CHAPTER 6: Shadows in the North

The frigid winds of the North howled mercilessly as Zyrran entered the gates of Vaelgard. The city seemed as lifeless as the barren wastes beyond its walls, yet shadows clung to its narrow alleys and crooked buildings like old secrets. Zyrran walked through the streets with purpose, his hood drawn low over his face. This was not his first visit to the North, but it was the first time he came not for reconnaissance, but for confrontation.

He remembered the message from Althar, the man who had forged Noctis Umbra, his shadow-infused bow. Althar was no ordinary craftsman—his work was legendary, his knowledge vast. Zyrran owed much of his precision in battle to the man's skill. When Althar sent word of a demon general rumored to be in the North, Zyrran hadn't hesitated.

The reports had been chilling: an attack on the fortress of Blackvale, a castle that had stood against countless sieges over the centuries. Yet, in a single night, it had fallen to a horde that moved with unnatural coordination. No ordinary demons could have achieved such a feat.

Zyrran's steps were silent as he approached the tavern known as the Black Hollow. Inside, he met with a contact, confirming what Althar had told him: Blackvale was now under demon rule. The fortress laid several days' travel from Vaelgard, deep in the frozen wastes. The man had also spoken of whispers—an ungodly figure seen commanding the horde.

After the conversation, Zyrran left the tavern and disappeared into the shadows of the city. He spent the night preparing for the journey ahead, his mind calculating every step.

Two nights later, Zyrran stood before the gates of Blackvale. The once-proud fortress loomed above him, its blackened stone walls jagged and broken. The air reeked of sulfur and blood, and faint growls echoed from within.

Zyrran approached the gates, his shadows enveloping him completely. He passed unseen through the entrance, his presence masked by the very darkness he commanded. Inside, the courtyard was littered with bones and ash. Demons of various shapes and sizes prowled the area, their glowing eyes scanning the shadows.

From the shadows, Zyrran stepped forward, his voice cutting through the guttural growls. "Your master—where is he?"

The demons snarled, turning their attention to the cloaked figure. One of them, larger and more brutish than the rest, lunged at him with claws bared. Zyrran didn't flinch. With a flick of his hand, tendrils of shadow erupted from the ground, wrapping around the demon and tearing it apart in an instant.

"I'll ask once more," Zyrran said coldly, his violet eyes gleaming. "Where is he?"

The courtyard fell silent, save for the sound of heavy footsteps. A tall figure emerged from the shadows of the keep, his form towering over the others. The demon general's armor was a grotesque amalgamation of blackened steel and bone, each piece adorned with intricate runes that pulsed faintly with crimson energy. His eyes burned like molten fire beneath the jagged helm that obscured much of his face. Even the demons, feral and bloodthirsty, shrank back in his presence.

"A Guardian of Light, here?" the general said, his voice deep and resonant, carrying an unsettling calm.

Zyrran smirked, lowering his hood to reveal his face. The shadows around him seemed to pulse with energy. "Light? No," he said, his voice a dark melody of confidence. "I walk where light fears to tread."

The general tilted his head, the glow of his eyes intensifying as he studied Zyrran. "Interesting," he mused. "Let's see how much your shadows can endure."

At his command, the demons in the courtyard charged. Zyrran didn't hesitate. With a smooth motion, he summoned Noctis Umbra, the dark energy of the bow crackling in his grip. He loosed arrow after arrow, each one tearing through multiple demons as if they were made of paper. The shadows around him erupted, forming tendrils and blades that moved with lethal precision, cutting down the horde in seconds.

As the last demon fell, disintegrating into ash, Zyrran turned his gaze back to the general. His bow remained raised, an arrow of pure shadow aimed directly at the demon's helm.

The general chuckled, unfazed by the display. "Impressive," he said, his tone almost amused. "But I'm not here to fight you, Guardian. I've already taken what I wanted."

He raised a clawed hand, revealing a scroll clutched tightly in his grip. The parchment pulsed faintly with the same crimson energy as the runes on his armor.

Zyrran narrowed his eyes. "You think I'll let you walk away with that?"

The general smirked, the faintest glint of mockery in his fiery gaze. "You have no choice."

A portal swirled to life behind him, its edges crackling with hellish energy. "We'll meet again, shadow wielder," the general said, stepping into the portal.

"Coward," Zyrran muttered, firing his arrow. It struck the portal's edge and dissolved into nothingness as the general vanished.

Zyrran lowered his bow, his expression unreadable. He stepped forward, examining the ground where the general had stood. The faint trace of infernal energy lingered, but it told him little. Whatever the general had taken from Blackvale, it had been important enough for him to flee rather than fight.

As the shadows around him settled, Zyrran stood in the center of the desolate courtyard, his mind racing. The North had given him a lead, but it was only the beginning. Whatever the demons were planning, he would find out.

And he would stop it.