Shadow Born Legacy

In the isolated peaks of Mount Umbra, where the winds howled like restless spirits and the shadows stretched long beneath the moon, stood the Shadowborne Estate.

It was a fortress of silent death, an impenetrable labyrinth of gothic spires and hidden corridors. Within these walls, legends were not spoken they were carved in blood.

The Shadowborne name was feared across kingdoms. They were the masters of the unseen kill, the architects of whispered demise.

Each generation bred assassins of unparalleled skill, molded through discipline, brutality, and an unwavering loyalty to the family's code. Among them was Kael Shadowborne, the youngest heir to this dark dynasty.

Kael knew no other life than behind these walls. Since the day he learned to walk, the harsh realities of the bloody lore hanging over them had defined him, trained him to brandish a dagger before he knew how to hold a quill, taught him that feeling was a sin and hesitation, death.

Yet, unlike his siblings, he harbored questions that festered in the depths of his mind like an open wound refusing to heal.

His eldest brother, Darius, was an epitome of the Shadowborne ideal. He was cold and ruthless, making his way throughout the estate with a living shadow of a ghost, his mere presence inspiring dread and respect alike.

Darius had made his first kill when he was thirteen years old killing a noble with such exactness that none of the guards outside the room noticed until it was morning time. He currently stood as an enforcer in the family, keeping the line clean of anything as weak.

Then there was Selene, the second-born and cunning amongst Shadowborne heirs. She was a phantom wrapped in silk; her beauty was a mask for the venom beneath. Selene liked to play with her prey, weaving intricate webs of manipulation before she struck. She saw the world as a grand chessboard, every piece a tool to be used and discarded as necessary.

Unlike his siblings, Kael was neither the strongest nor the most devious. He was swift, agile, and deadly when commanded, yet something within him recoiled from the art of killing. It was not the act itself that disturbed him, but the meaning behind it.

He had been told all his life that their targets deserved death that the Shadowborne did not take lives; they balanced the scales of power. But what if the scales were founded on lies?

Kael, the youngest, was still in the yoke of the training halls, duly pummeled by relentless exercises to break lesser men.

Each dawn brought him to wake before the day had even broken on the horizon, his body aching from bruises and cuts that had barely had time to begin healing.

Combat drills, poison resistance, and tactical deceptions all were but part of an endless cycle of preparation for the day he would take his first life for the sake of the family.

Tonight, though, was different.

He stood in the grand hall, his breath steady despite the weight settling upon his shoulders. Before him sat the head of the Shadowborne family, Lord Renard, upon his throne of iron and obsidian. His father was a man carved from stone, his face a picture of controlled cruelty. His eyes, warm with nothing, seemed to bore into Kael's very soul.

"The time has come," Renard intoned, his voice carrying the authority of a man who had orchestrated the deaths of kings. "You have trained; you have learned. Now you will prove yourself."

A servant emerged from the shadows, placing a small scroll into Kael's hands. He unrolled it with practiced precision, his eyes scanning the name etched upon it in ink as dark as spilled blood.

Killian Voss.

Kael's pulse rushed. That name he had heard. A merchant, who has traded with their family for nearly two decades now. Killian was no warlord, no traitor of the crown. He was a man, after all.

And he was going to be Kael's first kill.

Darius sat on the sidelines, arms crossed, face impassive. Selene smirked, her amusement thinly veiled. They had all been through this rite, and they relished the thought of their youngest sibling finally being baptized in blood.

Kael hesitated for only a breath, but he knew his father had seen it. In the Shadowborne family, hesitation was the scent of prey. He clenched his fist, hiding the tremor beneath the fabric of his sleeve.

"Do you question your duty, Kael?" Renard's voice was quiet, but it carried the weight of unspoken threats.

Kael met his father's gaze, his stomach a pit of coiling dread. "No, Father.

A lie. One that he couldn't afford to get caught in.

Renard looked at him for another moment before nodding once. "Then go. Do not return until it is done.

And with that, the verdict was made, and Kael was let go. The doors of the hall hung before him, the iron frame more imposing than ever.

He crossed the threshold and stepped into the night-shrouded corridors. His mind seethed with thoughts no Shadowborne should think.

He'd have no turning back if he did it. He'd be shackled to this life, to this blood-soaked road. But if he failed.

Failure was not an option. Not when it meant death.

The night was ahead, and with it, the first step towards Kael, towards either destiny or downfall.