Chapter 1
Sun and Moon will always find each other in every life. Their souls are tied, where one goes, so does the other.
— The book of Tevye
Taryn
“Please,” the Elven male begged. “I won’t tell a soul!”
His frail body writhed under Taryn’s grip, a weak attempt to fight off his attack. Taryn’s hand tightened around the male's neck, then loosened as he took a step back. He unsheathed a knife from his belt.
“No,” Taryn agreed. “You won’t.”
Before the male could respond, Taryn slid the dagger across his throat. Blood gushed out of the wound, leaving a pained gurgle in place of the words the male attempted to say. An empty silence followed in its wake.
Gods. This had to be Taryn’s tenth kill of the week.
His Guildmaster had sent him on a damned rampage.
Of course, Eryx didn’t divulge why he needed these people killed.
His Guildmaster always gave vague answers, muttering that these people owed him a debt after stealing his drugs.
Taryn didn’t believe it. There was something else going on. Something… sinister.
What am I even doing with my life? The point had become unclear over the years.
Taryn’s body went numb as he willed the thought to pass.
He snatched the bundle of salaroses on the counter and stuffed them into his cloak pocket.
They were peculiar plants, onyx roses that had more use than vanity.
They could get you high. They could be used in spells.
They could be extracted for their poison. It was why Eryx needed them.
Taryn turned to leave. He stopped mid-step, looking back at the lifeless body, stifling any emotions that threatened to surface. No need for such useless feelings. He walked up to the body and closed the eyelids, sending the male to rest. It was the least he could do. It was all he could do.
Gravel crunched under Taryn’s boots as he exited the flat onto the cobblestone street of Luciena.
He veered right, pulling his cloak hood over his head.
The dirty, brisk air bit his face, while a rat scurried from Taryn’s footsteps, hiding away in the hole of a broken-down building nearby.
Random shouting echoed into the alleyways of the slum, the usual civilian semantics bringing this area to life.
The smell of urine and beer wafted up to his nose, blending into a familiar scent that belonged to none other than the city’s poverty-stricken outer ring.
Taryn took in the slanted buildings surrounding him and frowned.
Despite all the money the Luciens had in their coffers, they still refused to help repair this side of the city.
Civilians took it upon themselves to make their own repairs, using shoddy handiwork to repair holes in the buildings with patched metal or scraps of wood.
It had been this way for as long as Taryn had lived on this continent.
Looking overhead, he deduced it was around midnight due to the moon’s position. Had he really been out that long?
He fastened his black handkerchief over the bridge of his nose and began his trek back to Lonskeep. Apart from his glowing silver eyes, Taryn blended into the darkness thanks to his black leather ensemble.
“Spare me,” a voice croaked from below. Taryn glanced at a Human man sitting against the stone wall, a tin cup in his hand.
Wrinkles lined his face, an unkempt gray beard reaching down to the ground.
Taryn hesitated, looking around to make sure there weren’t any city guards who would recognize him.
He crouched before the old man, pulled out some change, and dropped them in the cup.
The man looked at him, the tin cup wobbling in his trembling hand. The scent of anguish and fear from the Human wafted up to Taryn’s nose. He rested a hand on the man’s arm and murmured a blessing in the Runean language. Taryn moved on. He couldn’t stay in the city for long without risking capture.
Taryn thought of the homeless man as he walked toward the outer wall.
He had seen himself in the man, recognizing that sunken look of hopelessness all too well.
He bit back a feeling of shame as old memories resurfaced.
Images of his childhood flashed in his mind – his grandmother’s sunken cheeks in her last days, the sun blaring down on him as he begged on the streets after her passing.
Taryn grimaced, shutting the memories out. He wasn’t that person anymore. That life no longer belonged to him.
His ears pricked beneath his hood at the sound of footsteps trailing him on the rooftops above.
Taryn fought the instinct to grab the hilt of his broadswords.
He wanted whoever followed him to think he would be taken by surprise when they revealed themselves.
He turned down another alleyway, careful to distance himself from the main street.
Amateurs.
As anticipated, the footsteps above increased. Then, a flash of black as someone jumped from the roof into the alleyway with a heavy thud. An Elven male landed across from him, clad in dark clothing with a golden broach on his chest. The Elve drew his sword.
