Fenrir
The Shadow Realm shudders beneath my feet.
It should shudder. It should cower. It should remember what I am. Who I am!
I tear through the veil, silver fire spilling from my fingertips, burning away the corruption that clings to this place like rot. The air tastes foul — old magic, old lies, old wounds.
And him.
Morvath.
The First Shadow.
The mistake the early realms never corrected.
He stands across the clearing, tall and still, his eyes glowing like dying stars. His expression is unreadable — but I smell it beneath the calm.
Shock. Fear. Recognition.
Good.
He should fear me.
“Arwen!” Viggo shouts, lunging forward. I clamp a hand on my son’s arm, stopping him as he strains to break free. Morvath is a prick, but even I know never to underestimate someone like him. “Dad, l
