The City of Light slept peacefully beneath its glass dome.
Its thousand sun-lanterns glowed like frozen stars, in hues of golden light and blue, scattering the darkness that had swallowed the rest of the world.
Aili watched the flickering lights from the top of the watchtower, resting on her knees, her chin against the window frame.
She knew the sight would not last forever.
She knew it better than most, for her heart would not let her forget that fateful day when she lost her parents.
She gripped the chain hanging around her neck — the only thing she had left of them.
That night returned to her mind as clearly as if it were yesterday.
Aili's parents had been farmers on the outskirts of the city, growing food crops to be brought into the city.
Their house was far from the center, where the dome was older and more fragile, where the light sometimes flickered — tiny imperfections no one wanted to admit existed.
Aili had been thirteen then.
She still remembered her mother laughing in the kitchen, her hands covered in flour, and her father coming home from the fields with a small bundle of withering flowers — a gift, because it had been Aili's birthday.
And then, suddenly, the light source failed.
It had begun with a crackle, then, in a blink, complete darkness.
In the darkness there was silence — heavy, oppressive, suffocating.
And then the shadows moved.
They were not human, though some of them walked on two legs and whispered the names of loved ones they once had.
They were the Chained — those the darkness had swallowed and reshaped.
Aili had fled to the attic, hiding inside an old chest, trembling silently.
She heard the Chained break down the door her father had tried to hold shut.
She heard her father shout her name, telling her to stay hidden, and her mother sobbing and begging Aili not to come out no matter what she heard — soon their voices sounded strange and distorted, like broken instruments.
Their voices repeated, "Aili, darling, come into the embrace of the darkness."
She had covered her ears, wishing it was only a nightmare.
When the shadow patrol finally arrived, they found Aili alone, wandering among the ruins of the house in the darkness.
She didn't have a scratch on her.
In the heart of the dark, where the light was supposed to have died, Aili could see — sensing the movement of shadows, like a faint vibration in the air.
It was a gift.
Or a curse.
It had kept her alive.
Now, five years later, Aili was one of the youngest members of the Shadow Patrol — those brave enough to move through the darkness, bringing supplies and information.
Their work was dangerous, but without them, the city would wither.
Everyone knew it, which was why the Shadow Patrol members were highly respected.
Aili rose and pulled on her shadow cloak, the long hood dimming her features and shielding her from the watchful eyes of the darkness.
She had a meeting.
And she was not going to be late.
At Light Square, the air smelled of steam and burnt oil.
Vendors called out their wares, and members of the Shadow Patrol moved in the shadows, observing.
Aili found them quickly:
Tajo, standing broad as a cliff; Nara, speaking animatedly, hands waving; and Kero, who always looked ready to either strike or flee.
Tajo saw Aili and gave her a small, approving smile.
"Late," he said in a low voice.
"Or you early," Aili answered, pulling back her hood.
Nara laughed.
"That's possible."
Tajo was a seasoned veteran of the Shadow Patrol, carrying a quiet authority around him.
Aili had noticed that when Tajo spoke, everyone listened — not because they had to, but because they wanted to.
Nara was the opposite: fast-paced, sharp-tongued, and full of fire.
She was like a fuse burning from both ends.
Kero, meanwhile, was silent but sharp-eyed.
He had a knack for noticing things others missed — small movements in the shadows, silent signals in the air.
They had been a team for over a year.
And they were good.
Tajo stepped closer and placed a hand on Aili's shoulder.
"You're ready," he said. "I can see it."
Aili gave a faint smile.
"Let's hope that's enough."
That night their patrol shift passed normally: patrolling, checking routes, measuring the strength of the lanterns' light.
But at the city's edge, where the light already began to waver uncertainly, they felt something — movement.
Not the Chained — but something else.
Aili was the first to notice: a faint ripple in the air, like the slow beat of an invisible heart.
She stopped.
"Tajo," she whispered.
The man halted immediately, hand on the hilt of his weapon.
"Where?"
Aili pointed ahead — right where one of the outer light poles flickered and went dark for a moment.
And from the depths of the darkness came a sound:
a quiet, echoing laugh.
Tajo pulled them into cover.
"A Chained one doesn't laugh," he said softly.
Kero swallowed hard.
"Someone's watching us."
Soul-eaters.
The ones who didn't attack directly, but whispered, manipulated — lured people to abandon the light.
They had been seen before, but few returned to tell the tale.
Aili clutched the chain around her neck.
She could feel it — the call of the darkness.
But she stood her ground, refusing to move.
Tajo placed his hand on her shoulder again.
"You are strong," he said in a low voice.
"Don't forget it."
They retreated back into the light.
And that time, the darkness did not follow them.
