SHADOW PRIEST
His blood isn't forgotten!
I was not born in the shadows.
No one is.
You’re dragged into them—thrown, buried, abandoned. And when you scream, the darkness becomes your only friend. And then... you stop screaming.
You start listening.
And the shadows speak.
Tonight, they screamed with me.
I sat cross-legged before the altar of bones, fingers stained with wolf’s blood, and watched the blackened flame flicker without smoke. The chamber stank of rot and power—fitting for what I was about to do.
Stefan Montessori had given me his wolf.
The fool had handed it over like a coin in the market.
And now?
Now it pulsed beneath my hand, raw and vulnerable, like a heartbeat separated from its body.
He doesn’t know what I’ll do with it.
He thinks he made a pact for power.
He
