Toronto, Ontario – August 22, 2025. 6:03 a.m. EST.
The apartment block at Jane and Finch smelled of copper and wet rot.
Dawn light filtered through shattered windows in thin, ashen shafts. It illuminated blood that had dried to black varnish on the hallway floor, claw marks gouged into drywall like someone had tried to climb the walls to escape, and a single child's sneaker lying abandoned near the stairwell—pink, one lace missing, sole crusted with something dark.
Aisha knelt beside it.
She didn't touch it. Just stared.
Elias stood two steps behind her, arms loose at his sides, purple eyes scanning every shadow. The black vein on his forearm had branched again during the night—now a delicate web reaching toward his shoulder blade. Each new line felt like a promise: more senses, more strength, more hunger. He hadn't told anyone. They could see the changes anyway—the way he heard heartbeats through walls now, the way his footsteps never echoed unless he wanted them to.
Zara hovered at his left shoulder, close enough that her breath brushed his neck when she exhaled. She hadn't spoken since they entered the building. Her fingers twitched toward his sleeve every few seconds, then drew back—as if she remembered Aisha was watching.
Aisha was always watching now.
Jamal broke the silence from the doorway of apartment 312.
"No body in here besides the one we found yesterday. But someone dragged something heavy down the hall. Blood trail leads to the roof access."
Talia slipped past him, already moving toward the stairs. "I'll check."
Kwame stayed near the entrance, vines slowly crawling up the walls like living ivy. They weren't aggressive—just watchful. He looked at Aisha.
"He's not dead yet," Kwame said quietly. "The blood's too fresh in places. Someone carried him."
Aisha's voice cracked. "Carried him where?"
Elias answered before anyone else could.
"Up."
He moved past her, boots silent on gore-slick tile. The others followed without being told.
The roof door hung open on one hinge.
Outside: wind cold enough to bite. The city sprawled northward—smoke columns rising from multiple points, distant roars that could have been dragons or collapsing structures or both.
And in the middle of the roof: a circle of ash and salt.
Inside the circle: a teenage boy, wrists bound with black cord, kneeling. Head bowed. Breathing shallow.
Malik.
Aisha made a sound that wasn't quite a sob.
She ran.
Elias caught her wrist before she crossed the circle.
"Wait."
She turned on him, eyes blazing. "That's my brother."
"I know." His voice was calm. Too calm. "Look at the circle."
Ash and salt. Deliberate. Ritual.
Not random violence.
Someone had been waiting.
Talia crouched at the edge. "Fresh. Someone was here less than an hour ago."
Kwame's vines slithered forward, testing the perimeter. They recoiled the moment they touched the ash line—like they'd been burned.
"Warded," he muttered. "Not magic. Something… biological. It hates my roots."
Elias stepped forward. The black vein on his arm flared once—bright violet—then dimmed.
He crossed the circle without hesitation.
Nothing happened.
He knelt in front of Malik.
The boy lifted his head slowly. Eyes swollen. One cheek split open. But recognition flickered.
"Elias…?"
Aisha crossed next. Dropped beside her brother, hands shaking as she cut the cord with a scavenged knife.
Malik collapsed into her arms.
"He's burning up," she whispered.
Elias placed a palm on Malik's forehead.
Fever. Infection. And something else—something foreign threading through the boy's veins. Not human. Not entirely.
They marked him.
Elias looked at the others.
"We take him. Now."
Jamal shifted his grip on the pipe. "And if whoever did this comes back?"
Elias smiled—small, cold, promising violence.
"Then we introduce ourselves."
They carried Malik down to the street level in silence.
Zara walked at Elias's side the entire way, eyes flicking between him and the unconscious boy. When they reached the ground floor she spoke for the first time since the roof.
"He's infected."
Aisha glared. "He's my brother."
"I know," Zara said softly. "But look at his veins. Same black as Elias's. Just… weaker."
Aisha looked.
She paled.
Elias didn't deny it.
"Whatever they did to him, it's the same root as what's happening to me. Different dose. Different intent."
Malik stirred in Aisha's arms. Voice hoarse.
"They called themselves… the Hollowed. Said they were the first family. Said the storm chose them to inherit. Said I had 'potential'."
Elias crouched again.
"What did they look like?"
Malik swallowed. "Human… mostly. But their eyes were wrong. Like oil on water. And one of them had ears like… pointed. Not elf. Not human. Something between."
Jamal muttered, "Great. Fantasy cosplay with kidnapping."
Elias ignored him. "Did they say why they took you?"
Malik's eyes flicked to Aisha. Then back to Elias.
"They wanted to breed new lines. Said the old families were broken. Said they needed… vessels. Strong ones."
