Kael stood in the silent alley, the last whispers of his father's presence fading into the cold night. The shadows, though still thick in the air, no longer felt like allies—they felt like a force that was beyond his control, something that called to him in a way that unsettled him. He could feel them, like a dark pulse beneath his skin, urging him forward into something unknown.
The revelation of his bloodline, the power he inherited, and the dark figure who claimed to be his father—all of it gnawed at his mind like a persistent itch he couldn't reach. What did it mean for him? Who was he now?
The darkness around him no longer seemed merely like a refuge; it was a vast, terrifying ocean he was now tethered to, and Kael couldn't help but wonder how long it would be before it swallowed him whole.
His fingers curled into fists, the feeling of the dagger's hilt grounding him. The street ahead was empty, the chill in the air biting through his thin cloak, but Kael didn't move. His father's words still echoed in his mind, a haunting promise that would not be silenced.
You will go to the Infernal Citadel.
It was inevitable. He couldn't deny that now. The Citadel was the heart of the world's most deadly assassins, the breeding ground for the strongest, the most ruthless. Those who entered either emerged as legends or did not emerge at all.
The more Kael thought about it, the more it made sense. If he was to understand his power, his heritage, he would need to walk the path of the strongest. The Citadel would offer him the opportunity to hone his abilities, to master the shadows that were now his birthright. But there was a deeper reason. He had to survive. He had to uncover the truth about who—or what—his father was.
With a grim determination settling into his bones, Kael turned away from the alley and began walking through the streets. His steps were quiet, purposeful, as he made his way toward the one place he had long tried to avoid—the entrance to the Citadel.
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The journey to the Citadel was uneventful, though Kael could feel the eyes of the city upon him. There were whispers that followed him, a sense of unease that seemed to ripple through the streets as he neared the massive gates of the academy. Towering spires of black stone loomed before him, their jagged edges cutting into the darkened sky. The Citadel stood like a fortress of nightmares, an ancient structure with a history of bloodshed and violence.
As Kael passed through the heavy gates, a strange sensation washed over him. The air here felt different, charged with something more primal, more dangerous. The sound of his footsteps echoed in the hollow corridors, and as he walked deeper into the heart of the Citadel, he saw the figures training in the vast courtyards—assassins honing their skills, warriors sharpening their blades, and mages casting dark spells that twisted the very air around them.
But there was a coldness here, a brutal efficiency that defined this place. Weakness was a luxury, and Kael knew that better than anyone. He had come here not to play by the rules but to break them. The thought filled him with a bitter resolve.
At the center of the Citadel stood the Throne of the Fallen, a massive dais surrounded by statues of ancient assassins, each one frozen in a pose that exuded power and menace. In the center of the throne room was a single, blood-red stone—a marker of those who had survived the trials and earned the right to be called a true assassin of the Citadel.
Kael's gaze hardened as he approached the stone, the weight of the trials ahead pressing against him like an invisible force. The academy's trials were legendary—not for their difficulty, but for their cruelty. Only the strongest survived, and those who failed were broken, cast aside like discarded tools.
A soft voice interrupted his thoughts.
"You're new."
Kael turned, instinctively reaching for his dagger. But when he saw the figure standing before him, his hand relaxed, though his instincts remained sharp.
A girl, perhaps a year or two younger than him, stood in the shadows just beyond the Throne of the Fallen. She was slight, her dark hair braided tightly at the back of her head, and her posture spoke of someone who had seen far too much for her age. Her eyes, dark as the night, observed him with a mixture of curiosity and caution.
"You look like you're about to step into a deathtrap," she said, her voice light but edged with a quiet intensity.
Kael's gaze flicked over her, assessing her every move, the way she carried herself. She was not a novice. Her stance was solid, and the aura around her was unsettling—too calm for someone who was likely just as new to the Citadel as he was. There was something ancient in her eyes, something far beyond the academy's cruelty.
"I'm here for the trials," Kael said simply, his voice even.
The girl studied him for a moment longer before stepping closer, her eyes narrowing with interest.
"So, you've come to prove yourself. To become something more than just another killer." She looked him up and down with a dismissive smile. "Good luck with that. Many have come here before you, and most of them end up broken or dead."
Kael met her gaze, a hint of a smirk playing at the edge of his lips. "I'm not like most."
Her smile widened slightly, as if amused by his confidence. "You don't look like it. But it's not just about power here, you know. The Citadel's trials aren't about who can kill the fastest or fight the hardest. They're about survival. Will. And ruthlessness." She paused, then added in a softer tone, "You'll need more than just your bloodline to survive here."
Kael's expression darkened. He didn't need her advice, but the girl's words struck a chord deep within him. She was right—his shadow power alone wouldn't be enough to ensure his survival. The Citadel demanded more than raw strength. It demanded dominance, cunning, and the ability to break anyone who stood in his way.
And Kael wasn't sure he was ready for that. Not yet.
"Who are you?" Kael asked, his curiosity piqued despite himself.
The girl's eyes flickered with something unreadable, but she answered, "Name's Althea. You'll find me around, though I doubt we'll be friends."
Before Kael could respond, she turned and began walking away, her movements swift and purposeful. "Good luck, Kael," she called over her shoulder, her voice carrying a hint of mockery. "You'll need it."
Kael watched her disappear into the shadows, his thoughts swirling. Althea's words weren't just idle threats. She knew the Citadel all too well. It was a place where only the strongest survived, where alliances were fleeting, and loyalty was earned by blood.
Kael was about to take the first step into a world of darkness, where shadows weren't just his birthright—they were his weapon, his test, and his curse.
But he was ready. For in the end, there was no other choice.
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End of Chapter 3