger of men who saw an easy kill, or easier prey.
The scarred leader stepped closer. "Hand over that sword, lad. Maybe we'll let you keep your boots."
Kael's fingers tightened. In the old days, he would have been helpless. Outnumbered, outmatched, mocked—just as he had been all his life. But the memory of the tree splitting under his blade burned in him. This time was different.
He raised his eyes. "If you want it, try and take it."
The leader's grin widened. "Bold words. Cut him down."
The first bandit lunged, spear thrusting forward. Kael moved on instinct. His blade flashed—and shadows followed. The spear's wooden shaft splintered in half as if swallowed by darkness, the bandit stumbling back with a cry.
For a heartbeat, silence hung over the clearing.
Then chaos erupted.
The bandits roared, charging. Kael's body moved with a sharpness he had never known. His blade met the hatchet, shadows coiling around the strike. The hatchet dissolved into black mist, its wielder stumbling backward in terror.
"What—what is he?!"
Kael turned, slashing upward. His sword left a trail of black light, carving through a sword and its wielder's arm in one sweep. The man collapsed, screaming, clutching the stump where his hand had been.
The others faltered. This was no frightened boy. This was something else.
But the scarred leader snarled, rallying them. "Don't back down! He's one boy! Kill him!"
Two came at once, blades flashing in the moonlight. Kael ducked, shadows rising like a shield, their strikes deflected as though the darkness itself rejected them. He countered with a sweep of his blade—this time the arc of shadow leapt outward, a wave of black force that knocked both men sprawling.
The clearing reeked of fear. The bandits scrambled back, their bravado gone.
The leader's eyes widened, but rage overcame his fear. He drew a longsword and charged with a bellow. His strength was real—Kael felt it in the crash of steel on steel. The man was no mere cutpurse; once, perhaps, he had been a soldier.
For a moment, Kael staggered under the weight of the blow. The old fear returned, the familiar weakness threatening to drag him down. I can't match him… I never could…
Then he heard it—soft, curling through his thoughts like smoke.
"Do not resist me. Let the shadows guide you."
Nytheris's voice.
Kael exhaled. His fear loosened. He let the shadows coil around his arms, his blade, his very breath. The leader swung again, but this time Kael moved like flowing dusk, sidestepping with inhuman precision. His counterstroke cut not just the man's blade—but the light around him.
The leader staggered, his sword gone, his eyes wide with horror. "Wh-what are you—"
Kael's blade hovered at his throat. For a long moment, the clearing was silent but for the ragged breaths of the fallen.
Kael's own chest heaved. His arms trembled, but not from weakness. From power. From the realization of what he had just done.
The surviving bandits scrambled to their feet, dragging their wounded. None dared meet his eyes. They fled into the woods, their curses and cries fading into the night.
Only the scarred leader remained, kneeling, staring up at him.
"You're no boy," the man whispered. "You're a monster."
Kael hesitated. The shadows pulsed around his blade, eager, urging him to finish it. One stroke, and this man would never threaten again.
But he lowered the sword.
"Go," Kael said quietly. "And remember the name you mocked—Kael Ardentis."
The leader fled, vanishing into the trees.
Kael stood alone in the clearing, the night once again filled with the hum of crickets. Slowly, he lowered his blade. The shadows receded, but their whisper lingered in his veins.
He looked at his hands. Once, they had trembled under the weight of any weapon. Now, they felt steady, strong.
But the memory of the bandit's words clung to him. Monster.
"Is that what I am now?" he murmured.
The shadows stirred, and Nytheris's voice came like a caress. "Not a monster, Kael. A truth. The world fears what it cannot understand. Let them fear. Fear is power."
Kael closed his eyes. The path ahead was uncertain, dark, and dangerous. But he no longer walked it as a failure. He walked it as something new—something born of shadows.
The Ardentis had cast him aside. But he would carve his place into the world, whether they wished it or not.
And someday, when the time came to return, he would not be the forgotten son. He would be their reckoning.