Aisha's breath hitched.
Elias stood slowly.
"Vessels."
Malik nodded. "They kept talking about the Twelve. Said only twelve bloodlines survived the first eclipse. Said they're waking up now. Hidden. Waiting."
Elias looked north.
The horizon was wrong—too dark, too jagged. Things moved against the sky that were too large to be birds.
He turned to the group.
"We're not going back to the community center. Too exposed."
Jamal raised a brow. "So where, genius?"
Elias pointed north-east. Toward the ravine systems and old industrial zones.
"There's an abandoned factory complex near the Black Creek. Brick. High walls. Defensible. Water access. We fortify it. We heal Malik. We learn what the Hollowed know… and what they fear."
Talia crossed her arms. "You're talking about building something."
"I'm talking about surviving something," Elias corrected. "And then taking it."
Aisha looked at her brother. Then at Elias.
She didn't speak. But she nodded once.
Zara's hand found Elias's again—bolder this time. Fingers interlacing.
Aisha saw it.
Her jaw tightened.
But she said nothing.
Black Creek Industrial Zone – 3:47 p.m.
The factory complex was worse than abandoned.
It was claimed.
Goblins—dozens—had turned the loading bays into warrens. Crude barricades of car parts and bones. Fires burning in oil drums. The stink of unwashed bodies and roasted meat.
And among them: taller figures.
Beast-people.
Not human. Not animal.
One stood at the gate—seven feet tall, fur the color of midnight, eyes burning gold. Sabertooth canines. Clawed hands that could have crushed skulls. But the face… feminine. Striking. Beautiful in a terrifying way.
A beast-girl.
She saw them approach.
Raised one clawed hand.
The goblins quieted instantly.
She spoke—voice low, rumbling, almost musical.
"You walk on Hollowed ground, marked one."
Elias stopped ten meters away.
The group fanned out behind him—Jamal left, Talia right, Kwame and Aisha guarding Malik, Zara pressed to Elias's side like she belonged there.
Elias tilted his head.
"You're not Hollowed."
The beast-woman smiled—sharp, slow.
"No. I am Ashka. Matriarch of the Nightclaw clan. The Hollowed pay us tribute to use this place. We allow it. For now."
Elias studied her.
Tall. Powerful. Covered in short, glossy black fur that caught the weak sunlight. Breasts full, hips wide—built for both battle and bearing. A tail lashed behind her, slow and deliberate.
Her eyes dropped to Zara's hand in his.
Then to Aisha.
Then back to Elias.
"You bring females. Young. Strong blood. The storm likes strong blood."
Elias didn't flinch.
"We're not tribute."
Ashka laughed—deep, rolling.
"No. You're something else. I smell old power on you. And new hunger."
She stepped closer.
The goblins shifted—nervous.
Ashka stopped just out of arm's reach.
"I offer a bargain, marked one."
Elias waited.
"Join us. Breed with us. Your seed in our wombs. Our strength in your line. We build a clan that even the Twelve fear."
Zara stiffened.
Aisha's eyes flashed.
Elias smiled—cold, ruthless, beautiful.
"I don't join."
Ashka's tail stilled.
"I take."
He stepped forward.
The black vein across his shoulder flared violet.
Melanin Taker woke fully for the first time.
Ashka lunged.
Claws raked air where Elias had stood.
He was already behind her.
One hand clamped her throat from behind.
Not choking. Controlling.
The other pressed to her chest—over her heart.
He felt it all: feline reflexes, night vision, raw physical power, fertility that could birth litters, loyalty that ran deeper than blood.
He took.
Not everything.
Just enough.
Ashka gasped—half pain, half ecstasy.
Her body shuddered.
When he released her she dropped to one knee.
Breathing hard.
The goblins froze.
Elias stepped back.
His muscles had thickened subtly. His eyes glowed brighter. His hearing sharpened to painful clarity.
He looked down at Ashka.
"You keep the factory," he said. "We take the east wing. We share water and food. We don't touch your people. You don't touch ours."
Ashka lifted her head.
Gold eyes wide.
"You… could have killed me."
"I still might," Elias said simply.
She smiled—slow, dangerous, approving.
"Then we have a truce, marked one."
Elias turned to his group.
"East wing. Now."
They moved.
Zara pressed against him again—closer this time, hips brushing his.
Aisha carried Malik in silence.
But when they passed through the gate, she looked back at Ashka.
The beast-woman was watching Elias.
Hungry.
Not for meat.
For legacy.
Aisha's fingers tightened around her brother.
The first stones of a clan had been laid.
And the Crownless Paragon had just begun to collect his queens.
(End of Chapter 7)