The shadows in the preparation chamber shifted along the walls as I studied the array of dark implements before me. Each weapon seemed to whisper promises of power, their surfaces absorbing the faint light that reached these depths. The air was rich with the scent of cold iron and steel.

Corvus stood motionless, his blindfolded face turned towards me with unnerving accuracy. The crow on his shoulder watched my every move with eyes that gleamed like polished obsidian. More of the birds, appearing from seemingly nowhere gathered in the rafters above, their collective gaze adding to the weight of judgment pressing down on me.

“Choose carefully, initiate,” Corvus spoke, his voice touched with a grim warning. “Each piece here has tasted the blood of those who proved unworthy. Some still hunger for more.”

I approached the nearest weapon rack and hovered my fingertips over the various blades displayed. Unlike the practical weapons I’d used in my previous life, these were works of dark artistry. Curved daggers with serrated edges that seemed to move of their own accord. Longswords decorated with runes that writhed like angry serpents. Axes whose edges disappeared into some impossible void.

“The weapons call to you,” Corvus observed, tilting his head slightly. “Listen to their whispers. But remember: choose wrongly, and your death will feed their appetite.”

“How does one choose correctly?” I asked, my hand passing over a particularly vicious-looking blade whose edge seemed to bend reality itself.

A dry chuckle escaped Corvus’s lips. “That’s the first test, isn’t it? Power isn’t about choosing the most obviously dangerous weapon.” He gestured to the walls around us. “Everything here can kill. The question is, what suits your nature?”

I continued my inspection, trying to focus past the seductive whispers of the more dramatic pieces. The weapons called out with dark promises, each one eager to be chosen.

But then I saw them—a pair of kukris mounted near the end of the rack. Their curved blades gleamed with an inner darkness that made my heart skip a beat.

I hadn’t touched a kukri since that day, so many years ago. Memories of my childhood flashed back with painful clarity: my father’s weathered hands guiding mine through the forms, teaching me the deadly dance of the curved blades.

“Remember, son,” he’d said, “a weapon is an extension of your will. Not just a tool, but a statement of intent.”

Those had been better days, before the illness took him. Before I had to watch him waste away, his once-powerful frame becoming frail and weak. The kukris he’d used to train me had hung on our wall, gathering dust as he grew too weak to lift them. After he died, I couldn’t bear to look at curved blades anymore. They brought too many memories of those final days, of watching helplessly as death slowly claimed him.

My thoughts returned to the present. These kukris, though... they were different. Their blades were forged from some kind of dark metal that seemed to drink up the dim light of this chamber. The curved edges held an inner fire of purple and black, like a bruise on reality itself. Their hilts were wrapped in what appeared to be solidified shadow, and small crimson gems—the color of spilled blood—nestled in their pommels.

“Go on,” Corvus said softly, his blindfolded face nodding towards me with eerie precision. “They call to you, don’t they?”

They did. Despite years of avoiding such weapons, these kukris seemed to whisper directly to my soul. The shadows around them coiled like smoke, reaching towards my hands as I drew closer.

My father’s voice echoed in my memory. “The right weapon chooses you as much as you choose it.”

I bit my bottom lip in anticipation. I’m not that scared boy anymore, I thought, steeling myself against the flood of memories. I’ve faced death itself. I won’t let old fears hold me back.

I grasped the hilts. A shock of cold energy suddenly surged up my arms. The shadows around the blades coiled around my forearms like living tattoos. The gems in the pommels pulsed with inner fire, matching the rhythm of my heartbeat.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

“Interesting,” Corvus mused, his head tilted as if listening to something I couldn’t hear. “The Talons of Twilight. They haven’t chosen an initiate in... quite some time.” The crow on his shoulder cawed softly and ruffled its feathers. “The last one didn’t survive the bonding.”

The kukris felt perfect in my hands, their weight and balance exactly what I remembered from my training days. But there was something more now—a resonance that went beyond mere physical attributes. The blades seemed to hum with dark energy, responding to my touch in ways that both thrilled and disturbed me.

“The armor next.” Corvus gestured to the far wall where various sets of dark plate mail hung like sleeping sentinels. “Though I suspect the Talons have already decided that for you as well.”

