The temple sat tucked away in a crevice of jagged rock, half-buried in the shadows of the Black Hills. Centuries of wind and rain had carved the surrounding stone into twisted spires that clawed at the sky like gnarled fingers. The temple itself emerged from the very bedrock—architects of old had hollowed out the mountain rather than built upon it. Only a single cracked stone pillar, smoothed by time and worn thin as parchment, marked the entrance. Strange symbols, barely visible now, spiraled up its surface, their meaning lost to all but the most devoted scholars of forbidden lore. The doorway beyond yawned like a wound in the stone, its threshold worn smooth by countless footsteps, though no one had passed this way in decades. Where other ruins might show green moss or weathering, this stone remained pristine and cold, untouched by the softening hand of time. Nothing stirred in this place—no creatures, no breeze, no sound save the occasional crack of settling stone. The shadows about the temple deepened, pooling in crevices untouched by light for generations. Few dared to approach, for even nature itself refused to acknowledge its existence.
But here, in this darkest of places, the Jakaree tread. The ancient temple was a place of the holy darkness they embraced, and so they claimed it as their own.
Inside, Onius kneeled before the temple’s altar, his head bowed in silent prayer. The chamber stretched into darkness above, its vaulted ceiling lost in writhing shadows that pulsed with their own malevolent life. Flickering sconces lined the walls at irregular intervals, their flames burning an unsettling shade of blue-white that cast wavering shadows across the smooth stone walls. The light revealed intricate carvings etched deep into the rock—scenes of supplication and sacrifice that told of some dark god’s twisted gospel in silent stone. The altar dominated the chamber’s heart. Carved from a single block of obsidian-black stone, its surface bore the stains of countless rituals, dark patches that no amount of cleaning could ever fully erase. Carved channels ran along its edges, leading to small bowls at each corner—receptacles that had once caught offerings now long dried to rust-colored residue. At the altar’s center rested a tome bound in black leather, its sacred pages filled with the cryptic symbols of the Dark One. The book emanated a subtle aura, causing the surrounding air to shimmer like heat rising from summer stone. Silver clasps, green with age, held the tome closed, their surfaces etched with protective wards that pulsed in rhythm with some unseen heartbeat. Behind the altar, the chamber wall bore a massive relief depicting the forgotten god in all his primordial glory. Inhuman and terrible, ancient craftsmen had carved the figure’s features with such skill that the stone seemed to breathe in the flickering light. Whatever deity once commanded worship here had been powerful enough to inspire this magnificent temple, yet obscure enough that time had abolished its name from history.
Onius’s voice, filled with intensity, rose from the silence. “Oh, Great Lord of the Void, hear my prayer. The time of your awakening draws near. Grant me the strength to guide your children to glory. Let the world tremble before your return.”
He fell silent, waiting for the familiar, icy whisper that had guided him since he was a boy. The voice of the Dark One, distant and ancient, seemed to stir from the depths. But tonight, no whisper broke the silence.
Onius frowned. He could not afford to doubt when the cult was on the brink of its greatest moment. He had meticulously orchestrated every move, building a network of allies, spies, and assassins across the continent. After years of patience, he had gathered what he needed for the final ritual—a relic many thought lost.
The Malefang Horn.
The Great Library of Theryn once held the relic in its deepest vaults, its scholars understanding only its archeological value despite legends claiming that wizards had stolen great power when they severed the Horn from the head of the shadow dragon, Malefang. Only Onius believed the stories, pursuing the Horn for years so that now, at last, it was within his reach.
He rose from his knees, the robes of his office rustling as he moved. His fingers brushed against the cold surface of the altar before he turned toward the far side of the chamber, where a stone door led to the sanctum of the cult’s most devoted followers. The air hung thick with the scent of incense and melting candle wax, both familiar and comforting.
As he approached, the door groaned open, revealing a young acolyte—Alaric—waiting just beyond. His wide eyes shone with reverence, though a nervous air surrounded him.
“High Priest,” Alaric said, bowing low. “Ao-utet has delivered the Malefang Horn. It awaits you in the ritual chamber.”
Onius nodded, suppressing the excitement that threatened to crack his calm exterior. “Good. Prepare the others. The time is upon us.”
Alaric hesitated. “There is something else, High Priest.”
Onius turned his stony gaze toward the boy, his voice steady but edged. “Speak.”
“There’s a woman,” Alaric stammered. “She claims to have knowledge of the Horn. She seeks an audience with you.”
