The morning after Rowan's disappearance dawned cold and bleak. It didn't take long for the castle staff to realize the last son was gone. Panic, a constant companion in Castle Valerius for weeks, now erupted into full-blown hysteria. Lord Valerius, when informed, stared blankly for a long moment, then let out a chilling, guttural wail that echoed through the stone halls. His eyes were wide, unseeing, reflecting the utter desolation of his soul. His sons, all of them, gone. His power, broken. His legacy, erased.
He descended fully into his madness. He paced the great hall endlessly, muttering to himself, sometimes shouting commands at phantom soldiers, sometimes weeping silently for his dead children. He refused to eat, refused to sleep, existing only as a hollow shell of his former self, consumed by paranoia and grief. The castle, once a symbol of his brutal strength, was now a tomb of despair, populated by terrified servants and demoralized guards who simply waited for the inevitable.
Kaelen knew this was his moment. Valerius was isolated, his defenses internal, not external. He would strike directly, openly, to ensure Valerius understood precisely who was ending him, and why. He approached the main gate of Castle Valerius under the cloak of twilight, a stark silhouette against the fading light. He didn't sneak. He didn't hide. He simply walked.
The guards on duty, skeletal and weary, barely reacted. They saw a figure, yes, but their minds, dulled by fear and exhaustion, struggled to process it. Kaelen reached the outer portcullis, a heavy grate of iron, and with a surprising surge of strength, heaved it upward enough to slip beneath. The rusty metal shrieked in protest, a sound that finally roused the distant, inner guards. Alarms began to ring, but they were weak, desperate peals, devoid of true urgency.
Kaelen walked directly into the inner courtyard. Figures emerged from the barracks, confused and fumbling with their weapons. He didn't wait. His bow was already in hand, nocked with an arrow. He fired with swift, deadly precision, felling two of the closest guards before they could even raise a cry. The others froze, their eyes wide with disbelief and terror as they finally recognized the pale face, the stark white hair, the ominous figure they had only heard whispered about.
"The Ash Shadow!" someone screamed, the sound echoing frantically.
Kaelen moved forward, an unstoppable force. He didn't waste arrows on every man. He wanted them to scatter, to witness the final unraveling. He plunged into their ranks, his curved dagger a blur. He moved like a dancer of death, striking with brutal efficiency, leaving behind a trail of fear and broken bodies. These were not the men who had been at Elara's Point, not the men who directly wronged him. They were merely obstacles, and he dispatched them without remorse, his mind fixed on his ultimate target.
Panic erupted. The remaining guards broke formation, fleeing into the castle keep, their shouts echoing for their lord, for salvation. Kaelen let them go. They would lead him to Valerius.
He followed the chaotic shouts, the desperate screams of the fleeing men, directly into the great hall. It was illuminated by flickering torches, casting long, dancing shadows. And there, standing in the center of the hall, amidst the broken furniture and the ghostly echoes of his former power, was Lord Valerius.
He was a ruined man. His robes were askew, his hair wild, his eyes hollow and vacant. He clutched a heavy, bejeweled goblet, empty, his hand trembling uncontrollably. He looked at Kaelen, his eyes slowly focusing, recognition dawning amidst the madness.
"You," Valerius whispered, a horrifying lucidity flickering in his eyes. "It's you. The scholar's brat."
Kaelen stopped at the edge of the hall, his weapon ready, his face impassive. "Yes, Valerius. It is I." His voice was hoarse, raw, carrying the weight of years of suffering and relentless pursuit. "Kaelen of Elara's Point. Do you remember now?"
Valerius began to laugh, a dry, rattling sound that held no mirth, only profound despair. "Remember? How could I forget? You've taken everything! My sons! My men! My sanity!" He pointed a trembling finger at Kaelen. "You're a monster! A demon!"
"I am the monster you created," Kaelen stated, his voice chillingly calm. "I am the demon forged in the fires you lit. You took my family. My father. My mother, Lyra. My sister, Elara. You brutalized them. You enjoyed it." The memories flared, hot and sharp, but he kept his composure, his grip steady on his dagger. "They died in pain. In shame. Their final moments filled with horror, because of you."
Valerius suddenly lunged, a desperate, pathetic charge, brandishing the heavy goblet like a weapon. "You'll never have me! You won't break me!"
Kaelen moved with chilling precision. He stepped aside, a blur of motion, letting Valerius's momentum carry him forward. As the old lord stumbled past, Kaelen struck. He didn't use his dagger. He wanted Valerius to feel the cold steel of his own punishment. He drew one of the heavy, broad swords from a fallen guard, a massive blade Valerius himself would have wielded in his prime.
With a powerful, two-handed swing, Kaelen brought the sword down. It wasn't a clean, surgical strike like his previous assassinations. This was raw, brutal, fueled by the accumulated rage of a thousand sleepless nights. The blade bit deep, not into Valerius's heart, but into his shoulder, tearing through flesh and bone, severing his sword arm from his body in a grotesque arc.
Valerius screamed, a piercing, animalistic sound of agony and shock. He crumpled to the ground, blood gushing from the horrific wound, staining the stone floor a dark, spreading crimson. He writhed, clutching at the mangled stump, his eyes wide with a terror that finally eclipsed his madness.
Kaelen stood over him, breathing heavily. He dropped the sword. He knelt, his face inches from Valerius's. "This is for my father," he grated, his voice hoarse with the effort of control. "For the dignity you stole from him."
He then grabbed Valerius by the hair, forcing his head back. Valerius's eyes were filled with unadulterated, pleading terror. He saw the cold, haunted eyes of the "Ash Shadow," and in them, he finally saw his own demise.
"And this," Kaelen whispered, pulling his own wickedly curved dagger, the tool of his long, bloody pilgrimage, "is for Lyra. And for Elara."
With a final, brutal plunge, Kaelen drove his dagger deep into Valerius's heart, twisting the blade, mirroring the anguish and defilement that had stolen his family. Valerius convulsed one last time, a choked gasp escaping his lips, before his body went still. The great hall, once filled with the echoes of his power, fell into a profound, lasting silence.
Kaelen remained kneeling for a long moment, the weight of his quest finally lifted, yet replaced by an emptiness that stretched before him like a desolate landscape. He looked at the dead lord, at the carnage. He had succeeded. Every single one of them had paid.
He rose, his movements stiff, his body heavy. He walked to Valerius's ornate throne, once a symbol of his absolute rule. He found a piece of charcoal from a burnt torch and, on the polished wood of the throne, he drew his final mark: the broken lion rampant, not in blood this time, but in the ash of his own consumed life.
Kaelen walked out of the castle, leaving the carnage behind. The dawn was breaking, painting the sky with hues of bruised purple and cold gray. He looked back at Castle Valerius, now a silent, broken husk. His revenge was complete. The ash had consumed the blade, and the blade had consumed its makers. But as he walked away, into the stark, new day, Kaelen wondered what remained of the boy he once was, and if, in his relentless pursuit of vengeance, he had become just another kind of monster. The ash had settled, but the echoes of the screams, and the chilling silence of his victory, would follow him forever.