The throne room of the Night Palace was a study in elegant darkness. Obsidian walls absorbed light, creating an environment that seemed to breathe with its own mysterious energy. Dalia sat upon her throne—a magnificent construct of shadowy materials that seemed to shift and change with her every movement.

  The air hummed with the whispers of the realm itself, a low, resonant vibration that thrummed through the bones of those deemed worthy to stand before her. The throne was no mere seat of power. It was an extension of Dalia’s will, its writhing shadows responding to her slightest mood. Today, those shadows coiled like serpents, restless.

  Something is coming.

  The thought slithered through her mind, unwelcome but undeniable. She had felt it ever since she and Malivian had left Lumis end only a day ago—a pressure against the edges of her dominion, like a storm gathering beyond the horizon.

  The Nightrealm had stood since creation itself, its borders unbroken, its laws unchallenged, especially its physical and magical ones. But the equilibrium seemed to fray, and Dalia could now sense it.

  Before her stood five hooded figures, each representing the most elite warriors of the Nightrealm—or, as Dalia had them referred to, the Nightguard. Their forms were indistinct, blending into the shadows as if they were more spirit than substance. To her right stood Malivian, her most trusted assistant.

  Malivian’s presence was a blade in the gloom; currently, it was her greatest comfort. His eyes flickered toward her throughout their trip back home, clearly sensing the unease she had felt while scanning the shadow wolf.

  She had tried her best to mask it, seeing as her assistant was already always worried about her. But she was afraid he already knew, and she was not really surprised about it either. Malivian had always understood the rhythm of her silence.

  She thought of sleeping off the worry, but when she woke, she felt no better. She decided she would take affirmative action from today, commanding Malivian to her bedroom chambers as soon as the first page broke through her door with breakfast.

  As soon as the Nightwalker made his way into the room, she instructed him to assemble the Nightguard for an audience with her later in the day. She had been rude to the point of not even greeting him, but he seemed to take no offense, simply bowing down afterwards before rushing off to assemble the army, which he also was the appointed captain of.

  With the soldiers finally placed in front of her with Malivian standing at her right, Dalia’s black pupils scanned them, her gaze penetrating beyond their physical forms.

  “The recent attacks on Lumis End cannot go unanswered,” she declared, her voice carrying the weight of absolute authority. “You must assemble an army under our supreme leadership with Malivian to repel these mysterious beasts.”

  A ripple passed through the Nightguard.

  “These beasts are no ordinary foes. They leave no corpses, only hollowed-out husks of their victims, as if the very life had been sucked from them.”

  “Believe me, we are well aware, my queen,” one interjected

  “Has Malivian already briefed you?” Dalia asked.

  “Actually, rumors were spreading fast among the lower ranks.” Another explained.

  “I normally don’t expect my soldiers to release information without my consent,” Dalia said angrily

  “The rumors are actually coming from the townsfolk,” Malivian added

  “What?” Dalia asked, surprised.

  “Yes,” Malivian explained. “There are rumours that a pack of shadow lions attacked Southern Gates as well. "

  “Are they true?” Dalia asked.

  “I’m not entirely sure,” Malivian admitted. “I only sent out a scout earlier this morning to investigate. He is yet to return. "

  “I’m sorry for not telling you sooner, my Queen, but I wanted it first confirmed before I bothered you with the news,” Malivian said

  “No need for apologies, Malivian,” Dalia said, holding her hand out to him.

  “It seems what I need now is your allegiance instead to crush this unknown enemy,” she added

  “Of course, my lady,” Malivian said, bowing deeply at her feet

  The Nightguard bowed as well, determination radiating from their shadowy forms. Dalia could only hope each of them understood the gravity of the situation they found themselves in—something was threatening the delicate balance of the Nightrealm and possibly the entire universe, and they would probably have to be the first line of defense.

  Malivian then stood up and dusted himself off, stepping forward.

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  “We’ll hunt them to extinction. I will make sure of it,” he promised. “And after that we will find the cause of all this trouble and put an end to it as well.”

  His statement soothed Dalia, and perhaps calm finally returned to her in the situation. As she prepared to dismiss the group, though, movement caught her eye, and she quite didn’t like what she was seeing.

  Through the glass ceiling, a massive shadow took shape.

  A raven?

  But not just any raven.

  The creature’s wings blotted out the sky, each feather a shard of abyssal blackness. Its eyes—if they could be called eyes—were voids within voids, sucking in the very air around them all except the crimson red pupils at the center reminding Dalia of the shadow wolf at Lumis End. She could swear that at that exact moment, her blood turned to ice.

  This creature was impossibly large to be the creation of a nightwalker, and she knew it clearly was not one of hers, its form composed of pure darkness that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. Its wingspan blocked out what little illumination filtered through the glass, creating an instantaneous eclipse within the throne room.

  The temperature seemed to plummet instantaneously. Frost spider-webbed across the obsidian floor. The Nightguard, including Malivian, shifted into combat stances, weapons materializing from the shadows—sickles, blades, whips of living night.

  Malivian’s voice was a snarl. “Shields—now!”

