Who is the Lady of the Night

The city of Valemont stood like a relic from another time, its shadowed streets winding through old, towering buildings that seemed to lean toward each other. By day, it bustled with life—the clang of market stalls, the hum of merchants, and the footsteps of noblemen on their way to court. But by night, it was a different world altogether.

At the strike of dusk, a heavy mist rolled in from the river Velis, swallowing the streets in a thick, ghostly shroud. The lanterns flickered feebly click click click, as if afraid of what lurked beyond their dim glow. The people knew better than to wander after dark for all they knew. Doors bolted shut, windows locked tight and families went to bed fearful. For in the heart of the city, whispered among the brave and foolish, there was a figure who owned the night.

They called her the Lady of the Night.

No one knew exactly what she looked like, several stories had already talked about her which varied from a tall, elegant woman in flowing black silks to a creature barely human, hidden beneath a wedding veil. Some said she had the power to heal with a touch, others claimed her gaze alone could kill. But one thing was certain: those who crossed her path rarely survived to speak of it.

---

The clock tower struck tenand the huge bell sounded pang! To signify the star of a new dawn, its echo reverberating through the silent streets and Alley ways in darkness Elara Ravenshadow sat silently in her small clinic, staring absently at the flames which were faintly burning. The quiet that filled the room was unnerving. It had been a week since anyone had come to her for healing, which was unusual in a city like Valemont. Accidents and illnesses were common, yet something had changed.

Elara ran her fingers through her raven-black hair, her green eyes reflecting the firelight. Despite her simple attire—a dark cloak and plain dress—there was an aura about her, something that set her apart from the average citizens of the city. She had a breathtaking beauty, and her presence drew people in. A calm, controlled power, always just beneath the surface.

For as long as she could remember, she had been different. As a child, she had strange dreams—visions of places she had never been, faces she had never seen. In her youth, she had learned to control the unusual sensations she sometimes felt when near others—whispers of their pain, echoes of their emotions. Now, she used those abilities to heal, though she kept the true extent of her powers hidden.

Tonight, however, there was an unsettling tension in the air. The wind outside howled, making the old windows rattle in their frames. The mist pressed against the glass like a living thing. Elara stood and pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders, pacing toward the window. She peered out, seeing little more than the swirling fog and the faint glow of the street lamps beyond. The streets were empty, save for the occasional flicker of movement in the distance—too far to make out clearly.

She turned back to the room, but the feeling of being watched lingered, like a pair of unseen eyes fixed on her every move. She had felt this presence before, in moments of solitude, though it was always fleeting. Tonight, it seemed closer.

---

The door creaked open, and Seraphine stepped in, her dark silhouette framed by the dim glow of the street outside. Seraphine was an older woman, her silver hair pulled into a tight braid, her long coat sweeping the floor as she moved. Her sharp, ageless eyes always seemed to see more than they should.

"Late for a visit, even for you," Elara said softly, though her voice carried the unspoken question: What brings you here tonight?

Seraphine closed the door behind her, stepping into the warmth of the room. "Strange times, child," she replied, her voice a soft rasp, though there was nothing weak about her. Seraphine had been a fixture in Elara's life for as long as she could remember—a mentor of sorts, though Elara knew little of her true origins. "Something stirs in the city. You can feel it, can't you?"

Elara nodded. "I've heard whispers. People are afraid to leave their homes at night. More than usual."

"There's reason to be afraid," Seraphine said, crossing the room with her usual grace. "Have you heard of the disappearances?"

Elara frowned, moving to pour tea from the kettle that hung over the fire. "Disappearances?"

Seraphine's gaze followed her every move. "Three men last week. And a woman two nights ago. No bodies, no signs of a struggle. Just… gone."

Elara handed her the cup of tea, her mind racing. "And you think it's related to—"

"To you," Seraphine finished for her, taking the cup with a nod of thanks. "The Lady of the Night is becoming more than a story, Elara. And people are starting to wonder if there's more truth to the legend than they thought."

Elara tensed at the mention of the name. It was a title that had haunted her for years, whispered behind closed doors and shouted in the night by those too afraid to confront her directly. She had never claimed the title—never even understood why it had been given to her—but it followed her like a shadow nonetheless.

"I'm not the Lady of the Night," she said quietly.

Seraphine's gaze lingered on her for a moment, unreadable. "Aren't you?"

Before Elara could respond, the sound of heavy footsteps echoed from outside, followed by a sharp rap on the door. Both women turned toward the entrance, tension flooding the room. Elara moved cautiously, opening the door just a crack.

A man stood on the threshold, drenched in rain and mist. His face was gaunt, his eyes wide with fear. "Please," he gasped. "You have to help me."

Elara stepped back, motioning for him to enter. As he stumbled into the room, collapsing onto one of the chairs by the fire, she noticed the fresh blood staining his hands and the ragged tear in his coat.

"What happened?" she asked, already gathering her supplies.

"They— they're coming for me," he stammered, his breath shallow. "I saw them— in the alleys— shadows moving. They took the others."

Elara exchanged a glance with Seraphine, who stood silent in the corner, her eyes narrowing. "Who took the others?" she pressed.

The man's eyes darted around the room, as if searching for unseen pursuers. "The Lady. The Lady of the Night. She's real, and she's hunting us."

---

The room fell into a heavy silence, the only sound the crackling of the fire. Elara's heart pounded in her chest. She knelt beside the man, placing a hand on his arm. "You're safe now," she whispered, but even as she spoke the words, she wasn't sure if they were true.

The man grabbed her wrist with surprising strength, his eyes locking onto hers. "You don't understand," he hissed. "She's not like us. She's something else. Something dark."

Elara felt a chill creep up her spine, but before she could respond, the man's body went limp. His grip loosened, his head lolling to one side. She checked his pulse, but it was too late. He was gone.

Seraphine moved to her side, her expression grim. "Whatever is happening out there, it's just beginning," she said softly.

Elara stared down at the lifeless body, her mind reeling. She had lived her life in the shadows, hiding her powers, keeping the darkness at bay. But now, it seemed, the darkness was coming for her.

---

End of Chapter 1