Valebane is a kingdom that feeds on its own fear. Once, the land hummed with old songs—magic in the rivers, sorcery in the soil, enchantments stitched into the very breath of the people. Now it is nothing but cinders and ash. Witches burn on pyres. Fae are bound in iron chains until their wings shrivel. Dragons bleed in pits until they forget the sky. That is how Valebane endures: by killing what it cannot control.

I am the blade of that endurance. Sevren Nightwall, the Warlord of Nightfall. My armies have trampled every border, my banner hangs heavy over conquered cities, and my manor is filled with the trophies of obedience. Elves with their songs torn from them. Fairies robbed of their light. A dragon with broken wings, its fire stolen. All mine. And yet…

They bore me.

I walk the corridors of my manor like a king wandering a tomb. Fear no longer tastes sharp on my tongue. Victory has become stale bread, dry and bitter. The world bends too easily now. What is conquest without defiance?

Tonight, my scout bowed before me, his voice trembling. “My lord, the Shadow Market thrives in the undercity. They whisper of creatures unbreakable, unpredictable—things not yet tamed.”

Unbreakable. Unpredictable. Words I have not heard in too long.

I rose from my chair without another word. The Shadow Market is not an auction to me—it is a hunting ground. If there is something that cannot be bent, I will find it.

The Market reeked of rusted iron and coin. The crowd parted when I entered, silence rippling like blood spilled in water. Chains rattled, creatures whimpered, merchants hawked their prizes with voices sharp and desperate. I saw it all—fae with dimmed wings, warlocks gagged with iron, sirens forced to sing until their throats bled.

The merchant rushed forward, eager to please. He lifted a cage’s veil to reveal Seraphina. A siren of crystalline beauty, her voice slipped through the air like silk, delicate and aching, enough to soften even the hardest stone. The crowd leaned forward, spellbound.

But I did not move. My gaze slid past her. Pretty songs do not interest me. Fragile beauty breaks too easily.

My eyes found another cage.

A girl. Mortal, or so she seemed. Her hair tangled, her body scarred with shackles, yet her eyes—her eyes burned with wild rebellion. She did not weep. She did not beg. She snarled at those who approached, biting like a wolf cornered but unbowed.

The merchant stammered. “My lord, she is vicious. We do not even know what she is...”

But before he could finish, the girl moved.

Her chains cracked like thunder. Power bled from her skin—raw, unshaped, unnameable. She lunged not in fear, but in fury. For the first time in years, my pulse quickened.

I caught her. No steel. No sorcery. Only my hands and the weight of my will. She strained, every muscle lit with defiance, but it was not strength against strength. It was dominion against rebellion. She fought like a storm; I held her as if the storm itself had been commanded to kneel.

Her eyes met mine—feral, blazing. The market watched in silence, afraid to breathe.

I leaned close, my voice steady as iron, calm as death itself.

“You are strong... but you do not yet know the limits. I will set them for you.”