The Shadows and the Hunt Ella. There was a time before the blood, before the battlefield, before I became what I am. A time when I was just a girl, standing in the gardens of my family's castle, dreaming of places beyond the cold stone walls. But my father's voice was sharp, my mother's grip was iron. "You were born to conquer, not to dream." So I became what they made me. A soldier with bloodied hands. A hunter of creatures whose names I once whispered in childhood tales. I carved my name into the bones of those I was ordered to kill, but my soul remained heavy, my heart still aching for a world where my sword was unnecessary. Then came the war with the kingdom of shadows. A war against the man whose name was spoken like a curse. Ezael. A creature of the dark. A monster, they told me. A man whose castle was carved into the very heart of night itself. He was our enemy. And I was meant to bring him to ruin. I was never meant to save the world. I knew this from the moment I first saw fire devour a kingdom. The screams were distant, almost melodic, as the sky turned to ash. My father, the Shadow King, told me this was how the world worked-empires rise, empires fall, and the strong remain standing on the bones of the weak. I watched. I listened. And slowly, I understood. I was not born to build. I was not born to heal. I was born to burn. The hunters came for me, again and again. But they were children playing with steel, and I was forged in something darker. Then, one day, a new hunter arrived. A woman with fire in her veins and sorrow in her eyes. Ella. The only name that ever unsettled me. She was my enemy. She was meant to die by my hands. So why did the darkness whisper her name like a prayer?