Kael's breathing was ragged, his chest heaving as he darted through the dense forest. Shadows danced between the trees, cast by the moonlight filtering through the canopy above. The voices of the imperial enforcers echoed behind him, barking orders and promises of capture. His heart pounded like a drum, drowning out the sounds of snapping branches and rustling leaves as he fled.
The memories were fractured, fragments of two lives colliding in his mind. He was Ethan Grayson—or had been—a failed writer living an ordinary life, plagued by rejection. Now, he was Kael Darius, apprentice mage in a world that seemed determined to snuff out his existence. How he came to be here, in this body, was a mystery he couldn't afford to unravel—not with death hot on his heels.
Instinct saved him more than once. A sudden jolt sent his feet skidding to the right just as an arrow whistled past, embedding itself into the bark of a tree. He didn't stop to see who fired it. His body moved on its own, stronger and faster than anything he'd experienced before. The enforcers shouted again, closer now.
Kael tripped over a root, tumbling to the ground. His palms hit the dirt, scraping against the earth as he scrambled to his feet. It was then that he saw it—a faint light in the distance, cutting through the darkness like a beacon. He hesitated for half a heartbeat before running toward it, his legs fueled by desperation and a sliver of hope.
The light belonged to an ancient, crumbling temple, its towering arches overrun with ivy and moss. The air here was heavier, almost oppressive, as if time itself lingered within these walls. Kael stumbled inside, his eyes darting to the intricate carvings that adorned the stone. They pulsed faintly, as though alive.
"Where... what is this place?" he muttered to himself, his voice barely above a whisper.
Deep within the temple, Kael found the source of the light—a pedestal bearing a black, jagged artifact that seemed to hum with energy. The carvings on the walls pointed toward it, their patterns spiraling inward like a map. Kael's pulse quickened as he approached, drawn to the artifact in a way that defied logic.
As his fingers brushed the cold surface, an explosion of pain and light consumed him. Images flooded his mind: his old life, a prophecy, and the name that echoed like a distant thunder—"Shadow Scribe." The artifact bonded with him, a rush of power filling every vein and nerve. The shadows around him seemed to shift, bending to his will, and with them came a voice.
"I am Tharos," the voice rumbled, low and ancient. From the artifact emerged a beast of pure shadow, its form twisting and flowing like smoke. Its piercing eyes regarded Kael, half curious, half calculating.
"What... what are you?" Kael asked, his voice trembling.
"I am your guide and your shield. You have been chosen, Shadow Scribe. There is much to learn, and little time."
Before Kael could respond, the voices of the enforcers shattered the moment. They had found him. The artifact pulsed once more, the carvings on the walls glowing brighter as Tharos's form coiled protectively around Kael.
"Use the shadows," Tharos instructed.
The enforcers stormed into the temple, their weapons gleaming in the faint light. Kael raised his hand instinctively, and the shadows obeyed. Illusions sprang forth, twisting reality into chaos. Walls crumbled where they hadn't, phantom figures charged at the enforcers, and darkness enveloped them all. In the confusion, Kael slipped away, his newfound power carrying him into the night.
He emerged from the forest, exhausted and bewildered, but alive. The artifact hummed faintly at his side, and Tharos hovered like a silent guardian. Kael collapsed against a tree, staring at his hands as the weight of his new reality settled over him.
He wasn't just Kael Darius anymore. He wasn't just Ethan Grayson. He was something else entirely—the Shadow Scribe.
Kael's breaths came in sharp gasps as he pressed his back against the rough bark of the tree. The world spun, a dizzying mix of adrenaline and the overwhelming realization of what had just happened. The artifact still pulsed faintly at his side, its energy echoing through his body like a second heartbeat. And Tharos—the shadow beast—hovered nearby, its fluid form shimmering in the moonlight.
"You did well for someone newly awakened," Tharos said, its voice deep and resonant, with an edge of amusement. "But don't get comfortable. They'll come for you again."
Kael raised his head to glare at the creature. "What... even are you? Why are you helping me?"
"I am bound to you," Tharos replied simply, its eyes narrowing. "By the artifact, by the prophecy. Call it fate if you must. Your survival ensures my existence."
Kael let his head fall back against the tree, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "Great. I'm stuck with a shadowy babysitter. Just my luck."
Tharos's form shifted, tendrils of shadow curling and uncurling as if agitated. "Do not mistake me for your servant. I am your guide, but the path is yours to walk—or stumble."
Kael frowned, his mind turning back to the images he'd seen when he touched the artifact: the prophecy, the name *Shadow Scribe,* and a world he barely understood. His hands clenched into fists as a spark of anger flared within him.
"I didn't ask for this," he muttered. "I didn't ask for any of this."
"And yet, here you are," Tharos said, its voice softening slightly. "You were chosen for a reason, Kael Darius—or should I call you Ethan Grayson?"
Kael froze, his heart skipping a beat at the mention of his old name. "You... you know about that?"
Tharos's eyes gleamed, its form growing darker. "I know much, Shadow Scribe. More than you are ready to hear. For now, you must focus on mastering the gift—or the curse—you've been given."
Kael opened his mouth to argue, but a distant noise stopped him cold. The sound of voices, shouting orders, carried through the forest. The enforcers were still searching for him.
Tharos's form shifted again, flowing like liquid shadow around Kael. "They will not stop until you are captured—or killed. We must keep moving."
Kael pushed himself to his feet, swaying slightly before regaining his balance. His body still felt foreign, unfamiliar in its strength and agility. "Fine," he said through gritted teeth. "But I want answers. Real answers. No more cryptic riddles."
"In time," Tharos replied, its voice almost teasing. "Now run, Scribe. The chase is far from over."
Kael sighed, brushing dirt from his hands before breaking into a jog. The forest stretched endlessly before him, its shadows deep and consuming. But as he moved, something stirred within him—an ember of determination, growing brighter with every step. He didn't understand this world, this power, or this prophecy. But if he was going to survive, he'd have to learn. Fast.
And so, with Tharos at his side and the artifact pulsing like a heartbeat, Kael disappeared into the darkness, a fugitive on the run—but also, perhaps, something far more dangerous.