Chapter 1: The Fall Begins
The storm outside cracked like a whip, thunder howling over the towers of House Draven, but inside the great Hall of Judgment, the silence was heavier than steel.
Kael Draven knelt at the center of the stone floor—blood on his lip, wrists bound in rune-seared chains that hissed each time he moved. Dozens of noble families sat above in crescent balconies, cloaked in silk and cruelty, looking down as if judging a feral dog. They loved spectacles like this.
> "Kael Draven," spoke High Lord Veylor, his father, from the throne of marble and bone. "You stand accused of treason against the Dominion, summoning infernal spirits, and orchestrating the massacre of twenty-seven soldiers. What say you?"
Kael raised his head slowly. His silver hair clung to his sweat-soaked forehead, eyes glowing faintly with restrained mana.
> "I say you're all cowards, hiding your knives behind silk gloves."
Gasps echoed. Whispers began to churn, but were silenced by Veylor's hand.
To Kael's left stood Lucien Draven, his half-brother, flawless in posture and appearance—gold-trimmed robes, smug smile, and a fake wound bandaged for drama.
Lucien stepped forward, unrolling a charred scroll.
> "This summoning sigil was carved in Kael's chambers. His mana—clearly traced through every corner of the ritual. Demons responded to it. Good men died. What more proof do you need?"
Kael's eyes narrowed. It was a lie—crafted, planted, sealed with a forged signature. He remembered only fragments of that night. A goblet of wine. A soft hand. Then screams and fire.
He had been set up.
> "You drugged me," Kael said. "You framed me to keep your place as heir."
Lucien gave a light chuckle, leaning down just enough for Kael to hear.
> "A bastard with a monster's core? No kingdom would ever kneel to you. I'm just cleaning up father's mistake."
High Lord Veylor's gaze stayed unreadable. For a moment—just a breath—Kael saw hesitation in his father's eyes. Regret, perhaps. But it passed like mist.
> "Kael Draven," he said coldly, "you are stripped of your name and rights. You are sentenced to death by exile… in the Abyssal Dungeon."
Silence.
Then the crowd erupted—some in horror, most in delight. Even among nobles, the Abyss was legend. A prison beneath the world, a bottomless pit of magic, madness, and ancient horrors. No one returned.
Kael stood despite the chains and the burn. The power sealed within his core fought to ignite, but the sigils held strong.
> "You fear what I could become," he said, voice rising. "So you destroy me now. You all think this ends me? It doesn't. It begins me."
Lucien smirked.
> "You'll rot in darkness. Forgotten."
Kael's eyes locked on him.
> "And you'll die screaming my name."
Without another word, the Archmages formed a circle. Magic pulsed. A void of crackling black mana opened beneath Kael's feet. The wind howled through it like a screaming mouth.
Then the floor gave way.
And Kael fell.
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Darkness. Screams. Hunger. Cold.
The fall lasted seconds—or days. Time had no meaning. When he finally hit ground, it was not with a thud, but a slow, smothering swallow. The Abyss took him in like flesh absorbing blood.
He gasped. The air burned his lungs. His mana was still sealed.
Around him: stone walls slick with black rot, whispers in tongues long dead, bones of beasts and men alike.
The Abyss was alive.
And it watched him.
Kael crawled, stumbling through a tunnel where the darkness moved when he didn't. Shadows whispered. Eyes blinked and disappeared. Hunger gnawed at him. His soul itched—as if something were digging into it.
He didn't die.
He refused.
He fought with bones as weapons, ate lichen that glowed faintly with death magic. His pride faded, but his will remained—sharp, bitter, and burning.
Then he heard the voice.
> "So the bastard still breathes..."
A throne of stone loomed in a hollowed chamber. Upon it sat a woman cloaked in chains and darkness, her skin pale like moonlight, her eyes molten gold.
> "I am the First Witch. Bound in this pit for ten thousand years. And you… are interesting."
Kael dropped to his knees, not in awe, but exhaustion.
> "Kill me or make me powerful. I don't care which."
She smiled.
> "Good answer."
She extended her hand, and in it swirled a black flame—alive, seething, hungry.
> "Drink of the Abyss. Take the Shadowflame into your soul. Become what the surface fears."
Kael did not hesitate.
He drank.
The flame burned through his chest like molten metal. His core cracked. Then split. Then transformed. His mana roared. The seals shattered. Screams echoed. Bones cracked. The shadows howled.
When he stood, his body had changed.
His core was no longer human—it pulsed with Shadowflame, feeding on magic, evolving endlessly.
The First Witch bowed her head slightly.
> "Go, Scion of Ash. Go write your revenge."
And Kael smiled for the first time in weeks.
> "Let them pray to gods. I'll become something worse."
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End of Chapter 1