The grand halls of House Vernhardt stood tall within the heart of the Kingdom of Vinzl, a fortress of wealth, prestige, and nobility. The air inside was thick with the scent of polished wood, old parchment, and the lingering smoke of fine incense, a testament to the power that resided within these walls.
Seated upon an ornate chair carved from obsidian wood, Grand Duke Edric Vernhardt listened in silence, his sharp eyes fixed on the man kneeling before him.
His son, Viscount Leonard Vernhardt, spoke in a hushed, trembling voice.
“…I swear upon my name, Father. I saw it—no, I felt it. That creature was no ordinary beast. Its eyes—molten gold, burning with something beyond mere intelligence. It was as if it were… watching me. Judging me.”
Leonard swallowed hard, his mind replaying the encounter from days prior.
It had emerged from the darkness of the Sablewood Forest, moving without sound, its coat darker than midnight, swallowing the torchlight as though the very shadows obeyed its will. But it wasn’t its silence or speed that had shaken Leonard to his core—it was those golden eyes, shimmering with something unearthly.
It was not the gaze of a beast.
It was the gaze of something far greater.
Edric Vernhardt was not a man given to whims.
A warrior in his youth, a masterful strategist in his prime, and now the most powerful noble beneath the king himself, Edric had built his house upon strength, ambition, and dominance. Even now, though age had begun to silver the edges of his once jet-black hair, his presence filled the room like a storm waiting to break.
And for the first time in many years—he was intrigued.
“A black wolf of unnatural intelligence,” he mused, his voice low, calculating. “Large enough to be mistaken for a horse… yet silent enough to elude even the most trained hunters?”
Leonard nodded quickly. “Yes, Father. It was unlike anything I have ever seen. I barely escaped with my life.”
The Grand Duke did not smile, but there was a gleam of satisfaction in his cold gray eyes.
“Then it is a beast worthy of being hunted.”
Leonard felt his blood run cold.
“No, Father, you—” He hesitated, but the words spilled out before he could stop them. “You don’t understand. This is not a normal hunt. That creature—it is not meant to be captured or slain like mere game. I felt its power. It allowed me to leave, Father. If it had willed it, I would have died before I even realized it had moved.”
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For the first time, a flicker of amusement passed over Edric’s expression.
“My son, you were frightened,” he said, standing from his chair, his imposing frame casting a long shadow over Leonard. “And rightly so. But fear is only the beginning of wisdom. To command fear, one must first master it.”
He stepped toward the great window overlooking the capital city of Vinzl, his hands clasped behind his back.
“The people must know that House Vernhardt is unchallenged. That even the most fearsome of beasts—no matter how ancient, no matter how cunning—will bow before us.”
Leonard’s chest tightened. He had known his father would find the tale interesting—but this was beyond what he had feared.
“Father…” His voice wavered, desperate now. “I beg you. Let it go.”
The Grand Duke turned back to face him, and Leonard saw nothing but resolve in his father’s eyes.
“No.”
Leonard felt his breath hitch.
He had made a terrible mistake.
By the next morning, House Vernhardt was already moving.
Edric had summoned his finest hunters, mercenaries, and spellcasters—a force strong enough to subjugate a mythical beast, let alone a mere wolf.
Leonard could do nothing but watch in silent horror as his father prepared for war against the unknown.
This was not a simple hunt.
This was a declaration of supremacy.
And deep in the depths of his heart, Leonard knew—
The Black Wolf would not fall so easily.
And if his father miscalculated…
It would not be the beast that was hunted.
But them.
--
Far from the halls of House Vernhardt, across the sprawling lands of the Holy Church, within the grand Cathedral of Aria, a woman knelt in solemn prayer.
Saintess Tasha, the chosen voice of the Goddess of Harvest, Aria, had long since grown used to the ebb and flow of divine whispers. She was a beacon of faith, a woman whose very presence exuded tranquility, her robes embroidered with golden threads that shimmered under the glow of sacred candlelight.
Yet, this morning, as she bowed before the grand altar, hands clasped in reverence, a sudden unease took hold of her chest.
Her breath hitched.
She slowly lifted her head, her eyes shifting toward the forbidden horizon—toward the distant, unseen abyss where shadows festered, where the natural order frayed at the edges of reality.
The feeling deepened.
Something was stirring.
A force beyond mortal comprehension, an existence that should have remained untouched.
And then—
A sharp, overwhelming dread.
Saintess Tasha pressed a hand against her heart, steadying her breath, but the unease would not fade.
Her thoughts turned immediately to the two figures she had sent to the abyss.
Yeba and Vienna.
Her most trusted shadows.
They were more than mere agents of the church. They were family.
She had met them when they were just children, abandoned and starving in an orphanage, clinging to each other like the last fragments of a broken world. They had grown under her care, bonded not by blood but by something stronger—an unbreakable devotion.
She had trained them, shaped them into instruments of divine will.
And now—
She could feel it.
A shift.
Something had changed.
She whispered a silent prayer, her fingers trembling as she traced the sacred sigils into the air.
"Aria, grant them your light… Guide them back to me."
But even as she spoke the words, the unease remained.
And in the depths of her soul, the Saintess feared—
That she had sent them to something far beyond divine protection.
Something that should have never been awakened.