Apparently, he was right. My eyes were drawn immediately to a set of armor unlike anything I’d seen before. The plates were forged from the same dark metal as the kukris, with edges that seemed to fade into shadow. Purple-black energy coursed through runes etched into its surface, and the whole piece radiated an aura of lethal grace rather than brute strength.

“The Darkweaver’s Embrace.” Corvus named it before I could ask. His blindfolded face turned to track my movements. “Light enough for stealth, strong enough for survival. If you’re worthy of it, that is. An interesting choice. Most initiates go for something more... intimidating.”

I approached the armor, noting how the shadows around it reached out like eager fingers. The pieces seemed to shift and flow, more liquid than solid from certain angles. “Intimidation is worthless if you can’t move properly,” I replied. “True power lies in efficiency.”

A genuine smile crossed Corvus’s face, an expression somehow more unsettling than his usual stoic demeanor. “Perhaps you’ll survive the test after all, initiate.”

I slowly extended my hand when Corvus’s voice stopped me.

“A warning, initiate,” he said, his tone deadly serious. “The armor bonds permanently with its wearer. It will either accept you or kill you. There is no middle ground.”

I hesitated for just a moment, my hand hovering inches from the dark metal.

The memory of my father’s voice echoed again. “Hesitation kills more surely than any blade.”

My fingers touched the breastplate. Ice-cold energy immediately surged through my body. The armor seemed to come alive, shadows flowing from its surface to wrap around me like a cocoon. Each piece moved of its own accord and assembled itself around my form with liquid grace.

The sensation was indescribable, like being embraced by living darkness itself. Cold yet intimate, terrifying yet exhilarating. The armor molded itself to my body, becoming a second skin of shadow-forged metal. Runes flared to life across its surface, and, like my weapons, pulsed in the same rhythm as my heartbeat.

“The armor accepts you,” Corvus observed, his tone carrying a hint of surprise. “Perhaps there’s more to you than perceived, initiate.”

The armor settled into place with a final pulse of dark energy, and I felt... different. Stronger, certainly, but there was something else. Like a heightened awareness of the shadows around me, as if they were extensions of my own body. The kukris at my sides hummed in harmony with the armor’s power, creating a resonance that made the very air vibrate.

“Now comes the true test,” Corvus announced, then gave a slight nod towards the far end of the chamber. “Malachai awaits you in the Proving Grounds.”

The shadows parted, revealing a doorway that hadn’t been there before. Beyond it lay a corridor that appeared to be carved from pure darkness, its walls occasionally rippling like the surface of a black lake. The air flowing from it carried the whispers of ominous power.

“What exactly am I being tested for?” I asked, adjusting to the weight and feel of my new equipment.

Corvus’s lips curved into that unsettling smile again. “To see if you can embrace the darkness without being consumed by it.” The crow on his shoulder took flight and disappeared into the blackness above. “Many initiates think a blackguard’s path is simply about wielding dark power. They don’t understand that true mastery requires... balance.”

We walked down the dark corridor, our footsteps echoing strangely, as if we were walking through a much larger space than what I could see. The walls continued their liquid movement, occasionally forming half-seen faces that watched our passage with hungry eyes.

“The trial ahead will test more than your combat skills,” Corvus continued. “It will test your will, your resolve, and your understanding of what true power means.” He paused, his blindfolded face turning toward me. “Malachai sees potential in you. Don’t disappoint him.”

The corridor opened into a vast circular chamber that defied mortal architecture. The ceiling was lost in darkness above, and the walls were lined with tiered seating where other blackguards had gathered to watch. Their armor gleamed dully in the purple-tinged light that seemed to emanate from nowhere and everywhere at once.

Malachai stood in the center of the chamber, his ominous armor somehow darker than the shadows around him. The trophies at his belt clinked softly as he turned to face us.

The Talons of Twilight pulsed eagerly at my sides as I stepped into the chamber. I sensed their curved blades thirsted for action. The Darkweaver’s Embrace grew colder against my skin, and its runes flared with purple fire as dark energy filled the air.

The time for preparation was over. Now came the true test of my worth.