The skies above the Kingdom of Kael never truly brightened—not even at dawn. The blood moon's crimson glow lingered over the land like a watching eye, casting warped shadows that danced unnaturally across the blackened soil. Here, time moved differently. The air carried whispers not born of wind but of old, broken souls bound to this cursed realm.
Beneath a towering citadel made of obsidian stone and decayed bone, the high tower of Kael loomed like the spine of a dead god. Inside, the Council of Blood gathered in silence, their robed forms seated around a circular altar slick with offerings. No candles lit the room. Instead, the light came from a giant pulsating crystal—deep red and alive—embedded into the center of the chamber, humming with a pulse that mimicked a heartbeat.
High Chancellor Varom Kael, ruler by blood and blight, stepped forward. His voice was velvet and venom. "The boy," he said, eyes like coals, "is no longer a whisper among wolves. He is becoming something else."
A murmur rippled through the chamber.
Varom raised a gnarled hand, and the murmur ceased. "Mael of the outer lands," he continued, "has awakened a power not seen since the first rupture. The moon bends toward him. The beast does not consume him—it evolves with him."
A hooded woman stepped forward—Mistress Verra, the Seer of Ashes. Her eyes were burned out, yet she saw more than most who had sight. "I warned you," she rasped, voice crawling like smoke across the floor. "Selona fled with knowledge forbidden. And now she feeds it to the boy."
At the mention of Selona's name, the chamber's temperature dropped. Varom's fingers clenched around the hilt of a ceremonial dagger carved from moonstone and tainted with old blood. "She was once one of us," he said darkly. "Now she will die with him."
"But not yet," rumbled General Khorr, a beast in man's skin, his voice deeper than thunder. His armor, made from werewolf bones and human skin, creaked as he moved. "Let him believe he's gaining control. Let Selona whisper her sweet rebellion. And when he dares rise against us—we'll shatter him before their eyes."
Varom nodded slowly. "Prepare the Obsidian Guard. Let the Hounds of the Deep be unchained."
The chamber dimmed as dark enchantments filled the air. Beneath the palace, where sunlight had never touched, rituals began. Captives—some human, some wolf, and others twisted things—were dragged to the blood pits. Their screams were music to the priests, who chanted in forgotten tongues. Through pain and shadow, Kael's warriors were reborn—not as men, but as cursed weapons.
In one hidden chamber, an enormous black mirror stood untouched. The Blood Mirror, forged from lunar corruption, began to ripple as the red moon outside flared.
And in the mirror… a shape moved.
Not Mael.
Not Selona.
Something else.
Something watching.
Mistress Verra turned toward the mirror. She smiled, her scorched lips cracking. "It sees him too."
---
Outside the walls, far beyond the cursed fields, smoke curled into the air from ritual fires. Scouts trained birds and beasts to fly silently into the outer lands, to track Selona's trail. The order was simple: find her, find the boy, mark the moment.
Inside the throne chamber once again, Varom stood before his followers. "The Kingdom of Kael was not built on peace," he proclaimed, voice rising like a storm. "We were forged by pain. We feed on fear. And now—now the world dares hope again. That is our greatest enemy."
His eyes glowed blood-red.
"Burn that hope."
The gathered council pounded their fists against their thrones, chanting his name as black mist surged from their robes and fingers, feeding the crystal in the floor. Kael was alive. And it hungered.
---
Far beyond their reach, where the moon's light touched gentler lands, Mael did not yet know that his name had been spoken in the darkest corners of the earth. That his power had stirred ancient things from slumber. That Kael was not waiting for him to rise.
It was coming for him.