Author’s Note

  The trouble with writing the first volume of a Fantasy series is that the whole thing inevitably becomes a sort of knife-edge exercise in restraint.

  First, the world and setting must be properly established and conveyed in a way that makes sense to the reader – but preferably not in a manner that makes it come across as a lecture.

  Second, a cast of characters must be introduced, necessitating an explanation of their individual backstories and motivations - but at the same time, you must be careful not to reveal too much, or you will ruin the mystery and leave yourself with no room for future development.

  Third, there is the magic. The supernatural is the heart of fantasy, but it cannot exist in a vacuum. Its rules must be established, its costs understood, and its place in the world justified. It must feel like an integral part of reality, a force with weight and consequence, and not simply a convenient tool for the author.

  This is all to say that telling the first part of a much larger story is, in most ways, a painstaking act of curation. It is about laying foundations, planting seeds, and opening doors without immediately revealing what lies beyond them. And so it is with The Alwaarian Cycle.

  Throughout this first Volume, you will encounter concepts, characters, and mysteries that will undoubtedly raise questions. Some of these will be answered by the final page. Many will not. This is not an oversight, but rather, an invitation from me to you. A promise that the journey you have begun is far from over.

  Thank you for taking the first step.

  Prologue

  Alexander

  A ripple of wind caressed the flagstones as Alexander stepped out from within the swirl of dark-green mist, tendrils of vapor clinging to his suit and skin.

  Around him, lantern-lit streets snaked themselves between tall buildings reaching heavenward like caliginous fingers, built as if to grasp at the perpetual darkness of the skies above. A foul scent lingered in the air, carrying the acrid bite of smoke and tar.

  Dusting off his suit, Alexander reached a hand into his front pocket, to retrieve his golden watch. It was a magnificent piece; passed down through generations of Ashmonts, starting with his great-grandfather. Now, it lay resting in the palm of his hand, its history wrought in the faint scratches carved upon its gilded surface.

  Popping open the lid, Alexander read off the position of the two hands encased in glass. A frown soon settled upon his lips, followed by a muted sigh whispered on a low breath.

  He was late. Alexander despised being late.

  Pocketing the watch, he set off at a brisk pace, walking the streets with the determined mien of a man certain of his destination. Above him, a gargantuan spiderweb of pure white ran in jagged lines across the skies, crisscrossing the eternal blackness with curves of luminosity. As if some giant hammer had collided with the very fabric of reality itself, creating a network of cracks upon its surface.

  These were the seams holding the parallel dimension of Nocturna together - remnants of the monumental spellwork performed to create this impossible city, where nighttime was constant, and there were neither Husks nor Husknights. A veritable paradise, excluded from the maps and hidden from the common folk. Eden itself made manifest, and yet…

  There was nary a soul to be seen walking its orderly streets.

  It did not take Alexander long to arrive at his intended location. The portal had taken him to the right neighborhood in the right district, and so all that remained was to find the right house. In short time, he was standing outside its rustic gates, the ironwork glistening beneath the ethereal light from above.

  The house itself loomed large before him, a grandiose structure of obsidian stone and stained glass. It was by no means as grand as the Tarwen Estate in Carthal, with its white marble and lush gardens, but it was yet a sizeable mansion in a well-off district. Any property here was certain to cost a fortune, after all, and was not something the common man was likely to ever afford.

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  However, for all its magnificence and beauty, there was something distinctly wrong with the building in front of him.

  Its front doors had been kicked down.

  Ah… I suppose there is little point in sounding the knocker then, Alexander thought to himself as he walked up the cobblestone path. He pointedly ignored the shards of broken glass scattered about the entranceway, which crunched loudly underfoot as he stepped on them. If anyone yet lingered in this place, they surely knew of his presence already, and would not be surprised by his appearance.

  Stepping inside the darkened hallway, a familiar scent tugged at his nostrils. It came gushing forth from the innards of the building, wafting at him like a wave of fragrance.

  Blood. Death. Viscera.

  A proper brawl must have taken place here, he thought, scratching at his chin. One look at the interior was enough to confirm his suspicions.

