ARRIVAL AT KRAV'THORAK — THE GATE TO THE EAST
The ship drifted into harbor beneath a red sky. The port city of Nal'Barux, carved into the obsidian cliffs of the Eastern Continent, loomed over the sea like a fortress of devotion and fear. Spires twisted like the horns of abyssal beasts, and dock workers with ash-gray skin and glowing eyes paused to stare at the incoming vessel.
As Velmora's group descended the ramp, the Gatewardens of Blood, clad in scaled onyx armor with crimson insignias, approached with halberds crossed.
"You come unannounced," one hissed, his voice like dry parchment. "No foreign souls may enter the continent without authorization. The decree stands under Lord Kethmar's law."
Velmora said nothing. She merely lifted her hand—and from the folds of her robes, drew forth a black-violet seal, glowing faintly with abyssal flame. She held it out, face cold and calm.
The demons' expressions faltered instantly.
"By the abyss…" the captain whispered, dropping to one knee. The others followed, trembling. "That's—one of the Founding Five."
The Ancient Imperial Pass, forged over 175,000 mortal years ago by the noble demon houses of the Higher Abyss, shimmered with age and power. Time in the Abyss moved slower—a single year stretched across ten thousand mortal ones. The pass predated their entire civilization on this continent.
Even Lord Kethmar's rule, established a mere two demon years ago (20,000 mortal years), was a flicker compared to this relic.
"We—we had no idea… Forgive us, Lady Velmora. We had no idea one such as you walked among us."
Velmora nodded once. "Send word to your king. Tell him the bearer of the Ancient Seal now walks his lands."
They obeyed instantly, dispatching a winged messenger through a dark portal to the interior.
THE FALSE KING'S DOUBT
At the shadow-drenched citadel of Krav'Thorak, nestled deep in the volcanic heart of the demonic cult kingdom, King Kethmar reclined lazily upon his throne—half-shadowed by the war banners of the cults that served under him.
A goblet of steaming ichor in hand, he barely raised a brow as the messenger arrived, breathless and bowing.
"My King, the port authorities at Nal'Barux report an arrival. A demoness accompanied by mortals. She carries… an Ancient Imperial Pass."
The goblet cracked in his grip.
"Impossible," he said coolly, though his eyes flashed with unease. "Those passes were lost in the War of Splinters. No one survives from that time—no one."
"But they swear it is genuine," the messenger stammered. "They say… the seal responded to her blood."
Kethmar rose slowly. His cape of stitched hide rustled behind him. Could it be a relic stolen during the civil war? A trick? A lowborn noble climbing above their station?
He turned toward his war table, where ministers and generals waited.
"If it is real," he muttered, "then she threatens everything I've built. If it is false, she will be exposed and crushed."
He looked to his lieutenants.
"Let her come to me. Prepare the court. Sweeten our tongue and sharpen our blades. I want traps set in words and promises. Let her believe we are allies… before we learn what she truly is."
THE MARCH INWARD
Back at Nal'Barux, the lesser demons resumed loading their supplies and grain as Velmora's entourage departed the harbor under heavy escort—not as prisoners, but as honored guests.
Eryk, now dressed in noble attire, rode beside Genevieve, who observed the cultists bowing as they passed. "They kneel to her," she murmured, watching Velmora ahead of them. "Even the land seems to remember her name."
Eryk only nodded, still grappling with how deep the abyss of Velmora's power reached. He looked at her again, a glimmer of both awe and unease in his eyes. She's not from this world. And somehow… she chose to stay near me.
And in the shadows of the caravan's undercarriage, Velmora's spiders crawled—spreading through every crevice of the land like tendrils, each one a blinking eye… waiting.