Prologue

The moon hung low, a silver coin tossed across an indigo sky. Beneath its gaze, the village lay shrouded in silence, thick and impenetrable, like secrets buried deep. Shadows clung to the cobblestone streets, slipping through cracks in the stone and curling around doorways, hiding what daylight could never see.

Kael stood on the outskirts of the village, an unmoving figure whose presence alone seemed to darken the night further. His eyes pulsed with an otherworldly energy, blazing like molten gold, catching the faintest traces of light as he surveyed the town below. To the villagers, he was no ordinary Gloomhound. They knew him only as The Reaper—a myth, a monster, a relentless force of vengeance that no one could explain.

He inhaled deeply, sifting through the scents in the air until he found the one he sought. Beneath the pleasant mask of burning wood and lavender, there lingered the unmistakable scent of debauchery and corruption. It led him like a beacon through the still night.

He was haunted by nightmarish apparitions of anguished faces, their heart-wrenching wails echoing in his mind. The previous nights prophetic nightmares still snared his psyche, driving him to this forsaken place. Each time, he saw their captor, a Gloomhound masquerading as a protector—a man whose image was untarnished, yet whose deeds could never escape Kael's sight.

There was a jolting pain in his wrist caused by his wristband, a reminder of the burden he carried. The enchanted band was his anchor, its jagged edge cutting into his wrist when he needed it most, pulling him back from the clutches of feral urges he could barely contain. Tonight, he told himself, the Reaper's hand will be swift.

Kael moved like a shadow, slipping through alleyways as though the darkness itself welcomed him. The laughter and chatter of the tavern grew louder as he neared. Inside, candles flickered and voices rose in song, filling the air with the scent of ale and burning herbs. It was almost peaceful. Almost.

Kael stepped through the doorway, his presence drawing a hush that rippled through the crowd. Patrons shifted uncomfortably, averting their eyes from the black-haired figure who looked like he belonged to the night more than to any mortal place, they knew that he had come to collect a soul and they looked at each other silently fearing for the unlucky hound to be torn apart. He scanned the room, his gaze settling on his target—a Gloomhound named Thurf, silver-streaked and boasting a benevolent smile that only he could believe.

Thurf lifted his mug, a glint of smug satisfaction in his eyes as he toasted his companions, oblivious to the Reaper's gaze fixed upon him. Kael watched, feeling the darkness surge within him, an undeniable urge to strike, to unmask the facade of this pretender. The visions echoed in his mind—the cries of those Thurf had betrayed, the innocence he'd shattered. Kael tightened his grip on the ring of salt, feeling the burn against his skin, grounding him.

Moving without a sound, Kael approached. Thurf looked up just as Kael's shadow fell over him, his smirk faltering. Kael didn't speak; he only allowed the weight of his presence to speak for him. In one swift motion, he dragged Thurf from his seat, through the door, and into the cold night air, where his blood can be spilled for everyone to see.

The storm was gathering overhead, thunder rumbling as if the heavens themselves were watching. Kael tore the band from his hand, letting his curse take its form, feeling the shadows shift around him as his body transformed into the full, feral state of a Gloomhound. A primal growl escaped him as he advanced, the Reaper come to exact his judgment. Thurf's screams were short-lived, silenced by Kael's swift, merciless claws.

When it was done, Kael left Thurf's broken form lying in the village square, rain beginning to fall and washing away the blood as though cleansing the earth of the elder's sins. Kael looked up, feeling the weight of the villagers' eyes on him, sensing the whispers of fear and confusion that would haunt their days.

In their eyes, he was no hero—only a monster that mercilessly kill. Perhaps, he thought, they are right. But tonight, the Reaper's purpose was fulfilled.