Elias pulled the shadows from the wall with a subtle gesture—barely a twitch of his fingers.
They responded instantly, sliding toward him in a thin sheet like a living veil. He draped it over himself like a cloak with a hood, and soon he was nothing but a silhouette of a man, hard to notice in the darkness.
Footsteps that should have echoed instead muffled themselves. His heartbeat felt too loud.
Even the faint rustle of his coat sounded intrusive, as though the cloak made of hallway shadows was encapsulating all sound and minimizing it from the outside.
Elias slowed, letting his breathing fall into the soft, rhythmic pattern he used in crowded markets or while slipping past city watchmen—the art of existing without drawing attention.
He let his senses expand as far as they could reach. He couldn't see the creature, but he felt the subtle distortion of the hallway's shadows.
He felt it.
The way one may feel a storm—air charged before the first clap of thunder.
A distortion of air.
A thickening of shadow.
A pressure that made bone feel too light.
Something moved.
A ripple along the shadows of the far wall.
A shape the size of a horse slipping silently between two bands of darkness.
Then nothing.
Elias's heart beat slow and controlled. It kept him steady.
The creature's attention snapped toward him like a sudden windshift. Had it heard him? What was it?
Elias lowered into a careful stance and let the shadows of the cloak flow around him, thickening at his ankles—subtle misdirections, shifting edges, confusing the creature's perception. Perhaps even hiding his steps completely.
The entity shifted again.
He felt its weight—enormous and cold—perched above on the ceiling's darkest seam. Not closer, but suddenly in a different direction.
Both of them waited, each expecting the other to move first.
To make the first mistake.
To fail.
Elias exhaled softly.
Then he stepped into the corridor.
And the Shadowborn Hunter moved.
Silently.
Swiftly.
But Elias did not retreat.
He flicked his fingers—barely a gesture—and pebble-sized pieces of shadow from his cloak flew ahead like thrown stones. The corridor's shadows convulsed like startled birds, exploding outward and ricocheting off the walls.
Shadows burst in every direction except his.
The Hunter lunged—
not at Elias—
but at the loudest point of shadow-clatter.
A full-bodied, enormous shape materialized for a blink—
six limbs, elongated and jointed wrong,
a long serpentine torso,
a head like a mask carved from moving shadow—
before dissolving back into darkness.
He suppressed a gasp of awe at how smooth the movement was. He flicked more shadow and watched.
The creature flowed across the stone, dissolving into a seam of darkness as seamlessly as breath dissolving into cold air. Its mass—large, heavy—shifted without leaving a trace.
Not invisibility.
Not illusion.
A transition from matter to shadow, from physical form to a liminal state between.
His pulse quickened—not from fear, but fascination.
It's not merging with shadow… it's inhabiting it.
That distinction mattered.
He memorized the motion—
the angle of its limbs,
the slight warp of space as it moved,
the heartbeat-like ripple each time it vanished.
He wanted to learn it.
"I want to recreate it. I want to improve it," Elias thought furiously. That ability alone would make him exceptional.
The creature shifted again, revealing itself for a heartbeat—a towering, elongated figure with too many joints, a torso like stretched ink, and a mask-like face carved from shifting dark.
Then it was gone.
He glanced around—
There.
Something massive stood half-folded inside the wall of shadows. Entirely hidden, fully merged into darkness as though the physical world was optional.
A Hunter.
Tall as two men but thin, starved-looking, its limbs elongated. Its hide was neither fur nor scale but something between smoke and flesh, rippling like ink in water.
Its head tilted.
Two pale, vertical slits opened where its eyes should be.
Not glowing.
Not bright.
Like negative light—yet visible, and terribly aware.
Perhaps he could see it only because he, too, was a little different. More like the beast than he liked to admit.
Elias didn't move.
For a heartbeat, neither did the creature. It simply… watched. Listening to his breathing, to the tiny shift of weight, to the pulse beneath his skin.
He remembered something from the lecture on mythological beasts and how to survive encounters with them. Myths were real—and dangerous:
Shadowborn Hunters do not chase sound.
They chase tension. Emotional tension, specifically.
Magicians know why, but their empathy is used for hunting.
Not like they need extra senses. They just enjoy it. Or so the scholar claimed. Maybe he was trying to scare them… but Elias wasn't risking it.
