Grendilton: Rise of the Shadows

50 | Epilogue

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The halls of the cathedral were always filled with commotion, decorated with the smiles and sometimes scowls of the individuals who called this giant faction home. Never had the grey stone walls harboured nothing but silence. It was a rare moment that the building would have two people roam the area, let alone have nobody even walk about.

Sweat ran down his porcelain white skin, grazing his teeth along the bottom of his lip in frustration. His arm was leaning against the wall and he could see in the reflection of the window he gazed out his usually light green eyes a darker shade than usual.

"It wasn't meant to be like this," he whispered to himself. "She wasn't meant to die!"

He slammed his fist into an ornament, hurdling it across the other side of the room, cussing out loud when it shattered completely. A fiery humidity surrounded him. Flares of sun magic began to dance along the carpet, igniting his veins with a golden energy only he could produce. He inhaled deeply then exhaled slowly, rubbing at his temples, irritated when the adornments around his fingers clanked and clambered.

In his twenty years of living at the cathedral, did he ever imagine that one of the crows would be killed. How did the news bring a whole faction to a standstill?

A knock appeared at his door. He made it clear that he didn't want any guest right now. "I'm not in the mood," he denounced, sneering when the door began to slowly creak open. Of course.

He couldn't help but roll his eyes, narrowing his emerald green gaze at his superior. The man was tall and lanky, his eyes silver and haunting, almost icy and bone chilling. Tales of violence was evident in his face, harbouring scars that were there before he was even born. He couldn't help but grin, shaking his head slowly in disapproval.

"Now now," hissed the man. "Be careful who you are speaking to boy."

He bit his tongue in resentment. "My apologies Malik." He then bowed down to Malik, hoping that his outburst wouldn't get him in any more trouble. "The news about Hazel has taken me back a bit."

He was never a fan of Hazel, but the woman was a powerhouse when it came to water magic. After all, she was a professor and a elements master at the most prestigious institute in the world. However, he couldn't help but feel as if she hated everything about him. Hazel was found in pieces, with shards of the blood moon amulet nestled amongst her clothes. She was his greatest pawn piece. Now she was dead.

"It is fine," said Malik, huddling his face in the palm of his hand. "I know this won't happen again. And I'm trusting you to complete what she had started."

He nodded wearily. "Yes sir."

"And what is your objective?" asked Malik.

He pushed the hand of Malik away, returning his attention to a pile of papers that laid upon his desk. Picking one up, he bored his eyes into a spawn of noble hierarchy, staring daggers at his new target.

He couldn't help but frown. She wasn't much to look at, with her ripped jeans and printed t-shirt, waving her raven black hair in the wind and grinning from ear to ear. However, this female, who looked the same age as himself, was the creation of what the crows stood for. A new age for those who were forgotten. The ones who sought knowledge and to dwell in magic that could change the world forever.

Dante knew his objective well.

"My goal for the black crows is to kill the moon mage and harbour her magic for myself."