Every autumn leaf slowly dances round. Round on the gentle breeze, held safely in tender hands. Hands of the finest translucent lace. Lace that turns to dust in the turning of the age. Down falls the autumn leaf…

…crushed and forgotten by the time the season turns bitter and stark.

There wasn’t a time that you could remember the forest being free from the heavy biting grasp of oppression. Then again you seemed to only frequent the sacred space in the depths of frigid winter. Somewhere along the path the magic seeped into your devilish veins, tiny hands of wonder meticulously pulled away the thick tar coating revealing cells of vibrant garnet. Injecting a long-forgotten drop of joy, one that fizzled like fireworks. Unable to stop the spread of the intoxicating glee, you allowed a brief grin to lighten your clouded face, before the fleeing spark vanished into the lengthening shadows.

Regaling your inner child, you skipped freely through the crisp blanket of autumnal fire, elated to hear the cracking of the spines for once. This time your hands stayed clean, though they were already tainted by many sins. Your lithe fingers itched to caress the fabric that wrapped so tightly around a fragile stem, and you granted them permission. Under your fingertips the bark ran, sometimes smooth and sometimes rough. Each telling its own story, each differing from the next.

How you had once dreamed of building a log cabin to become one with nature. And how cruel the hand of fate, when the cards are dealt.

A trace of what was before tickled your memory into pulling your lips into a faint smile. That was before those fatal words, “Everyone here is alive because of them. They don’t deserve the family name; they don’t deserve to grace the halls of the citadel.” The agreement was unanimous, the jeers and calls clear: you had to leave, or they would bay for your blood.

Could they, the council, not see that not every order was just? In fine looping script you wrote: ‘I shall not carry out any command, unless I see and understand the justification.’ That line was held tightly by the crisp pressed sheets between an ornate leather book. It was the secret oath, one that you hoped would become more solid in its stature. A book that was issued to all in your family when they reached ten years of age, a book that you detested, but you were bound by a blood oath. An unbreakable oath, but one that you accidently forgot about on occasion, earning the tentative respect of your proposed target, as you aided them in their escape to a better life elsewhere; for all intents and purposes the target simply vanished from time, history, and memory.

However, now there was nothing more than hollow ghosts of memories that lingered and haunted. Did your family know of the horrors that you relived under the silver strand that gathered spilled dreams? Yes, you were a feared assassin, but some assassins have a heart. If you had swallowed the toxic spite of your family name, what would you have been…you knew the answer and it repulsed you to know the full extent of your woven sorrows and spite. Word around the city seethed with loathing if a susurrate of your family name was heard, it also conjured fear and many dare not let the letters roll from their tongue.

Acidic laughter dripped sagely into the still air, swirling around whipping itself into wispy clouds. You desperately wanted to let the caustic particles to torrefy the remaining iron vault, to release the resentment and suffocating pain that had so carefully been stored. The acrimony stealthily stole your breath, drowning despite the safety of the dry land. Unable to bare your weight you trusted the wise silver birch to catch you.

Wisdom. A word full of wonder and enlightenment, one that had continually illuded you despite your relentless pursuit. Deep down, you knew that there was sparse seam of this precious mineral, but you didn’t have the tools to uncover it… yet. Once again, wisdom flapped its sharp curved wings and vanished into the sunset, the downdraft chasing away the last remaining bubble of hysterics.

Rocking forward you took back control of holding up your own muscular frame, you felt the dying warmth of a golden stream brush away any doubt. Nodding sharply once you smirk, “Everyone… is…soon to be dead.”

Turning from the light, you slunk off into the skeletal remains of a once lively place joining the creatures that feasted on the remains. Weaving a heavy thread of warning through the encroaching dusk. Each loping step bringing you closer to the alluring promise of power to change the ways of the old, you had for too long quashed that gluttonous rat into a cage that had long been outgrown.

Today would be the day of your ousting and your rising… if only they knew.

It was an inconspicuous shadow that slipped through the crack in the window, one that gave no warning, yet all felt the chilling murmur of death. Crows, momentarily distracted from preening their gloss midnight feathers, let out a raking caw, a sound that rattled off the roof. If deaf ears listened, they might have time to heed the warning call. The Heir of Tenebrosity had come to claim their crown.

That shadow that appeared paused for a fraction of a second to lurk beside the faded grandfather clock; you appreciated its loyalty that produced a steady tick. Tonight, it would chime its final beat. Mercifully you severed its lifeforce in a single swift motion, you inwardly winced as a dull thunderous crack rang out the end. Not even the heavy weights could withstand the change. Serenely, you emerged from the impenetrable umbra, before wiping the smile from the butler’s face with a lavish flourish. Barely registering the carcass, you continued, you knew where to find your father… alone.

Nails tapped out a steady beat, driving the deliberate drumming out into the great hall. All the while the mahogany frame remained sturdy, as it had done for hundreds of years. Your imposing air held your spine tall and proud, barely brushing the plush velvet cushion. Your motionless gaze forced the unmoving door to shrivel and waver, your patience was wearing thin. Attenuated until it finally vapourised, there would be no forgiveness. “Come on father, stop being a coward,” you hissed through gritted teeth.

Just as you were about to break the stiff forelimb with a vice-like grip, the mighty door finally relented, “I told you to get out of here! You are nothing more than a disgrace-”

“Yet, I’m back,” a warning flickered like a shy flame in your cold eyes of the forest, pinning the regaled figure to the backdrop of shrinking silence. With practiced ease you flicked your slender wrist. Ears sharp as a bat heard the soft low hum of the test and the challenge spinning through the diaphanous ghostly mist. Age seemed to have failed the stout man.

What takes flight must land eventually and it seems as though his barrel chest was where it was to nest. As breath caught and drowned in his throat, an inconspicuous hand forced him to stumble backwards. Further, yet closer to the danger. Tainted in luxurious rose spittle escaped from his wobbling lips. Once…twice his rotund arms waved, a moment of teetering suspension, before the blade was driven deeper as he crashed to the felled ancient oak planks.

Amusement sparkled in your eyes, before you snuffed out that fleeting fae, as you strode forwards. Peering down with condescension at the greying folds that once held handsome features, you heaved the dagger from its home. A sigh wandered out into the open, lost and confused. How welcome was that scarlet bloom, those snaking ruby rivers, and that sharp tang of finality. Even as death snagged his soul, the eyes remained impartial. Wicked coldness encouraged your tongue to trace over the biting contours and steel heart. At last, you allowed the taste of victory to wash over you, “I warned you,” a primal growl echoed hollowly.

The assassin in you begged to lap up the vermilion sea, yet you knew this was the dawning age of The Heir of Tenebrosity.