Page 1 of Wings of Shadow
Alter Nordfriedhof, Germany.
Five Years Ago
Rain falls like bullets from a slate gray sky as I stand at the edge of my father’s grave, watching the casket, instants away from gliding into the earth’s cold embrace. The weight of my inheritance, the Drachenstein empire, settles heavily on my shoulders, a burden I never wanted but cannot refuse.
As the mourners disperse, their condolences nothing more than a distant buzz in my ears, I step forward, my hand resting on the casket’s polished wood. “Father,” I whisper, my voice raw with emotion. “I swear to you, on this day, your legacy does not die with you. Whatever it takes, I will restore our family’s power. The name Drachenstein will strike fear into the hearts of our enemies once more.”
I close my eyes, letting the memories of my father wash over me. His strength, his cunning, his unwavering determination in the face of adversity. He was a force to be reckoned with, a true king in the underworld. And now, it falls to me to fill the void he has left behind.
“I will not fail you,” I vow, my fingers digging into the wood, as if I could somehow reach through to him.
As I step back from the grave, I sense a presence at my side. I turn to face Janik, my father’s most trusted advisor, his lined features etched with sorrow and tinged with apprehension. “Mein König,” he murmurs, cutting through the haze of my grief. “We’ve found them—your father’s killers.”
Cold fury settles in my chest, mingling with the ache of loss that threatens to consume me. I look down at the rose in my hand, its crimson petals a stark contrast against the black of my suit. In one swift motion, I crush it, feeling the thorns bite into my skin, relishing the pain that grounds me in this moment.
“Good.” The word sails through my clenched teeth. I reach out my hand and open it, allowing the petals to gently fall on the casket as it’s slowly lowered.
“Let’s get to work,” I growl, turning away from the grave site, ready to take on my task as king of our dragon clan.
PRESENT DAY
1
KAISNER
MUNICH, GERMANY.
The last time I gathered my lieutenants like this, half of them didn’t survive the meeting.
I sit at the head of the long, ebony table, the smoke from my cigar curling lazily in the air. The room is dimly lit, the only sound the occasional clink of ice in the glasses of the men gathered before me. They are the leaders of the various factions within the Drachenstein empire, each one handpicked for their loyalty, their cunning, and their ruthlessness.
“Gentlemen,” I say, my voice cutting through the silence like a blade through flesh. “It has come to my attention that the Schneider family has been overstepping their bounds. They seem to have forgotten the lessons we taught them years ago, when we crushed their pathetic attempt at a rebellion.”
A ripple of laughter echoes around the table, harsh and cold. They all remember that day, the day we painted the streets red with Schneider blood, leaving their broken bodies as a warning to anyone who dared to challenge our power.
“It appears they are in need of a reminder,” I continue, tapping the ash from my cigar. “Lukas, I want you and your men to pay them a visit. Make it clear that their territory belongs to us, and that any further attempts to expand will be met with swift and brutal consequences.”
Lukas, a hulking brute of a man with cold, dead eyes, nods sharply. “As you command, Mein König. We will ensure they never forget who rules this city.”
Janik appears at my side, leaning down to whisper, “A message from Viktor Mahindra, Mein König. He demands we withdraw from the Mumbai shipping lanes. Thirty days, or face consequences.”
I don’t react, though my grip tightens on my cigar. “Double security,” I murmur back. “Remind Viktor that tigers shouldn’t threaten dragons.”
Janik nods and withdraws silently.
I lean back in my chair, a faint smile playing at the corners of my mouth. “Good. The rest of you, keep your eyes and ears open. The Schneiders may be the most immediate threat, but they are far from the only ones who would see us fall. We must remain vigilant, always ready to strike at the first sign of disloyalty.”
As the men file out of the room, each one bowing their head in deference as they pass, I allow myself a moment of satisfaction. Five years ago, when I first inherited the mantle of leadership from my father, the Drachenstein clan was a shadow of its former self, weakened by internal strife and external threats. But through sheer force of will, through cunning and ruthlessness, and an unwavering commitment to our family’s legacy, I have rebuilt us into a force to be reckoned with once more.
And yet, even as I savor the taste of our renewed power, I cannot shake the feeling that something is missing. The dragons that once made our family great. The ancient magic that flows through our veins lies dormant within me, untapped and unused—as it has for all dragon shifters for the last three-hundred years. Restlessly, I have hunted means to awaken that power, to claim my rightful place as the most fearsome dragon shifter the world has ever seen.
Relentless in my pursuit of this goal, I have delved deep into the dark arts of daemonology, immersing myself in the forbidden knowledge of summoning and binding the creatures that dwell in the shadows. Whispers of my newfound proficiency have spread swiftly through the underworld, earning me a reputation as a master of the daemonic arts, a warlock to be feared and respected in equal measure.
But bending daemons to my will and harnessing their unholy strength for my purposes is but a means to an end. The true prize, the ultimate ambition, is the awakening of my draconic heritage, the unleashing of the primal force that slumbers within my blood.
And still, despite my mastery of these dark arts, despite the fear and awe I inspire in those who witness my command over the shadow realms, the key to unlocking my dragon remains frustratingly out of reach. It is a puzzle that consumes my every waking thought, a quest that drives me to the very limits of my sanity.
With each passing day, each failed attempt, my father’s legacy presses down on me, a constant reminder of the vow I made to him on the day we laid him to rest. I will have no peace until I have fulfilled that promise, until I have made the Drachenstein name synonymous with fathomless power and true fear once again.
