Shadows of Me

Four years had slipped by since the day darkness claimed Lena and reshaped the fabric of my existence. In the wake of that tragedy, I found myself driven not just by vengeance but by an insatiable hunger for power. A hunger that whispered in the quiet moments, that turned my grief into a blade sharpened by the night. My once innate affinity for light magic had withered in the shadow of my loss, replaced by a burgeoning mastery of dark magic—a transformation as profound as it was unsettling.

Now, at 14, my journey brought me to the gates of a city famed for its Academy of Arcane Arts and Martial Prowess. The wagon that carried me creaked a mournful dirge, echoing the turmoil within me as it navigated the cobblestone streets towards the heart of academic and magical excellence. Yet, as the city unfolded before me, my thoughts were not of awe but calculation. The academy was not a beacon of enlightenment but a means to an end—the crucible in which I would forge myself into a weapon worthy of my vengeance.

The driver, a man whose name I never bothered to learn, announced our arrival with a disinterest that mirrored my own. "Here we are, lad. The academy," he grunted, nodding towards the towering spires that pierced the sky like daggers. I disembarked without a word, my gaze fixed on the ancient stones that promised not knowledge, but power.

As I stepped through the academy's gates, the vibrant bustle of students and scholars felt distant, their laughter and chatter a backdrop to the darker melody that played within me. My transition from light to darkness had left me isolated, my thoughts and desires alien to those who walked beside me, their faces blurred and indistinct.

The administration building loomed ahead, a sentinel guarding the path to my ambitions. With each step, I felt the weight of my solitude, a cloak woven from shadows and silence. Social interactions became puzzles, their pieces lost in the depths of my focus on the dark arts. Conversations were obstacles, their rhythms and cadences as foreign to me as the concept of companionship.

My introduction to the academy was a blur, the formalities and instructions a distant hum against the louder call of my dark magic. It thrummed within me, a constant presence that promised strength, control, and the means to exact my revenge. I was assigned to a dormitory, a room that would serve as my sanctuary and prison, where I could delve deeper into the mysteries of darkness unfettered by the distractions of daylight camaraderie.

That night, as the academy settled into a peaceful silence, I stood at my window, looking out into the darkness that had become my constant companion. The stars, once bright beacons in the night, now seemed dim, their light a feeble challenge to the power that surged within me. I turned away, my reflection in the glass a stranger's gaze—cold, determined, and alone.

Here, in the shadows of the academy, I would grow my power, feeding the hunger that demanded not just vengeance but dominance. Corvus, the architect of my pain, would come to know fear. And from the depths of my isolation and my mastery of the dark arts, I would emerge not as the boy who had lost everything, but as the harbinger of retribution.

The path I had chosen was lined with shadows, each step taking me further from the light I once knew. But in the darkness, I found my purpose, my strength, and the key to unlocking the power that would one day see my vengeance fulfilled