The fog rolled in thick over the northern valley, curling around the spires of the Altherion Estate like a living cloak. It seeped into the stone courtyards, into the darkened alleyways, whispering secrets only the unseen could hear.
High above, in the shadowed ridges, a group of figures watched the estate with patient precision. They were from the House Calvane, one of the five great families sworn to maintain balance—and to eliminate threats. The boy was alive, and that was a threat.
"He moves," a cloaked hunter whispered. "The boy… he breathes. He survives where he should have fallen."
Another nodded, face hidden beneath a hood. "The Growl… it stirs. I can feel it through the wind. He is awakening, even if he does not yet know."
From the ridge, they could see him in the courtyard below. His figure was small, fragile, and alone. Servants scurried past him, nobles glared, and children laughed cruelly, but he remained upright, his eyes fixed on the ground.
"He has no training," another hunter murmured. "No skill. No bloodline. He cannot possibly survive."
Yet instinct told them otherwise. The air around the boy felt… wrong. The shadows bent subtly, unnaturally. A small stone trembled under his foot as he walked. The Growl was faint here, almost imperceptible, but it was alive. It was waiting.
Inside the courtyard, the boy navigated the same pathways that had humiliated him months ago. Memories of the Runcandel—or rather, the Selection of Lineage, as it was now properly called in the Altherion lexicon—flashed in his mind. Children's laughter, the cutting whispers, the cold judgment of the Patriarch.
He did not flinch. He had learned to swallow fear, though it remained coiled inside him like a snake ready to strike.
From above, the Calvane hunters descended, shadows sliding across the stones, silent as smoke. Every step was deliberate, precise. They were trained to kill, and they believed the boy was nothing.
But the Growl pulsed faintly now, as if warning him.
His shadow twisted slightly, moving independently of him. It stretched along the cobblestones, curling around corners, brushing against walls as if testing the air. He did not yet know how to control it. He could not even name it. Yet, instinctively, he felt the protection it offered, subtle but undeniable.
A hand reached for him—a sudden lunge from a Calvane hunter. The boy froze, heart hammering. But the Growl surged. The shadow coiled like a whip, and the attacker stumbled back as if struck by an invisible force.
Gasps erupted from the crowd. Servants fell silent, children froze, and even the nobles shifted nervously. The boy did not move. He did not strike. He merely stared at the trembling figure before him.
From the edge of the courtyard, the dark-robed figure appeared once more—the hidden family. They had observed since his birth, quietly shaping events from the shadows. Their eyes followed him, calm and calculating, knowing the Growl was awakening, that the boy's potential was beyond reckoning.
The hunters regrouped. They had underestimated him. Subtle movements, impossible to predict, shifted the balance. His shadow followed each of their steps, a predator that did not yet have a mind of its own, but a presence all the same.
"Impossible…" one whispered. "The boy… he should not—"
But before he could finish, a second surge erupted from the Growl. The ground beneath the hunters rippled faintly, unnoticeable to anyone but the boy and the hidden watchers. Panic gripped the Calvane agents. They had trained for years, yet their instincts screamed at them: retreat.
The boy bolted toward the northern forest, instinct guiding him more than thought. Branches scraped his skin, mud soaked his tunic, but the Growl shielded him subtly, moving shadows and air to assist, almost like a silent guardian.
Behind him, the hunters hesitated, unsure if they had seen a trick or if the estate itself had shifted against them.
Atop a ridge overlooking the forest, the dark-robed observer finally spoke softly.
"He does not yet understand… but soon… he will. The world will remember what they tried to erase, too late."
The boy pressed onward, shoving aside fear. His shadow stretched behind him, following, moving, alive. The Growl pulsed faintly in rhythm with his heartbeat. Something primal had awakened. Something dangerous.
And somewhere beyond the forest, in the hidden valleys, the watchers of his secret family smiled, knowing the boy had survived another day—and that survival itself was the first step toward a destiny no one could predict.