“A woman?” Onius arched an eyebrow. “I gave no orders to bring outsiders here.”
Alaric shifted. “She found her way to the temple on her own. She said a vision drew her here.”
Onius felt a flicker of unease, but curiosity overpowered it. Few ventured close to the Black Hills, and even fewer survived the treacherous journey to the temple. If this woman reached the gates on her own, she had luck or some other power on her side.
“Bring her to me,” Onius commanded.
Alaric bowed once more and rushed away, leaving Onius alone with his thoughts. He returned to the altar, his fingers tracing the symbols carved into the surface. Visions were uncommon but not unheard of among the cult. Even outsiders sometimes experienced them. But what could the woman have seen to draw her here of all places? The Dark One communicated in strange and unpredictable ways, Onius knew. Sometimes, his influence touched even those outside the faithful.
A few minutes later, the chamber doors opened again. Alaric entered, followed by a woman cloaked in tattered robes. She kept her head low as she approached, though Onius could feel her eyes upon him.
“Leave us,” Onius said. He waited until the door shut behind Alaric before he spoke again. “You are bold, seeking an audience in a place not meant for you.”
The woman raised her head, her face partially hidden by the hood of her cloak. Still, Onius noticed a hint of pale skin and short platinum blonde hair that caught the light like spun silver. Her features were dainty yet possessed a strength that spoke of iron will beneath delicate beauty—high cheekbones and a stern mouth that seemed carved for delivering harsh judgments. Her icy blue eyes gleamed with an unusual brightness, holding depths that suggested she had gazed into abysses most would flee from. Despite her slight stature—she barely reached his shoulder—something about her spoke of command, and her mere presence made the chamber feel smaller. Beneath her travel-stained cloak, he caught glimpses of a tattered tunic, rain-dyed and worn, yet also the glint of bronzed jewelry adorning her neck—pieces that spoke of wealth and position, though their origins remained mysterious. When she spoke, her soft voice carried the weight of something ancient, each word precisely chosen and delivered with quiet authority. “I was drawn here, not of my will, but by his.”
Onius found her composure unsettling. She stood in this forbidden place as if she belonged here, showing neither fear nor reverence for the ancient powers that saturated these stones. Yet if the Dark One had guided her to this temple, then he had chosen his vessel well.
Suppressing a chill, Onius asked, “The Dark One speaks to you?”
“I have seen his prison,” she said. “I have felt the cracks forming. The Malefang Horn is the key, but there is another who would see it used for his own ends.”
Onius stiffened. “How do you—?” She knew too much not to have heard his voice. “What do you mean? The Horn belongs to the faithful, to me.”
“Does it?” She stepped closer, her eyes never leaving his. “There are those within your sect who question your leadership. They whisper in the shadows, conspiring to take what is yours.”
Onius’s hand tightened into a fist. “Names. Give me their names.”
The woman smiled, a slow, knowing smile. “You already know who they are.”
Onius’s mind raced. He had always been aware of the dissent simmering beneath the surface of his carefully crafted order, but he had never let it concern him. He had believed his control absolute. Yet this woman, a stranger, claimed to know about treachery within his cult.
“Why come to me?” he asked. “What do you gain from this?”
“I seek the same thing you do,” she replied. “The end of all things. The Dark One’s return will be glorious, but only if you are the one to lead us there.”
Onius studied her, the weight of her words settling in his mind. He had dedicated years to bringing the Jakaree to this point, sacrificing everything for the Dark One’s return. If traitors existed among them, he would expose them. He would allow no one to stand in his way.
He moved toward the woman, towering over her cloaked figure. “If you speak the truth, I will reward you beyond measure.”
The woman’s smile never wavered. “I seek no reward. Only the fulfillment of the Dark One’s will.”
Onius nodded slowly. “Very well. Stay here. I will see to this myself.”
The woman bowed her head, but as Onius turned to leave, her voice sounded again, soft and filled with warning.
“Be careful, High Priest. The shadows you command may one day rise against you.”
Onius paused, gripping the edge of the door. He glanced back at her, her face half-hidden in the shadows.
“They will learn what it means to defy me,” he said, and with that, he left her standing alone in the darkness.
The ritual would proceed as planned. The Malefang Horn would serve him and him alone. His loyal followers would purge any traitors, and when the time came, Onius would stand by the Dark One’s side as the world descended into eternal night. Nothing could stop him.
Not even the shadows he had created.
This story featured the following characters from the Assassin Without a Name series:
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