The House of Black was born of shadow. Old, pure, unforgiving. Their bloodline was their pride, their name their inheritance. All who bear it carry the darkness within. A reputation for brilliance and cruelty. Its name is a measure of greatness. There was more than just blood in their veins. There was history, pride, and a curse. The Blacks didn't whisper power. They breathed it. They wore no crowns, but ruled through darkness.
In the oldest and most forbidden registries of magical lineage, written in ink mixed with ash and blood, there exists a name that even time itself has never managed to erase: