Vorath's smirk lingered as Kaelen steadied himself, the silver glow of Lumenbrand trembling but refusing to die. The dark king's crimson eyes glimmered faintly, as though reflecting something beyond the dim torchlight — not the Citadel around them, but a memory only he could see.
"Do you know, Kaelen…" Vorath began, his voice soft, measured, almost casual. "…there was a time when I believed in the same things you do. A time when I bled for others. When I thought I could save them."
Kaelen's grip on Lumenbrand tightened. "You… were human?"
Vorath tilted his head, neither confirming nor denying, a faint amusement curling at the edge of his mouth. "Human… perhaps. Once. Long ago. I wore armor much like yours, though far humbler. I fought beneath banners painted in colors I can no longer recall. I even swore oaths — to kings, to causes… to love."
The final word lingered like a blade's edge, cold and deliberate. For the briefest moment, something darker flickered behind Vorath's eyes — not weakness, but a shadow of a wound so deep it had curdled into something far worse.
Seralyn, despite the shadows still coiled around her limbs, dared to whisper, "What… happened?"
Vorath's gaze slid toward her, the faintest glint of amusement returning. "What always happens. The gods watched. The world burned. And when everything I bled for was ash, they looked down from their lofty thrones and called it 'destiny.'"
His smirk sharpened, cutting through the faint trace of sorrow like a blade through silk. "I learned, Kaelen, that to the gods, mortals are nothing but kindling. Meant to suffer, to die, so their stories can feel grand and tragic. I simply chose not to be their fuel any longer."
Kaelen's jaw clenched, his voice steady despite the unease curling in his chest. "So you became worse than them? You burned the world because yours was taken?"
Vorath chuckled softly — a low, velvety sound that made Seralyn flinch. "Worse than them? Oh, Kaelen… I am their reflection. I only take what they would rather mask behind faith and prophecy. They kill in the name of balance. I kill because I choose to. At least I am honest."
He took a slow step forward. The shadows stretched along the ground like black serpents, reaching toward Kaelen's boots, testing, tasting his resolve. "And soon… you'll understand. When your gods abandon you, as they did me."
Behind him, the Throne of Skulls began to pulse again. Its countless jaws cracked open, their whispers swelling into a frenzied chorus:
"…he bleeds… he doubts… he will fall…""…kneel… kneel… join us…""…feed the hall… feed the hall…"
The voices clawed at Kaelen's mind, a tide of malice that made his breath hitch and his vision blur. The air itself seemed to grow heavier, the room colder, as though reality itself bent to the Throne's hunger.
Then Vorath's voice cut through the cacophony, low and commanding: "Silence."
The skulls snapped shut at once, every whisper dying. The silence that followed was deeper than before, as though even the Citadel itself held its breath.
Vorath's crimson gaze never left Kaelen. "Better. Their noise cheapens this moment."
He raised his sword, holding it loosely at his side, the black steel trailing coils of mist. The torchlight dimmed further, bending unnaturally as the shadows around the blade writhed. For the faintest moment, Kaelen thought he heard the sword itself whispering — voices softer than a breath, murmuring promises of ruin, power, and surrender.
Vorath's smirk deepened. "Now. Enough talk."
Kaelen exhaled slowly, planting his feet, raising Lumenbrand high. Its pale glow fought back the shadows, casting a thin halo around him, fragile but unyielding.
Vorath's eyes glinted with something like anticipation. "Let's see if the gods' champion can even withstand a single strike."
He moved.
The black sword cut through the air in a single, fluid arc — effortless, merciless, the force behind it like a collapsing world.
Kaelen braced for impact.