Ironhold loomed like a scar against the horizon.
Built from the skeleton of a fallen city, its walls were reinforced with the bones of slain beasts, towers crowned with searchlights that pierced the ashen sky. Human lives swarmed within—hunters, traders, refugees. The stench of smoke and iron choked the air.
As Kael was hauled through the gates, whispers followed. People noticed his eyes, the faint red glow that refused to fade.
"Blood-tainted…" someone muttered.
"Another one? He won't last a week."
Guards in beast-hide armor escorted him deeper, through the market where beast claws hung as trophies, to the heart of the citadel. A throne of welded steel awaited, upon which sat Lord Varik, the Warlord of Ironhold.
Varik was massive, his arms crisscrossed with scars, his gaze sharp enough to cut steel. His presence radiated danger—the unmistakable aura of a seasoned Bloodbound.
Mira knelt before him. "My lord. We found this one in the ruins. He… survived the blood."
The hall went silent. All eyes turned to Kael.
Varik rose, his boots echoing on the metal floor as he approached. He studied Kael with a predator's eyes, then spoke with a voice like thunder.
"Then let us see if he is man… or monster."