The morning light crept through the cracks in the shack's walls, painting thin stripes across the dirt floor. Avar sat beside his mother's bed, wringing out a damp cloth to place on her forehead. Hera's breathing was still shallow, but the color had returned to her cheeks since Magnus had given her the healing tonic days ago.
"Mother," Avar said softly, his small hands holding hers. "You're getting better. Soon you'll be strong enough to meet Big Brother Magnus again."
Hera's eyes fluttered open, weak but warm. She managed a faint smile, her thin fingers reaching up to caress Avar's head. "Yes, my son," she whispered, her voice fragile as glass. "The Red Shadow… everyone in the slums is talking about him. They say he killed those bad men who hurt us. He's bringing hope back to this cursed place."
Avar's face lit up with pride. "He saved us, Mother. He's a hero. When you're better, I'll take you to see him. I promise."
Hera's smile widened slightly, tears welling in her eyes. "You're so brave, my little one. Just like him."
They sat in comfortable silence, the morning sounds of the slum filtering through the walls: merchants calling out, children playing in the dirt, the distant clatter of carts. For a moment, it felt almost peaceful.
Then the peace was shattered.
A loud, brutal knock hammered against the door—BANG BANG BANG—followed by a harsh voice. "Is there anyone here? Open up! Now!"
Avar's face went pale. His mother's eyes widened in fear, her fingers gripping his hand tightly. "Avar… don't…"
But the knocking continued, harder, more insistent. BANG BANG BANG.
"I said open the damn door!"
Avar swallowed hard, his small body trembling. He looked at his mother one last time, then rose slowly. "Y-yes… coming," he called out, his voice cracking.
He reached the door and pulled it open.
His breath caught in his throat.
Five men stood outside, all wearing the dark leather armor emblazoned with Hardard's crimson claw emblem. Their faces were hard, scarred, and cruel. They reeked of sweat and iron. Behind them, trembling and avoiding Avar's gaze, stood a familiar face—a gaunt man from the slums, someone Avar had seen begging near the market square.
The lead enforcer, a tall brute with a jagged scar running down his neck, stepped forward. His eyes were cold and merciless. He gestured to the slum man. "Speak."
The man flinched, his voice shaking. "Sir… this is the one. This boy. He… he was seen with the Red Shadow. Right here in this shack."
Avar's heart dropped. "No… no, I—"
The enforcer's hand shot out, gripping Avar by the throat and lifting him off the ground. Avar gasped, clawing at the man's iron grip, his vision blurring.
"Where is he?" the enforcer growled, his breath hot and foul. "Where is the Red Shadow?"
"I—I don't know!" Avar choked out, tears streaming down his face. "Please… I don't know where he is!"
The enforcer's eyes narrowed. He glanced at his men, then back at Avar. "Search the place. If the boy's lying, we'll find out soon enough."
Two men shoved past Avar into the shack. Hera tried to sit up, her weak body trembling. "Please… don't hurt my son…"
One of the enforcers grabbed her by the arm, yanking her from the bed. She cried out in pain, too frail to resist. "Let me go… please…"
The enforcer holding Avar sneered. "You're coming with us. Both of you. Lord Hardard wants to know everything about the Red Shadow. And if you don't talk…" He leaned in close, his voice a venomous whisper. "You'll wish you had."
"No!" Avar screamed, kicking wildly. "Leave her alone! She's sick! She didn't do anything!"
The enforcer backhanded him across the face. Avar's head snapped to the side, blood trickling from his lip. His vision swam, but he kept struggling, desperate.
"Tie them up," the lead enforcer ordered. "We're taking them to the fortress."
Two men grabbed Hera, binding her wrists with rough rope despite her weak protests. Another yanked Avar's arms behind his back, the cord biting into his small wrists. He cried out, but no one cared.
The slum man who had betrayed them stood in the doorway, eyes downcast, guilt written across his face. But he didn't move. He didn't help.
"Move," the enforcer barked, shoving Avar forward.
As they dragged them into the narrow alley, Avar looked back at their shack one last time—the only home he'd ever known—and tears blurred his vision. "Big Brother Magnus…" he whispered brokenly. "Please… help us…"
Far to the east, near the edge of the Black Hollow, Magnus Caldryn and Rhea Varyn walked side by side along a dirt path. The freed slaves had long since departed, heading toward safer towns with the provisions and coins Magnus had given them. The surrounding forest was quiet, the air thick with the scent of pine and damp earth.
Rhea glanced at Magnus, who walked with his usual calm focus, his crimson eyes scanning the horizon. "They'll be safe now," she said quietly. "The villages to the north will take them in."
Magnus nodded. "Good. They've suffered enough."
They walked in silence for a while, the weight of recent events hanging between them. But there was no tension—only a shared understanding, forged in blood and shadow.
Then, without warning, Magnus stopped.
Rhea halted beside him, her hand instinctively moving to her dagger. "What is it?"
Magnus's eyes narrowed, his shadow aura flickering faintly around his boots. His expression darkened, and a cold fury settled over his features. "Something's wrong."
Rhea frowned. "What do you mean?"
Magnus's jaw tightened, his fists clenching at his sides. "I can feel it. A disturbance… back in the slums."
Rhea's grey eyes widened slightly. "Avar?"
Magnus didn't answer, but his crimson eyes blazed brighter, the shadows around him thickening like living smoke. His voice dropped to a low, venomous growl. "If they touched him…"
The air grew colder. The shadows at his feet began to writhe, coiling like serpents, ready to strike. His dantian pulsed violently, shadow qi surging through his veins.
Rhea took a step back, her breath hitching. She'd seen Magnus angry before, but this—this was different. This was primal.
"Magnus," she said carefully, "we don't know for sure—"
"I know," he interrupted, his voice deadly calm. "I can feel it."
He turned sharply, his crimson eyes locking onto the distant city of Valisar, where golden towers glinted in the sunlight. But beneath that beauty, beneath those shining streets, darkness festered.
And now, that darkness had taken something precious.
Magnus's shadow aura exploded outward, a wave of darkness that rippled through the forest. Birds scattered from the trees, and the air itself seemed to tremble.
His voice was quiet, but it carried the weight of absolute certainty. "Hardard."
Rhea swallowed hard. "What are you going to do?"
Magnus's lips curved into a dark, terrible smile. His crimson eyes burned like hellfire, and the surrounding shadows twisted and writhed with barely restrained fury.
"I'm going to burn his world to the ground," he said softly. "And then I'm going to make him beg for death."
The storm clouds above rumbled, as if the heavens themselves recognized the coming destruction.
Rhea said nothing. She simply nodded once, her own poison aura flaring green around her daggers.
Magnus turned and began walking—not away from Valisar, but toward it. Each step was measured, deliberate, and filled with lethal intent.
Behind him, the shadows followed, darker and deeper than ever before.
The Red Shadow was no longer just a legend whispered in taverns.
He was a reckoning.
And Valisar would learn what it meant to provoke the heir of shadow.
To Be Continued in Chapter 24…