Dark clouds loomed above the horizon as Nkosana stood atop the ruins of the old sanctuary. The wind whispered ancient secrets, tugging at his cloak as if trying to drag him back into the shadows. But he stood firm—his eyes glowing faintly, his mind sharper than ever.
Word had spread.
Villages that once feared him now lit fires in his name. Elders who once cursed his existence now sent messengers bearing ancient relics, hoping he might wield them in the battles to come.
Yet peace was fleeting.
Deep beneath Mount Emgwenya, the remaining Shadow Wielders held council. Not all agreed with Nkosana's path. Some believed the Demon Seed must be sealed once and for all—even if it meant killing its host.
"His power grows unchecked," spat Zahari, a warlord cloaked in living flame. "He's not a savior. He's a storm."
Meanwhile, Nkosana was not blind to the unrest. Guided by Liyana, the spirit-bound oracle, he began preparing his allies for what she called the "Shadow Reckoning"—a convergence of every force touched by the curse.
Late that night, a voice echoed in Nkosana's dreams.
"You were born of darkness... but will you end it?"
He awoke breathless, the mark on his skin burning brighter than ever. A storm was coming.
And this time, he wouldn't run from it.
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