The storm did not let up.
Bodies lay scattered across the ruined courtyard—Sovereign soldiers broken, burned, or buried beneath stone and flame. Black smoke curled into the sky, and the scent of blood clung to the air like a shroud.
Kael knelt beside one of the fallen, the heat of battle slowly draining from his limbs. The lightning had quieted, but its echo still trembled through his bones.
And then—he heard it again.
A whisper. Soft. Female. Ancient.
"Kael… awaken."
He turned sharply. There was no one there. Lyra and Darric were tending to the wounded. The gates were sealed. The world had gone quiet.
But the voice was real. It wasn't the first time.
He stood, chest rising with shallow breaths. "Who are you?"
"I am the flame behind the Veil. The spark that slept within your blood… waiting."
A flicker of red energy sparked in the air before him—dancing like fire, yet cold as the void. For a moment, the world seemed to twist. Time bent.
The rain froze in midair.
Kael's eyes widened. The voice was not just in his head—it was reshaping reality.
"You are bound to the Veil, child of storm and ash. The throne you seek is only the surface. Beneath it… lies the gate."
"The gate?" he muttered.
"To what was buried. To what the Sovereign fears most. The true power."
Kael staggered back as the vision shattered. Time resumed—rain crashing again, lightning flashing far overhead. The fire was gone.
But something had changed.
He could feel it in the pit of his soul. A second pulse. A deeper storm—older than him, older than Velaryn itself—had begun to stir.
Lyra returned, a gash across her shoulder. She narrowed her eyes at Kael, seeing the shift in his posture.
"You heard it again, didn't you?"
He didn't respond.
"Kael," she insisted, voice low but sharp. "This isn't the first time you've spaced out like that during a fight. You hear something—something none of us can."
Kael looked past her, to the broken gate and the burning field beyond.
"It's not just a voice," he said finally. "It knows me. It… sees through the Veil."
Lyra's expression darkened. "Kaelen warned us. The Veil isn't just a well of magic. It's alive. It hungers."
Kael nodded slowly, eyes glowing faintly. "And it's calling to me."
That night, as the storm faded and the city settled into uneasy silence, Kael stood alone in the lower vaults of Dravenhold Castle. Dust choked the air. Forgotten relics of past kings lined the walls—rusted weapons, faded banners, cracked stone tablets covered in ancient glyphs.
In the center of the vault, a circular seal was etched into the floor.
Kael stepped closer. The same red sigils from his vision glowed faintly across the stone, reacting to his presence.
As he laid his hand upon it, the stone pulsed—then cracked open with a rumble that shook the foundations.
A hidden stairwell yawned beneath him, descending into complete darkness.
"Beneath the throne… lies the gate."
Kael swallowed hard.
He had come to reclaim his family's legacy.
But now, something far older had begun to awaken.
Something that didn't just want a king.
It wanted a vessel.