Hunters and the Hunted

The city was hunting for him. Kian could feel it in the air—the way the streets had changed overnight. The usual noise of Eldrinth's Lower Quarter—the shouts of merchants, the chatter of beggars, the curses of drunken laborers—had shifted into something else. Something quieter. Something watchful.

The guards no longer moved with their usual lazy indifference. Their boots marched in rhythm, their eyes sharp, scanning faces. They were looking for someone. For him.

Kian kept to the edges of the market, his hood drawn low, listening to the whispers. "…said the torches just went out. Just like that."…the guards found the bodies, broken, like something, ripped them apart.""…not a thief, I tell you. Something else."

Kian's stomach tightened. They were talking about him. The night before, he had escaped the guards—but not quietly.

The moment before they had struck him down, something inside him had… awakened. Power had surged from him, something beyond strength, beyond skill—something unnatural.

And now the whole city was whispering about the boy who disappeared in a flash of darkness. His heartbeat quickened. He needed to get out. But where could he go?

The walls of Eldrinth stretched high, guarded by men who killed without question. The rivers that ran through the city led nowhere but deeper into the slums. He had no coin, no friends beyond a handful of thieves who would turn him in for a warm meal.

For the first time in his life, he was truly alone. And in Eldrinth, alone meant dead.

Far above the slums, beyond the filth and rot of the Lower Quarter, the Ivory Keep stood untouched by the troubles of lesser men.

Within its highest tower, three figures gathered in the glow of enchanted candlelight. A map of Eldrinth lay upon a black stone table, its golden ink shimmering beneath their fingers.

The first figure, a man with silver eyes, traced a path along the streets with one gloved hand. "The disturbance began here," murmured Malrik the Silent. His voice was soft but heavy, like the weight of a stone pressing against a throat.

Beside him, Lady Varess, clad in violet robes, folded her arms. "Then it is true." Malrik nodded. "The Godmarked have returned."

Varess exhaled through her nose. "We should have burned them all when we had the chance." The third figure—the one who had remained silent until now—finally spoke. "Send the Shadowguard," said Master Edran, First Magus of Eldrinth.

Malrik hesitated. "The Shadowguard are meant for—""I know what they are meant for," Edran interrupted. His voice was like rust scraping against steel. "Send them. I want the boy found before the sun sets."

His fingers curled into a fist. "If he cannot be taken, he must be destroyed." The candles flickered. The order was given. The hunt had begun.

The streets had turned against him. Kian's legs burned as he walked through the Lower Quarter, his pace just fast enough to move, but not enough to draw attention.

He could feel the shift in the air. The guards were watching everyone. Paired now, instead of alone. Their hands on their weapons.

It was happening too fast. His steps took him to Ronan's Bread Stand, an old wooden stall where a gruff, bearded man sold stolen loaves of hard bread for half the price of the market. Kian had known Ronan for years—the man had slipped him scraps more than once when hunger became too much.

But when Kian approached, Ronan stiffened. Not a greeting. Not even a glance. Kian stopped. "Ronan," he whispered.

The old man's hands shook slightly as he tore a chunk from a loaf. Still not looking at him. "Get out of here, boy," Ronan muttered under his breath. "They're looking." Kian's stomach sank.

Even he was afraid to be seen speaking to him. Kian turned away before the guards could take notice. It was worse than he thought. The entire city was against him.

The Shadowguard had arrived at the far end of the alley and a shadow moved. Not like a man. Not like a guard. Something else.

Kian's breath hitched. Two men emerged from the mist, their cloaks shifting like liquid darkness. Not guards. Not ordinary hunters.

They wore no silver badges. No heavy armor. Only shadows. The Shadowguard.

Kian felt ice slide down his spine. He had heard of them before. The king's personal executioners. They did not hunt criminals. They erased them.

And now, they were here for him. The first Shadowguard stepped forward, his gloved hand reaching for the knife at his belt. His voice was calm—too calm for this place. "Come quietly, boy," he said. "It'll be easier that way."

Kian took a slow step backward. His heartbeat roared in his ears. The second Shadowguard tilted his head. "Or don't," he mused. "It's been a long time since we hunted something worth chasing."

The first one sighed. "Don't play with your food." Kian's pulse pounded. He had one chance. He could run—vanish into the streets like he always had. But something told him these men were different. They would follow. They would find him again.

No. This time, he would not run. For the first time in his life, he would fight.

He clenched his fists. The air shifted.

The shadows around him quivered, like something unseen had stirred awake. He did not know what he was. He did not know why he had been born different.

But in that moment, none of it mattered. Because Eldrinth wanted him dead. And he had no intention of dying today.

The first Shadowguard moved. So did Kian. And the world shattered.