Chapter 1: The Silver Veins

The night the moons bled, Kaelen Duskryn was mending a book spine in the dim glow of a stolen lantern when the first scream split the air.It wasn't the usual kind of scream that echoed through Nareth's crooked alleys—drunken brawls or petty thieves caught mid-swipe. This one was raw, jagged, like a blade dragged across bone. Kaelen's hands froze over the cracked leather of The Histories of Thalareth, his needle hovering mid-stitch. The lantern flickered, casting jagged shadows across the scribe's attic where he'd carved out a life among dusty tomes and ink-stained rags. He tilted his head, listening. Another scream followed, closer now, threading through the clamor of the scholar-city's midnight bells."Trouble," he muttered, his voice a low rasp, honed by years of whispering to himself in the dark. He set the book aside, careful not to smudge the fresh glue, and crept to the attic's lone window—a warped slit of glass overlooking the sprawl of Nareth below. The city glittered like a spilled inkpot under the fractured moons, their light splintered into hues of silver, violet, and a sickly red that pulsed like a wound in the sky. The eclipse was coming. He could feel it in his bones, a tugging ache that had haunted him since childhood.Kaelen rubbed his wrists absentmindedly, where thin silver veins traced beneath his skin—faint, shimmering lines that glowed faintly when the moons hung heavy. He'd hidden them all his life, smearing ash over them when the other street-rats got too curious, claiming they were scars from a fire he didn't remember. A lie, but a good one. No one in Nareth cared enough about a mixed-blood orphan to dig deeper.The screams grew louder, joined by the clatter of hooves on cobblestone and the shouts of men in armor. Kaelen pressed his face to the glass, breath fogging the pane. Down in the plaza, a carriage had overturned, its gilded edges glinting in the torchlight. A child stumbled from the wreckage—a girl, no more than ten, her fine silks torn and her face streaked with blood. She clutched a doll with one arm as she ran, her cries piercing the night. Behind her, shadows moved—three figures cloaked in black, their blades catching the moon's red sheen.Kaelen's gut twisted. He knew those streets. The girl wouldn't make it past the next corner—not with the alleys tightening like a noose and the guards too far off, their lanterns bobbing uselessly in the distance. He should stay put. He always stayed put. Survival in Nareth meant keeping your head down, your hands busy, and your secrets buried. But something in the girl's scream—high and desperate—clawed at him, tugging at that same ache in his bones."Damn it," he hissed, shoving away from the window. He grabbed his cloak—a patched, threadbare thing that smelled of ink and mildew—and slung it over his shoulders. His boots were already on, a habit from years of sleeping light, ready to bolt. He snatched a dagger from beneath a loose floorboard, its blade chipped but sharp enough, and slipped down the attic's rickety ladder.The scribe's shop below was silent, Master Torvyn long since retired to his wine-soaked bed. Kaelen wove through shelves of parchment and vellum, the air thick with the scent of old paper, and eased the back door open. The night hit him like a slap—cold, sharp, and alive with the hum of the eclipse. The moons hung low, their edges blurring into one another, casting the city in a kaleidoscope of light and shadow.He darted into the alley, keeping low, his boots silent on the damp stone. The girl's cries guided him, growing fainter as she fled toward the Weaver's District. Kaelen knew the route—narrow lanes, blind turns, a perfect trap. He cut through a side street, vaulting over a crate of rotting fish, and emerged just as the girl stumbled into view. She tripped, her doll skidding across the cobblestones, and the cloaked figures closed in."Stay down!" Kaelen shouted, more instinct than plan. He didn't wait to see if she listened. He lunged, dagger flashing, and caught the first attacker off guard—a wiry man with a pockmarked face beneath his hood. The blade sank into the man's shoulder, and he howled, staggering back. Kaelen yanked the dagger free, blood hot on his hand, and spun to face the second figure.This one was faster, a woman with a curved sword that sang as it sliced toward his throat. Kaelen ducked, the blade grazing his hood, and drove his shoulder into her gut. She grunted, stumbling, but the third figure was already on him—a hulking brute with a mace swinging for his skull. Kaelen rolled, the weapon smashing into the stone where his head had been, sparks flying.He scrambled to his feet, heart hammering, and glanced at the girl. She was curled against a wall, eyes wide, clutching her doll like a shield. "Run!" he barked, but she didn't move, frozen in terror. The brute charged again, and Kaelen dodged, his back slamming into a stack of barrels. They toppled, spilling sour wine across the street, and the woman slipped, cursing as she fell.The ache in Kaelen's bones flared, sharp and electric, spreading from his wrists to his chest. He gasped, clutching his dagger tighter, and then he saw it—the silver veins on his arms pulsing brighter, glowing through the grime and ash he'd smeared over them. The moons overhead seemed to hum, their light pooling in the street like liquid fire."Heretic!" the brute snarled, his mace raised. "You're one of them!"Kaelen didn't know what that meant, but he didn't have time to care. The man swung, and something snapped inside him—a thread of instinct, raw and untamed. He threw out his hand, not thinking, and the air shimmered. A wave of silver light erupted from his palm, sharp as a blade, and struck the brute square in the chest. The man flew back, crashing into the overturned carriage with a sickening crunch, and didn't get up.The woman froze, her sword halfway to Kaelen's neck. The wiry man, clutching his bleeding shoulder, staggered to his feet and bolted, disappearing into the shadows. Kaelen's breath came in ragged bursts, his hand still outstretched, trembling. The silver light faded, but the veins on his arms glowed brighter, a map of secrets he couldn't hide anymore.The girl whimpered, and Kaelen turned to her, his mind racing. She wasn't just any child—her silks, the carriage, the assassins. She was noble, maybe royal. And he'd just painted a target on his back to save her.Footsteps echoed—boots, too many to count. Kaelen spun as armored figures flooded the street, their breastplates stamped with the Magisterium's crescent sigil. Torches flared, illuminating stern faces and drawn swords. A tall man stepped forward, his gray cloak billowing, his eyes narrowing as they locked on Kaelen's glowing veins."Take him," the man said, voice cold as iron. "And the girl."Kaelen lunged for an escape, but hands seized him, rough and unyielding. His dagger clattered to the ground as they dragged him forward, the girl's sobs fading behind him. The moons pulsed overhead, their light searing into his skin, and for the first time in his life, Kaelen felt the weight of something ancient waking inside him.