So he forced his mind still.
Heartbeat settled.
Breath slowed.
Thoughts smoothed into deliberate calm.
And the Hunter… paused.
Its head tilted the other way, puzzled by the lack of fear. Its limbs twitched, then retracted slightly deeper into the darkness.
Not retreat.
Repositioning.
Testing him.
Elias understood.
He mirrored the lesson instinctively, watching how it slipped through shadow—not stepping, not crawling, but choosing a different place to exist in.
Some part of him—older than this life—paid close attention.
He would learn from that.
He wanted to learn from that.
The Hunter shifted again—
And struck.
Explosive silence.
A blur of limbs.
Teeth like slivers of night.
A violent displacement of air—
But Elias had already slipped sideways, guided not only by training but by something older.
The creature's maw collided with stone, fracturing it in a spray of dust and shadow. Its mask-like face split open vertically, revealing rows of translucent teeth and a long black tongue.
No roar.
No screech.
Just breath—cold, sharp, hungry.
Elias flicked a handful of shadow toward the far wall.
Not a weapon.
A distraction.
The darkness detonated in a burst of false movement—like twenty silhouettes running at once.
The creature snapped toward the noise, convulsing into shadow and reappearing a meter away, stalking false prey.
Now.
Elias sprinted past, sliding low, claws clipping the air above his shoulder.
His heart thudded once.
Only once.
Then he was running deeper into the vaults.
The creature followed—
too fast, too fluid—
but disoriented by the afterimages.
He reached the vault door.
It slid open with minimal effort.
He dove inside just as the beast barreled past.
Elias slid the door closed but didn't latch it—closing it fully might draw attention.
The circular chamber flickered with near-frozen torchlight, casting more shadow than illumination.
In the center stood a pedestal.
On it lay a small obsidian cube engraved with runes, pulsing slowly—dim, deliberate, alive.
The retrieval object.
Elias grabbed it.
The vault brightened in a sudden runic flare—announcing objective completion.
And his position.
The creature shrieked—stone grinding on stone—and slammed against the vault entrance.
The door buckled inward.
Elias clenched his jaw.
Only one exit—and the Hunter blocked it.
Running would fail.
Fighting would kill him.
He needed to think.
He needed to learn.
The Hunter forced its body halfway through the door, shadows spiraling around it.
He studied it.
The creature didn't simply become shadow—
it used compression, folding itself like cloth along a seam.
He inhaled.
He pulled shadows to him, discarding the remnants of his cloak.
He tried—desperately—to imitate the creature's transition, sinking toward the shadow of the pedestal.
The darkness converged around him, threading along his spine, coiling around his ribs. It pressed into him the way water forces into empty spaces.
The vault darkened.
The torchlight bent away.
The creature paused, sensing the shift.
Elias stepped backward—
not behind the pedestal—
but into its shadow.
For a moment—weightlessness.
Not fully gone.
Not fully concealed.
But close.
And in that heartbeat of half-existence, he understood: the creature did not hide by escaping reality, but by accepting two truths at once—
that it was matter, and that it wasn't.
Then the darkness snapped back.
He stumbled out of the seam, chest heaving.
The creature lunged—
and missed.
His mimicry had fooled it.
Imperfectly.
But enough.
The Hunter slammed into the far wall, clawing at stone.
Elias slipped past and burst into the corridor.
He ran—not blindly, every step measured—but fast.
The Hunter erupted after him, flickering between form and shadow.
It was faster.
But not focused.
He turned the final corner—
where the wounded operative lay cocooned in shadow.
"You came back…" the man whispered.
"I said I wasn't leaving you."
Elias reinforced the veil around him.
The corridor shuddered—the Hunter approaching.
Elias pressed a hand to the floor. Shadows gathered beneath him—responding swiftly now.
The creature appeared, prowling forward, cold presence pressing against his lungs.
He exhaled.
Shadows wrapped around him fully, concealing warmth and breath.
The Hunter leaned down—mask-face inches away—breathing cold over him.
Elias didn't move.
The creature inhaled, confused, unable to pinpoint him.
Then, with a ripple of darkness, it withdrew.
Elias waited a count of forty.
Then he lifted the operative and walked—quietly—toward the exit.
By the time he reached the upper levels, his legs trembled.
The obsidian cube hung heavy in his cloak.
Healers rushed forward.
"He… he saved me," the man said.
"Focus on breathing," Elias told him.
When they were gone, he stood alone.
A door opened behind him.
Two examiners entered—the obsidian-masked one and the quiet woman.
They studied him.
"You disobeyed."
Elias didn't deny it.
"You were told to retrieve the object. Not to rescue someone."
"I didn't see a contradiction."
"You risked much."
"Yes."
"And you chose survival over obedience."
"No."
He stepped forward.
"I chose both. I retrieved the object. I survived. And he survived."
Silence.
"And did you learn anything?" the quiet examiner asked.
"Yes."
"Good. The Shadow Path needs people who adapt."
"You will rest now," the masked examiner said. "Your next evaluation begins soon."
Elias bowed.
As he stepped past, she added:
"And Elias… we will ask how you slipped past the Hunter."
He paused.
"And we will expect an honest answer."
"I don't know," he said.
It was true.
Just not all of it.
As he left, the examiners exchanged a look—
not suspicion,
not concern—
interest.
A silent escort awaited him outside the judgment chamber—one of the grey-cloaked attendants, face hidden, posture impeccable. The figure didn't speak, merely inclined their head and gestured for Elias to follow.
He did.
The walk took them through corridors he hadn't seen before: narrower, quieter, carved deep into the mountain's inner ribs. Lamps flickered in small alcoves. No voices echoed here. No trainees hurried past.
It was a place meant for after difficult things.
The attendant stopped at a door of polished stone, runes faint and dormant along the frame.
"This is your room," they said, voice soft behind the hood. "You will remain here for recovery and reflection until summoned."
The door slid open.
Inside… was nothing.
A single bed—thin.
A single shelf—empty.
A basin—unfilled.
Shadows in the corners like patient animals.
That was all.
Elias stepped inside, eyebrows lifting. "Is this normal?"
"It is necessary," the attendant said. "Part of your training is to learn how to live. How to build. How to adapt."
Elias frowned. "Build?"
The figure nodded. "Furniture, clothing, tools, comforts… all of it. The Crown provides only the bare minimum. What your room becomes is a reflection of your competence and your resourcefulness."
Elias turned slowly, studying the barren space with new understanding.
"It forces you to learn," he murmured.
"Yes. And when learning is difficult, it forces you to adapt."
A pause.
"Or to make connections with those who can."
"You mean… trade?" Elias asked.
"Trade," the attendant confirmed. "Negotiation. Favor-building. Exchange of skill. All of these are evaluated. Everything you do within these walls contributes to your operative score. And your score determines the missions you will receive—and the income that follows."
Elias absorbed that.
He had always lived by instinct, by picking pockets, by surviving.
Here… survival was structured, graded, measured.
"And the operational outfits?" he asked, recalling the trainees he had seen in the Glass Hall on his first day—each wearing the same cloak and mask, yet somehow distinct, as if their clothes were merely a shared frame atop a personal silhouette.
The attendant's hood tilted slightly, acknowledging the question.
"One of your final tasks before graduation is to craft your official attire. Your mask connects you to the Shadow Path. Your cloak marks you as one of us. But the rest…"
A faint smile in the voice.
"…the rest is you."
Elias hesitated. "Why?"
"To keep identities compartmentalized. No two operatives look the same beneath the shadowglass. Each uniform is personal, built for your movements, your strengths, your work."
Their voice lowered.
"And because the moment you step onto the field with your mask and cloak, you cease being Elias Marlow. You become an instrument of the Veiled Crown. Your identity is a privilege you must protect."
Elias looked again at the room.
Empty.
Waiting.
Expectant.
"And this is where that begins," he said.
"Yes. Learn to make it livable. Learn to make it yours. Those who cannot shape their own space rarely survive shaping the world outside."
The attendant stepped out, nodding once.
"Rest, recruit. You will be summoned soon."
The door closed.
Elias stood in the quiet room for a long moment.
Then he exhaled, rolled up his sleeves, and knelt by the floor.
If this was where his life as a Shadow Path operative began…
then this room—bare and blank—
would be his first piece of proof that he could become something more.