A Hunter in the Night

My breath came in ragged gasps. My hands, still trembling from the last fight, curled into fists as I forced myself to stay still. I couldn't afford to give away my position. Not with this figure standing before me, cloaked in the same kind of darkness I barely understood.

The battlefield behind them burned. The dead and dying littered the ground, some torn apart by weapons, others reduced to charred husks. Sparks of magic flickered in the distance—lightning arcing through the sky, fire swallowing warriors whole. But none of it mattered right now. None of it reached me through the overwhelming, crushing weight of the presence before me.

The stranger watched me with a stillness that felt unnatural. Their hood obscured most of their face, but I could see the faint glow beneath it—eyes like mine. Dark, rimmed with an eerie glimmer, as if the shadows themselves had taken root in their gaze.

A shadow user. Like me.

I swallowed hard, my throat dry. Is this what I'll become?

"You're new," they said, voice smooth, carrying through the night like a whisper laced with venom. "I can see it in the way your shadows move."

My fingers twitched. The remnants of my stolen power still coiled around me, slithering against my skin. I had no control over it—not really. I could barely hold onto what I took, and when I pushed too hard, the power snapped back, refusing me. Rejecting me.

I said nothing.

The figure took a step forward, and I fought the urge to step back. I'd already run enough tonight.

"Tell me," they continued. "When you first heard them—what did they say?"

My pulse slammed against my ribs. They knew. They knew about the whispers. The voices that had clawed their way into my mind when I first absorbed a shadow, when Selene's essence had flickered in and out of my grasp before vanishing completely.

I gritted my teeth. I wasn't about to spill my soul to some stranger.

The hooded figure exhaled, a slow, measured breath. "You're not ready."

My jaw tightened. "You don't know what I'm capable of."

They tilted their head. "I know exactly what you are."

My muscles coiled. The arrogance in their tone made my blood boil, but deep down, a part of me knew they weren't wrong. I barely understood my own power. And yet, this person—whoever they were—wielded theirs effortlessly.

Like it was breathing.

A flicker of movement behind them. A soldier, barely standing, bleeding from a gash down his side. He let out a ragged yell and lunged forward, blade raised high.

The hooded figure didn't turn. Didn't flinch. Didn't even acknowledge him.

A shadow surged upward like a spear and impaled the man mid-stride. He choked, eyes wide in shock, before the darkness swallowed him whole. Gone. As if he had never been there at all.

My stomach twisted. Too easy.

The figure finally looked at me again. "That's what control looks like."

I clenched my fists. I hated how they spoke to me—like I was a child fumbling through something I had no right to wield.

But they weren't wrong.

I still wasn't in control. I still wasn't strong enough. Not yet.

Then, a deafening horn blasted through the battlefield. The clash of weapons and screaming warriors dulled for just a moment, replaced by a wave of tension so thick I could taste it.

The Veilborn Order's elites had arrived.

My chest tightened as I turned toward the battlefield. Figures in dark voidsteel armor moved through the chaos with terrifying precision. They weren't just warriors. They were executioners.

I had heard the rumors—Veilborn elites didn't fight in battles. They ended them.

One of them raised a gauntleted hand, and an unnatural stillness spread across the field. Soldiers froze mid-strike, their bodies locking in place. A deathly silence followed—then a single command.

"Cleanse the field."

And all hell broke loose.

Screams ripped through the night as unseen forces shredded through bodies, tearing soldiers apart without a single weapon being lifted. It was as if the very air itself had turned against them. Limbs twisted at unnatural angles, bones cracked like brittle twigs.

I staggered back, my breath shallow. The sheer weight of their presence made my vision swim. They're too strong. Too fast.

Even the hooded figure tensed. "Tch. That complicates things."

A heartbeat later, they turned back to me. "You need to leave."

I shook my head. "Not without answers."

"Stay, and you won't live long enough to get them."

I gritted my teeth. My instincts screamed at me to run, but I hated the thought of retreating.

Then, before I could react, the hooded figure lifted a hand—and the shadows around me rose like a wave.

Darkness swallowed my vision, wrapping around my body like tendrils. My stomach lurched as the ground beneath me disappeared. For a second, I felt weightless, my body being pulled through something unnatural, something cold.

And then—I was somewhere else.

I gasped, stumbling forward as the shadows unraveled. I was standing on the edge of a ruined tower, the battlefield now distant below.

I whipped around. The hooded figure was already vanishing into the night, their presence dissipating like mist.

I clenched my fists. They had let me go. But not because I had escaped.

Because I wasn't worth their time.

My chest ached with frustration, my heart still hammering from the encounter. Not ready? Maybe not. But I would be.

I turned back toward the battlefield, watching as the Veilborn Order finished their brutal purge. The dead piled up, their blood soaking into the earth.

I need control.

The shadows around me shifted, restless.

And I swore to myself—next time, I wouldn't be the one running.