But each of them knew it was only a matter of time.
The darkness never forgot.
And it never gave up.
The next morning dawned heavy-hearted over the City of Light.
Though the dome still glowed strongly and the lanterns burned bright, there was something in the air: heavy, trembling, invisible, like a gathering storm.
Aili woke before the others, as she always did.
She dressed slowly in her shadow-cloak, leaving the hood down for now.
Today would be her greatest trial: the Ritual of the Shadow Lights — the oath every Shadow Patrol member took upon becoming an official part of the order.
The Oath was more than just a promise.
It was a blood-pact, a bond to others who had chosen the same fate: to protect the city, to guard the light — even if their own life was the price.
They gathered at the oldest tower, near the heart of the city, where the light had never gone out.
The tower was built of stone, a relic from the time before the sun had died — and all important rituals were held there, believed to bring good fortune.
Tajo was waiting at the base of the tower.
He stood quietly, his face half-hidden beneath his hood.
"Ready?" he asked, voice low but gentle.
Aili nodded.
"I don't know," she answered honestly.
Tajo chuckled.
"That's the right answer. No one ever truly is."
Inside the tower it was cold.
The stone walls muffled sound and heat, and only ritual lanterns burned dimly in a circle around the center.
Others were already there: Nara, Kero, senior Shadow Patrol members, and standing at the very center like a smith of shadows, Eldric — the eldest and their leader.
Eldric was tall and gaunt, his face lined, his eyes deep like misty forests.
He carried the Sword of Light — an artifact that never fully extinguished, even in the deepest darkness.
When Aili stepped inside, silence fell.
"You now stand at the border between light and shadow," Eldric said, his voice echoing from the stone walls.
"Will you choose the Shadow Path, knowing every step could be your last?
Do you swear to protect others with your life, as all before you have sworn?"
Aili swallowed.
She raised her gaze and met Eldric's eyes.
"I swear," she said, her voice steady.
Eldric raised the Sword of Light and lightly touched its tip to her shoulder.
"May your eyes be sharp, your shadow light, and your heart bright."
Then he spoke the ancient words the Shadowfolk had carried for centuries:
"When darkness sings and light weeps,
a Child of the Shadow shall walk.
They shall not fear the dark nor forget the light,
but walk between — alone, but never alone.
Their hands bring both ruin and hope.
And their heart carries the spark of the sun,
which even the darkest night cannot extinguish."
The room hung in heavy silence.
Aili felt her heart pounding.
Her arm where the sword had touched tingled — and deep inside, she felt that same familiar tremor, the one that had saved her the night her parents died.
Tajo stepped to her side and placed a hand on her shoulder.
"Well done," he said softly.
Nara grinned and winked at her.
Kero just nodded, but there was warmth in his gaze.
As the ritual ended and the members began to disperse to their duties, Eldric stopped Aili.
"There is more than just the Shadow Path in your blood," he said quietly, so none other could hear.
Aili tensed.
"What do you mean?"
Eldric's gaze was heavy.
"The old prophecy. The one about the Child of the Shadow.
I believe you are her."
Aili's throat tightened.
"But... I'm no savior."
"Not yet," Eldric said.
"But the darkness recognizes you. And it will try to call you to its side.
Remember this: sometimes lies appear as light, and truth feels like darkness."
Then he turned and left Aili standing alone in the stone room, still tingling from the Sword of Light.
The weeks that followed passed quickly.
Aili was trained to move in the Broken Lands: she practiced shadow-hopping, learned to listen to the weakening of light in the air, to read the flow of darkness.
Tajo took it upon himself to be her personal mentor.
A silent trust grew between them, a deep understanding that needed few words.
Nara taught her survival tricks: how to mask oneself in the dark, how to rebuild a lantern under field conditions.
Kero showed her the silent routes under the city — forgotten tunnels, some leading far into the Broken Lands.
One evening, as they sat together atop the Shadow Tower watching the dim light drifting above the city, Tajo spoke.
"You know," he said quietly, "I too once heard the prophecy, when I was younger."
Aili turned to look at him.
"But it wasn't about me.
My task was always to protect the one who carried it."
Tajo smiled faintly.
"And now I know it's you."
Aili felt tears sting her eyes.
"I don't want to be anyone special," she whispered.
"Too late," Tajo said gently.
"The choice is not ours."
He looked far toward the horizon, where the light already began to fade and shadows danced.
"But you will never be alone. Remember that."
The words of the Shadowfolk's oath still echoed in her mind, like an early shadow of what was yet to come:
"When darkness sings and light weeps,
a Child of the Shadow shall walk..."
And Aili knew her journey was only just beginning.
Darkness was patient.
And it was waiting.