Four years later
Nyx stood at the heart of the village, now fifteen years old and just barely five feet tall. Despite her petite stature, she carried herself with the confidence of someone twice her size, a quiet but unmistakable strength radiating from her.
The village had become her haven, a place where she felt she truly belonged. Over the years, she had continued raiding dungeons, each successful hunt earning her more admiration from the villagers. Her wit, enthusiasm, and courage had earned her the title “The Silver Princess,” a nickname that stuck as firmly as the affection people had for her.
Everywhere she went, there were warm smiles and friendly greetings. The market vendors gave her the best cuts of meat, the children followed her around like she was a storybook heroine, and even the gruffest hunters softened in her presence. She was their protector, their pride—a symbol of hope wrapped in silver hair and sharp determination.
As for Till, he had grown into a young man who could barely be recognized as the nervous boy who once doubted his place in the world. Now, at fifteen, he was tall, broad-shouldered, and strong. His hands were calloused from years of hard work, first doing odd jobs around the village and now apprenticing as a blacksmith.
He carried his new role with pride, the fruits of his labor evident in his muscular frame and steady demeanor. The forge had transformed him—not just physically, but mentally as well. Till was a pillar of the community in his own right, a reliable presence who always found time to lend a hand or a kind word.
Still, he never strayed far from Nyx’s side. Their bond remained unshaken, forged in shared struggles and unwavering trust.
As the sun rose over the village square, casting golden light across the cobblestone paths, Nyx paused to take it all in. The scent of freshly baked bread mingled with the earthy aroma of the forest, and the faint clang of Till’s hammer rang out from the smithy in the distance.
Life was peaceful. Life was good.
But deep in her heart, Nyx still held onto her dream. The thought of becoming a constellation lingered like a quiet ember, waiting for the moment it would ignite. For now, though, she was content to live in this small piece of the world, surrounded by people who loved her and a boy who believed in her, even when she struggled to believe in herself.
Over the past four years, Nyx had outgrown the orphanage and moved into a small room in the local tavern. It wasn’t anything extravagant, but it was hers—a private space where she could rest, plan her next hunts, and reflect on everything she’d accomplished.
Till, of course, had been adamant about offering her a place in his home. He didn’t like the idea of her living on her own, but Nyx had politely declined. “I need my own space,” she’d told him with a smile, her tone gentle but firm. At first, he was disappointed, but over time, he came to respect her decision, even if he still teased her about it occasionally.
The village itself hadn’t changed much, though the flow of hunters passing through had slowed considerably. More and more hunters left in search of fame and fortune in the capital or larger cities, leaving behind only a handful of low-level hunters who preferred the quieter life.
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Nyx didn’t mind. She had grown so skilled and powerful that most of the dungeon work fell to her anyway, and she was perfectly capable of handling it. Even without a bustling hunter presence, the village was thriving, and Nyx was happy to be a part of it.
Her Shadow Domain had expanded, too. Frosty, the Frostmaw she’d defeated and turned into one of her shadow companions, remained her most powerful ally, towering over the rest of her army with its icy might. Len and Ryu, her first shadow goblins, were still fiercely loyal, always by her side during hunts. Zarvok, with his tactical mind and command over the other shadow goblins, kept her growing army in line.
But the most recent additions to her Shadow Domain were the ants. During one of her dungeon raids in the past year, she had defeated a queen ant and its colony. Upon their defeat, she had claimed their shadows, adding a dozen ant warriors and two ant mages to her army.
The ants were fascinating. Their sleek, black forms shimmered with silver and violet patterns, and their movements were synchronized and efficient. The ant mages could conjure barriers and fire acidic blasts, while the warriors acted as impenetrable shields in battle. They were a unique and versatile addition, further solidifying Nyx’s reputation as a force to be reckoned with.
Uriel often reminded her of how far she had come. “You’ve surpassed the expectations of anyone who’s ever doubted you, Nyx,” it would say, its voice calm but tinged with pride.
Nyx couldn’t disagree. Her powers had grown immensely, her skills sharpened through countless battles. But she remained humble, always aware of the trust the villagers placed in her and the responsibility that came with it.
For Nyx, life in the village was perfect. It wasn’t about wealth or fame—it was about belonging, about protecting the place she called home and the people who had become her family. She couldn’t ask for a better life.
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The room was dimly lit, with only a single candle flickering on the worn wooden table at its center. Shadows danced erratically across the cracked walls as the low murmurs of conversation grew tense.
A hooded figure stood with their back to the others, their dark cloak swaying faintly as they spoke, their voice cold and commanding. “Are you sure this is the right place?”
A man seated at the table, his face scarred and twisted into a permanent sneer, shifted uncomfortably under the weight of the question. “Y-Yes. We’ve confirmed it,” he stammered. “The village fits your description. Small, isolated, and… vulnerable.”
The hooded figure turned slowly, their piercing gaze slicing through the dim light. “Don’t question me,” they said icily. “I am paying you to get the job done. Just shut up and do it.”
“Of course,” another man chimed in from the corner, his voice oozing with false confidence. He leaned against the wall, the glint of a blade visible at his side. “We’ll take care of it. No one will even know we were there.”
The hooded figure’s lips curled into a humorless smile. “Good. Ensure that no one is left alive. Burn the village to the ground.”
The seated man’s brow furrowed, his voice dropping to a nervous whisper. “What about resistance? The guards, anyone trying to fight back?”
The hooded figure waved a dismissive hand. “Crush them. Leave no survivors. And remember—this must send a message.”
The group exchanged uneasy glances, but one by one, they nodded in agreement.
“You can count on us,” the man leaning against the wall said, his confidence returning. “We’ll leave nothing but ashes behind.”
The hooded figure’s laugh was low and cold, reverberating through the room like a predator’s growl. “Just leave it up to you?”
“Yes,” the man said with a grin, the others chuckling in agreement.
The sinister laughter spread through the room, a chorus of malice echoing off the walls. Shadows writhed in the dim light as the hooded figure stepped toward the door.
“Don’t disappoint me,” they said quietly, their voice carrying a weight that made the air feel colder. Then, without another word, they disappeared into the darkness, leaving the group to their grim task.
The room fell silent again, save for the crackle of the lone candle. The men exchanged glances, their earlier bravado fading slightly. One of them cleared his throat.
“Well,” he said, his voice gruff. “You heard the boss. We’ve got work to do.”
Outside, the wind howled softly, carrying with it an eerie promise of what was to come.