“The Vulture sends their regards,” the male hissed.
Taryn’s dark brows drew together at the comment.
His eyes dropped to the male’s right knee, noticing the slight hesitation in his stance, surmising that his left leg compensated for his right.
An injury left him permanently altered. He pocketed this information like a letter, folding it and storing it away in his mind for the minutes to come.
The male lashed out his free arm, sending a streak of Shadow towards Taryn. Pure, black energy rushed towards him so fast, Taryn barely had the time to register the hissing sounds of the dead that followed the Shadow Magick.
Taryn’s eyes went wide as he veered right, narrowly avoiding the Shadow. Taryn automatically retaliated with a blast of wind from his palm. His stomach lurched at the realization of who he was fighting.
Where the hell had this guy come from? Taryn was sure the Guild had taken out all the Shadow Wielders. He would have to work twice as hard to avoid getting hit while keeping this fight quiet.
The male fell backwards, Taryn’s wind knocking him off his feet. Taryn lunged, swords out, ready to take the opportunity to strike while he was down.
The male rolled free as Taryn’s blade jammed into the cobblestone, missing it by mere centimeters.
The Elve sent another streak of darkness barreling towards Taryn, causing him to stumble backwards.
The Shadow grazed the top of Taryn’s hand as he pivoted out of the way, black energy fading into his skin like ink bleeding into paper.
Taryn felt the effects immediately, disembodied voices of the dead whispering in his ears as the Magick infiltrated his bloodstream.
The cold, prickling Shadow began to flow strong in his veins, starting from his hand and expanding out to his arms and shoulders.
It was a subtle pain, but the pain wasn’t what Taryn was worried about.
It was the fogginess creeping into his mind that caused him to slow.
“Fuck.” Taryn gritted between his teeth as he forced himself to move out of the way of yet another blast. His muscles tensed, sweat beading onto his brow as he forced himself to think back to everything he had studied on Shadow Wielders.
Shadow Magick was an Energy Magick gifted by the God of Death, a power only Elves could wield.
Though the Magick didn’t kill its victims, it spread like a virus, slowly paralyzing the body over a period of time.
While the paralyzing effects were temporary, it was a lethal power to come into contact with.
If you got hit, you might as well consider yourself as good as dead.
Unsure of exactly how long it would take to kick in, Taryn chose his next move carefully.
“We know what you are,” the male said, coming to a slow stand as he unsheathed a crystal blade. “And we are going to rid the world of you.”
Whatever Taryn had expected this male to say, it wasn’t that. He had assumed this attack was for the Mrkynian Guild as a whole, not Taryn himself. Taryn’s face hardened, his fists clenching.
The Elven male lurched forward, swinging the crystal blade. Taryn parried and moved back to create some distance, stumbling slightly from the numbness that started to creep into all four of his limbs. This wasn’t an average sword fight. He couldn’t afford to get hit again.
If he didn’t act now, he was absolutely fucked.
The male began conjuring another blast of Shadow, forcing Taryn to unleash his God-given power to its utmost potential. He would deal with the consequences of blowing his cover later.
“If you know what I am,” Taryn said as he released his blade. “Then you know what comes next.”
He called on his most lethal power, willing it to the forefront of his mind.
It awakened, greedily rising to the surface after almost a year of slumber.
Overwhelming power bloomed, starting in his chest and traveling down his arms. Taryn felt the buzz of power humming beneath his palms, accumulating until he had enough energy within him to release outwards.
He thrust out his palms and felt the jolt of electricity igniting every pore in his body. He aimed.
Lightning cracked through the air. A deadly flash struck the Elve. The male gripped his shoulder, groaning in agony as he fell, whipping another streak of Shadow at Taryn as he went down.
This male certainly had some grit.
Taryn growled in frustration as he advanced. Blue lightning lit up Taryn’s face as he struck again. This time, he met his mark. Electricity skittered down the center of the male’s chest, leaving behind the smell of burnt flesh in the air.
By now, Taryn’s eyesight began to blur, the Shadow Magick taking its toll. Blackness intruded the edges of his vision as he knelt down and grabbed the male by the tunic. The male’s head fell back, limp, but his eyes were open. Just barely.