Kaelen was a man shrouded in mystery and whispered legends. Once a high sorcerer in the arcane council of Velaryn, he had been cast out for forbidden studies—tinkering with ancient magics long buried beneath the kingdom's soil. Some called him a heretic; others, a prophet.
It was Kaelen who found the boy Kael, broken and bleeding among the ruins of Rivenhart Manor, the night the Sovereign's armies descended. Instead of fear, Kaelen saw potential—a power born of both blood and darkness.
"Your fire is different," Kaelen had told Kael, eyes glowing faintly silver in the moonlight. "It is tied to the Crimson Veil, an ancient force older than the Sovereign's throne. Few understand it, fewer still can control it."
Under Kaelen's tutelage, Kael learned to harness the black lightning—a deadly energy that danced like veins of shadow across his skin. The price, however, was high. The magic fed on his emotions, twisting rage into power, mercy into cold resolve.
Kaelen's exile was not just punishment; it was a warning. The arcane council feared what Kaelen sought: the secrets of the Sovereign's rise and the ancient evil buried beneath Velaryn itself.
At the center of the kingdom's fall was King Malrik Draven, known across the land as the Blood Sovereign. His rise was steeped in betrayal and bloodshed, a tale as dark as the night Kael's family fell.
Malrik was once a trusted general of Velaryn's armies, admired for his tactical genius but feared for his ruthless ambition. It is said he made a pact with the Crimson Veil itself, a cursed power that granted him unnatural strength in exchange for his soul.
Under his iron grip, Velaryn's golden age crumbled. The kingdom was torn apart by war, famine, and fear. The old houses were broken, replaced by those loyal to Malrik's dark vision.
The throne room of Dravenhold Castle was now a throne of bone and fire—where Malrik sat wrapped in a red aura that rivaled even Kael's own. His eyes, black as the void, promised death to any who dared oppose him.
Velaryn was once a land of lush forests and sparkling rivers—a jewel nestled between towering mountain ranges and endless darkwoods. Its people were known for their resilience and fierce pride.
The kingdom's strength came from three pillars:
The Arcane Council: Masters of magic who safeguarded ancient knowledge.
The Noble Houses: Families like the Rivenharts who ruled the lands with honor and tradition.
The Sovereign's Guard: Elite warriors sworn to protect the kingdom and its ruler.
But the peace they fought to maintain was fragile. Beneath the surface, ancient forces stirred—beings from the Crimson Veil, a shadowy realm linked to the world through dark rifts.
Legends told of a time when Velaryn was whole, ruled by a line of sovereigns who wielded light and shadow in balance. That balance shattered when Malrik seized power, awakening the Veil's wrath and unleashing horrors upon the land.
The Crimson Veil was not merely a place but a dimension of raw, untamed magic—a realm where light was swallowed by darkness, and time itself twisted like smoke.
Few mortals could survive its power, but those who did gained abilities beyond comprehension.
Kael's black lightning was a rare gift from the Veil, a deadly force that could tear through steel and silence armies—but it came with a cost.
Every use of this magic chipped away at his humanity, threatening to turn him into a creature of pure storm and rage.
As the first drops of rain fell, mixing with the blood-soaked earth beneath Kael's feet, the kingdom's fate hung by a thread.
Lyra and Darric waited beside him, ready to fight to the last breath.
"Tomorrow, the world will remember why the Rivenhart blood still runs strong," Kael murmured, the red glow in his eyes burning brighter than ever.
"The Crimson Sovereign rises."