Darkness swallowed Zyra whole. For a moment, the world was nothing but a void, her breath caught in her throat as the air turned ice-cold. The presence in the room with her was no ordinary assailant—this was something else, something ancient and hungry.
Her dagger was already in her grip, her muscles tensed for the inevitable strike, but before she could move, a whisper curled through the darkness.
"You meddle in things beyond your understanding, Everhart."
The voice slithered over her skin like silk, but its undertone carried a serrated edge. A spell surged in her veins, her blood reacting to the unnatural energy suffocating the air. Then, just as suddenly as the darkness had come, it lifted.
Zyra gasped, her vision snapping back as the room flooded with dim light. Her apartment was trashed—papers scattered, furniture overturned, and a strange symbol scorched into the wooden floor.
But the figure was gone.
A warning, then. A message.
Her fingers grazed the symbol, an intricate pattern of interwoven lines and arcs, eerily similar to the markings found on the victims' bodies. A chill crept down her spine.
Whoever was behind this had just made things personal.
A Hidden Ally
The next morning, Zyra wasted no time. The attack on her apartment was a clear escalation, and if she didn't act fast, she'd be the next corpse on the city's growing list.
She needed help. And though she hated to admit it, Damen Valerian was the only one she could turn to.
The Silver Veil was quieter than usual when she arrived. The usual murmurs of illicit deals and whispered secrets were drowned beneath the weight of the early morning silence. Damen was seated at his usual booth, his silver eyes watching her approach with a knowing smirk.
"Miss me already?" he mused, leaning back lazily.
She threw a crumpled piece of parchment onto the table—the hastily sketched replica of the symbol scorched into her floor. "Tell me what this means."
His expression darkened as he studied it, fingers tapping thoughtfully against his glass. "This," he murmured, "is an invocation sigil. And it's not just any sigil, Zyra—it's a binding mark."
Her stomach turned. "Binding what?"
Damen's gaze flicked up to meet hers, something unreadable in his expression. "A Shadowborn," he said simply. "Someone is trying to summon a creature from beyond the Veil. And from the looks of it, they're getting close."
Zyra cursed under her breath. This wasn't just about ritual murders anymore. Someone was planning to unleash something far worse.
The Scholar's Secret
Zyra and Damen spent the rest of the day piecing together what little information they had. The sigil was old—ancient, even—and the only person in Eldoria who might know more was Professor Lorian, a historian and scholar who specialized in forbidden magic.
By nightfall, they found themselves outside the towering library of Eldoria, its massive stone facade looming over them like a silent sentinel. Damen glanced at Zyra with a smirk. "Breaking? How rebellious of you."
She rolled her eyes. "I'd prefer not to wake up half the city."
With practiced ease, they slipped inside, navigating the labyrinthine corridors until they reached Lorian's office. But as soon as Zyra pushed open the door, her breath caught in her throat.
The professor was slumped over his desk, a dagger protruding from his back. And on the wall behind him, scrawled in blood, was the same sigil from her apartment.
Damen immediately stepped in front of Zyra, his hand moving to his blade. The room smelled of old parchment, ink, and something more acrid—something metallic.
Zyra's mind raced. Lorian had been their only lead, and now he was dead.
Then, from the shadows, a voice rasped, "You were warned, Everhart."
The temperature dropped again, the shadows thickening, shifting.
Zyra barely had time to react before the room plunged into darkness once more. A sudden gust of wind sent books flying off the shelves, pages scattering like ghostly whispers.
A sharp pain shot through Zyra's shoulder as something unseen lashed out, sending her stumbling backward. Damen caught her, yanking her out of the way as another invisible force slammed into the desk, splintering the wood.
"Move!" he barked, dragging her toward the window.
A form began to materialize in the darkness—a twisted, elongated silhouette with eyes that gleamed like burning coals. The thing lurking beyond the Veil had crossed into their world.
Damen hurled a dagger at it, but the blade simply passed through as though through smoke.
Zyra's fingers found the charm around her neck—a warding talisman given to her by her mother. She pressed her palm against the blood-scrawled sigil on the wall and muttered an incantation.
The room erupted in light.
A shriek of rage split the air as the shadow recoiled, dissipating into curling tendrils of darkness. Zyra collapsed to her knees, panting. Damen crouched beside her, his usual cocky demeanor replaced by something far more serious.
"Are you alright?"
She nodded weakly, but her mind was elsewhere. The sigil had been a gateway. And whatever had come through had been waiting for her.
This was no ordinary case anymore.
This was war.