The obsidian gates of Endless's kingdom groaned open as Alen the Dark Magi returned, his ragged cloak trailing in the dust. Behind him shuffled his small band of survivors—an army once proud, now fractured and bleeding. Their footsteps echoed hollowly against the blackened stone road, the air reeking of sulfur and scorched earth. The defeat in Eldoria was etched on their faces like scars that would never heal.
Alen's gaze sharpened as he stepped inside the heart of the kingdom, his eyes falling immediately on a scene that made his blood boil.
Kael Dragonyx.
The man stood in the great courtyard, tall and composed, his dragon-forged armor glowing faintly with a crimson sheen. Around him, goblins scurried like obedient ants while massive orcs bent knee, awaiting his commands. Kael's voice was firm, precise, and absolute. Every order was obeyed without hesitation. His presence radiated authority—not of a commander serving Endless, but of a king reigning in his own right.
