The night in Shadowreach was alive with whispers, but Kael moved like a shadow itself, silent, unseen, untouchable. The rooftops were his playground, the alleys his hunting ground. At seventeen, he had already outsmarted every guard, every trap, every rival thief in the city. Tonight, though, the prize was unlike anything he'd faced before.
The merchant's caravan glimmered under the moonlight, laden with goods whispered to be enchanted—artifacts and relics no common street rat could dream of owning. Kael's eyes sparkled. One misstep, and it could mean death. But Kael thrived on danger.
He leapt, rolling onto the soft tarpaulin covering the crates, listening for the slightest noise. Nothing. Just the distant laughter of drunken guards and the hum of the city.
Then he saw it—a small, ornate box tucked behind a pile of crates. A faint golden glow pulsed from within, like the heartbeat of something alive. His pulse quickened. Magic. Real magic. And it was his tonight.
Kael reached for the box. His fingers barely brushed the surface, and a shock ran up his arm, sharp and cold. He stumbled back, eyes wide. The box hummed, the glow intensifying. A voice whispered—no, not a voice. Thoughts, alien yet familiar, crawling into his mind.
Before he could react, the box flared, and light engulfed him. His limbs went numb. He fell to the ground, heart hammering, eyes struggling to focus. The city blurred, the stars spun, and then—nothing.
When he opened his eyes again, Shadowreach had changed. Or maybe he had. A strange warmth pulsed through his veins, a current of power he didn't understand. And then he felt it—the whispering magic, alive, beckoning him.
Somewhere in the dark, a shadow moved. Watching. Waiting.
Kael shivered. Something was coming