Prologue of the Umbra

"Listen, Kaida."

The memory of my mother's fading warmth remains etched into the deepest corners of my mind, accompanied by the frail, soft voice that tried to comfort me. Even now, years later, I can still hear her whispering those exact words to me.

"It may be hard starting today but someday, you'll find joy in this mission of a lifetime."

Back then, my youthful innocence shielded me from the grim reality of her terminal illness. I was far too young to grasp the finality of death. I could only stand by helplessly in that sterile, lonely, and suffocatingly empty room, watching as the vibrant life drained from her pale complexion. The air always smelled of bitter medicine and impending grief. With every passing day, her once-bright eyes sank deeper into her skull, making her fragile skin look as though it were clinging to her bones for dear life.

The relentless patter of rain against the windowpane served as the backdrop on the afternoon she finally reached out to me. Her calloused fingers grasped my small hand with a desperate, lingering strength. I sat quietly on the edge of her small bed, staring into her dark, hollow eyes. I remember hoping the storm outside would wash away the sickness that was taking her from me, but nature was indifferent to my silent pleas.

It was then she imparted a cryptic truth that would forever alter my destiny.

"Those who hold power must protect the people," she rasped, her thumb weakly brushing my knuckles. "If an emperor neglects his duties, it is the duty of the Umbra to set things straight."

She repeated these heavy words like a solemn prayer. She kept mentioning this name, Umbra, leaving my young mind puzzled about the true nature of the group. I once asked her what it meant, but she merely promised the right time would come for me to know. I remained in a state of naive confusion until the devastating moment her physical warmth dissipated, leaving me alone in a cold, unforgiving world.

The very day she passed, a silent procession of black-cloaked women materialized at our home. They moved like shadows across the floorboards. I did not know them, yet each woman bore a single flower to honor her memory. I stood in silence and cried, finding strange comfort in the fact that strangers remembered her enough to mourn.

I followed them outside, watching them lower her body into the earth beneath the grand weeping willow tree behind our house. Her gray hair was braided, her hands resting softly on her abdomen. My world seemed to drain into a stark black-and-white palette as I stared at her pale, lifeless face. But one thing remained in color. Vibrant red roses. The women placed them carefully around her head. That haunting image of crimson petals framing her skin forever painted my monochrome world with the color of blood.

That exact afternoon marked the violent end of any normal childhood I might have had. I was immediately taken into the custody of the Umbra, thrown headfirst into a brutal, unforgiving reality. I woke up in a harsh stone compound filled with older, weapon-wielding girls who looked at me with cold, hardened eyes. There were no toys, no laughter, only the harsh metallic clash of swords and the constant scent of iron.

Under the merciless and strict tutelage of the Umbra instructors, my fragile body was whipped into shape. There was no pity for a grieving child. I was pushed to the limits of human endurance, training and studying relentlessly through blood, sweat, and tears. I learned the weight of a blade and the anatomy of a quick kill. My sole driving forces were raw survival instincts and the desperate, burning hope of pleasing my mother, who I firmly believed was watching me from the heavens. There were countless nights my battered muscles screamed in agony, but quitting was a luxury I could never afford. My path had been carved into the shadows by her dying breath.

Years passed in a blur of grueling physical conditioning and countless executed covert missions. I learned to survive, to fight, and to obey. Upon turning twenty, the higher-ups welcomed me to what they dubbed the 'real battlefield.'

It was far from the bloody, dirt-stained battlegrounds I had spent my life preparing for. The orders of the Umbra are unquestionable, and my new assignment was unlike any other. I was assigned to infiltrate the royal palace with a singular, monumental directive: to protect the supreme ruler of this vast kingdom, the renowned King Darius. He was the man who famously brought an end to the long, devastating war between Valkar and its neighboring nations. I had spent my life expecting to assassinate corrupt warlords or dismantle criminal syndicates, yet here I was, tasked with playing the ultimate shield for a monarch.

Now, cloaked in the heavy burden of my secret identity, I stand still before the massive, towering gates of Valkar's capital city. The wind brushes past my face as I stare up at the imposing stone walls that guard the kingdom. I take a deep breath, bracing myself to face my daunting new reality. My heart beats in a steady rhythm, hardened by years of discipline, yet a sliver of that young, grieving girl remains inside me. As I prepare to step forward, that single, haunting question from my childhood still lingers at the forefront of my mind: will I truly ever find joy in this mission of a lifetime?