Prologue

Amidst the somber aftermath of the battlefield, where death's cold grip lay heavy upon the fallen, Queen Athena strode with a haunting grace. Her midnight-hued cloak swept behind her like an inky river, a stark contrast to the pallid world around her. Her steps echoed in cadence between the heaps of lifeless bodies, both her loyal Black Knights and the vanquished enemy. It was a haunting symphony of death, one she had orchestrated with an unwavering resolve and a heart shrouded in obsidian.

Athena's once-immaculate attire was now a tapestry of cuts and gashes, soaked in the crimson essence of the fallen. Her alabaster skin bore the scars of battle, her hands firmly clutching the hilt of a blade smeared with the blood of her foes. Her sword was wreathed in an eerie, pitch-black aura that seemed as dark as the very essence of death itself, and with every swing, it devoured the light around it.

Yet, it was not exhaustion that weighed upon her, but a wicked exhilaration. Her sable eyes gleamed with fierce determination, undiminished by the mayhem she had wrought. She savored the scent of death that lingered in the frigid air and reveled in the cacophony of anguish that resonated in her ears.

A few hundred feet behind her, a phalanx of her knights followed, their armor darker than the very shadows themselves. They moved with a silent, spectral grace, unwaveringly loyal, an eerie entourage trailing their enigmatic queen. They had witnessed her charge headlong into the maelstrom of battle, leading them with an unquenchable thirst for retribution, and they followed her with unwavering devotion.

As Queen Athena walked amidst the desolation of the battlefield, a sinister aura enveloped her, and her fate seemed eternally entwined with the shadows she cast. They called her Athena, the Queen of Shadows, and she embraced the name, for she knew that darkness was her ally, and her sword, imbued with the blackness of death, was her most potent weapon.