  Broken furniture and shredded wallpaper littered the floor beyond, interspersed with what looked like scorch marks and signs of struggle. For a moment, Alexander lamented the loss of a grand Abengardian rug that had been ripped to shreds, and spread about the hallway like strips of discarded parchment. It was nothing that could not be replaced, of course, but it was yet regrettable to see such beautiful craftsmanship reduced to literal tatters.

  Traipsing further into the building, Alexander soon came upon the ravaged corpses of two men, laying scattered amidst the rubble. One was missing his throat - the other, his eyes. Both had their mouths frozen open in silent screams, making plain the last emotion to course through their veins; sheer, unadulterated terror.

  The first two, Alexander nodded to himself, sidestepping the pools of blood coagulating upon the floorboards. Now where are the rest?

  Ascending a grand teak staircase lit by an antique chandelier, he arrived at the second floor, only to be greeted by a third body, sitting slumped over with its back against the wall. This one seemed to be largely in one piece. The only extremities missing was its ears, and parts of its hand. Clear signs of torture, Alexander thought, exacted upon the man in an effort to retrieve some kind of information.

  I suppose they call him the Bloodletter for a reason, he frowned, displeased with the barbarity on display. The signature was unmistakable: a cruel blend of methodical precision and savage brutality. It was not simple massacre… rather, it was a message, a stark warning to anyone who dared follow.

  Continuing down the dimly lit corridor, Alexander at last laid eyes upon his target; a hulking form of a man, sitting outside on the second-floor balcony. The glass panes that separated the inside from the outside were stained with blood. The man was covered in it as well, the crimson proof of his rampage and bloodlust.

  “Evening, Rahim,” Alexander said as he stepped foot outside, greeting the man with a courteous nod. “I can see that you have had a busy night.”

  “Aye,” the man responded, his voice like stone and gravel. “They came to convince me to shake hands with The Baron. It didn’t work out well for them.”

  “Ahh, an unfortunate decision on their part,” Alexander said, walking over to the railing to rest his weight against it. “A little more research, and they would have realized that Rahim the Bloodletter is not so easily persuaded.”

  “Maybe so,” the man said, lifting a blazing cigar to his blood-specked lips. Alexander took note of his lavish and tasteful nightgown, now soaked through with crimson and peppered with bits of flesh. It made for quite the sight indeed.

  “Then, perhaps… it is time we move forward with our plans?” Alexander said, measuring his words carefully.

  “Sure,” the man shrugged, running a hand across his bare scalp. “Not like I have any other choice, now that I’ve killed The Baron’s envoys.”

  “Precisely,” Alexander smiled. “The others have already granted me the authority to speak on their behalf in the negotiations. Will you do the same?”

  “Never thought I’d see the day where I’d trust an agent of the Central Banking Authority,” Rahim said. “But yes. I’ll give you my blessing, and whatever else you need. So long as I don’t have to deal with any more of those men showing up at my front door.”

  “Consider it done,” Alexander said, before turning to gaze out at the scenery. The lush residential district appeared almost serene in the nighttime silence, pockmarked with soft light that clashed against the unyielding darkness. At a glance, it was impossible to tell that this was a city on the brink of collapse.

  “Gods, this place has gone to the dogs,” Rahim said, taking a heavy drag of his cigar before flicking it over the railing. “And to think I spent a fortune on property here.”

  “Oh, you are hardly alone in that, my friend,” Alexander said. “Anyone who is anyone has spent a fortune here. It’s Nocturna… Where else would you settle down?”

  “Well, I’ve heard Carthal is quite nice these days,” Rahim said. “Might go there once this is all over.”

  “Fair enough,” Alexander said. Carthal was certainly the biggest city in Alwaar, as well as the safest, now that Nocturna had fallen into despair.

  “Either way, I think I’ll go draw myself a bath now,” Rahim said, rising from his seat with a deep sigh. “Mind calling in some cleaners for me? I’d do it myself, but… well, I’ve had a long night.”

  “No worries, my friend. I will handle it,” Alexander smiled. “Take your bath in peace.”

  “Much appreciated,” Rahim said, before walking past him, and back into the house again.

  Yes… Alexander breathed, closing his eyes. Just leave it to me. I will handle it… Every last thing.

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