  With a thunderous crash, the glass shattered. The shadow raven burst through, its form more weapon than creature. Razor-sharp edges that might have been wings, a beak that seemed carved from the most profound darkness—it moved with a tactical precision that suggested more than simple animal instinct.

  Shards of glass rained down. The raven’s cry was not a sound but a vibration of pure dread, a frequency that made bones resonate and teeth ache. Everything about the wretched bird screamed pure evil.

  Dalia’s reflexes were instantaneous. She ducked, rolling to the side as the creature’s initial attack split the space where she had been sitting moments before.

  The throne screamed. The living shadows that formed it writhed, severed by the raven’s talons. Dalia felt the passionless kiss of genuine fear as she watched it completely dismantle her most prized regalia.

  Malivian was already in motion, summoning a blade forged from pure shadow—a weapon as much a part of him as his own skin.

  His strike was flawless, the blade carving through the raven’s wing. But—

  The shadow blade struck the raven, and for a moment, it seemed the attack might be effective. But the creature merely shrieked—a sound that was more a vibration of pure malevolence than any natural sound Dalia had ever heard—and swatted Malivian away as if he were nothing more than an irritating insect.

  He hit the wall with a crunch, his body folding unnaturally even for an immortal such as himself. Dalia’s breath caught—but Malivian stirred, his healing flesh already knitting itself back together.

  The rest of the Nightguard attacked in perfect synchronization. Shadow weapons materialized, striking at the creature from multiple angles. But something was terribly wrong.

  Each wound they inflicted seemed to heal almost instantaneously, the darkness flowing and reforming faster than their attacks could penetrate. Dalia had seen nothing like it.

  One warrior lunged, his twin daggers plunging into the raven’s breast. The creature didn’t flinch. Instead, it laughed. Dalia swore that looked like what it was doing — it was horrid, like the sound of grinding bones.

  The warriors landed their strikes while keeping out of the creature’s reach, but sadly one warrior was not so fortunate. The raven’s massive beak impaled him, lifting his body like a grotesque trophy before casting it aside.

  His corpse hit the ground with a wet thud, its blood steaming as it touched the frost. The remaining Nightguard didn’t pause. Their comrade’s death acted as a spark to their fury.

  Dalia herself had finally recovered from her shock, her own shadow blade materializing in hand. She moved with a grace that defied the chaotic nature of the attack, positioning herself for a killing blow.

  The blade struck the creature’s neck, cutting halfway through before the raven escaped her clutches, bursting through the already-damaged ceiling.

  Black ichor—thick as tar—splattered the floor.

  “Pursue it!” Dalia commanded, her voice a mixture of fury and calculation.

  Two of the Nightguard vanished into the shadows, their forms dissolving into smoke. The others remained, their weapons still drawn just in case there was more to come.

  As order and serenity finally returned to the room, Malivian approached, slightly bruised but undaunted. He immediately joined the two guards that had remained—hoping to protect their queen should there be any further attacks.

  “It escaped,” he reported, knowing full well the implications.

  Dalia’s fingers brushed the ichor. It burned, not with heat, but with a cold so profound it felt like touching the heart of death itself. And she should have known; she and the Origin of Death both shared the underworld.

  Dalia’s response was measured, though even though her heartbeat was erratic, in stark contrast.

  “Not for long.”

  She rose, her shadow coiling around her. The attack clearly was not random. The raven had come for her. That much was clear the way it struck for her throne as soon as it broke through, and the scent clinging to it—old, older than the Nightrealm and creation itself.

  This was more than a simple invasion.

  It was a message—a calculated probe of the Nightrealm’s defenses, her defenses. The creature’s ability to heal, its tactical precision… Dalia had not meant to, but she had sensed the aura of the beast—mostly because it felt so powerful that its aura filled the entire air, and even now she could feel the residue.

  She did not appreciate the way it seemed to be composed of something older than darkness itself. These were not characteristics of a random beast, but characteristics of the beast she had found at Lumis End—just refined.

  Malivian watched his mistress, noting the tension in her shoulders, the way her black pupils seemed to absorb more than just the light. She was processing, calculating, preparing.

  “We need to understand what this was,” Dalia said finally.

  The words hung in the air, heavier than the corpse left behind.

  The remaining Nightguard waited, ready for her next command. Dalia simply dismissed them, leaving them puzzled for a moment before Dalia made her instructions clearer by yelling.

  “Go!” The command was a whip-crack, sharp enough to draw blood from flesh.

  The two warriors exchanged glances beneath their hoods as they departed.

  She had seen many creatures in their long existence. But none like that one. No Nightwalker would be capable of creating a beast that gargantuan—at least not without giving his own life.

  But Dalia did not care that someone had given their life to the beast. She cared that someone had sent it to take hers.

  She now knew two things.

  First, something ancient was awakening. Something even more ancient than herself—if that was even possible. Dalia had known that since Lumis End.

  Second, the Nightrealm would be a major battleground. She knew that now.

  And as the shadows whispered secrets only she could hear, Dalia did something she had not done in her entire existence. She feared.