Smoke drifted like ghosts through the ruins of Thornmere Outpost. The fires were dying, but the scent of blood still clung to the wind. Bodies—some armored, some not—lay twisted in grotesque stillness. The Black Host had struck fast, and without mercy. But they had not won.
Kael stood at the edge of the wreckage, his red cloak fluttering behind him. Ashrend was in his hand, still humming faintly, blood along its edge evaporating in slow spirals of crimson flame. His red eyes scanned the field without blinking.
Lyra approached from the east, her bow slung and arrows spent. "Thirty of them. Maybe more. All dead."
"They were scouting for something," Kael said, voice cold. "Or someone."
Darric climbed over a broken palisade wall, his shield cracked but intact. "There was no retreat. They knew they were going to die. They came for you, Kael."
Kael said nothing for a moment, then turned away. "Then we gave them what they came for."
He began to walk. Lyra and Darric followed.
They moved through the broken garrison, stepping over shattered weapons and bodies still steaming with the heat of the fight. Veilspawn had come with the Black Host—twisted creatures of bone and shadow, barely restrained by their handlers. But Kael had cut them down one by one, his aura flaring with a fury that left scorched runes etched in the ground.
At the far end of the courtyard, Kaelen stood, hood drawn back, his silver hair untouched by the blood around him.
"I felt the pulse," Kaelen said quietly. "You called on the Mark again."
Kael stopped, turning toward him. "It wasn't a choice."
Kaelen's expression didn't shift. "It never is. That's the nature of power bound in blood. But each time you call on it… it remembers more."
Kael lowered his gaze. The red sigil across his chest—the Crimson Mark—still glowed faintly beneath his armor. The more he fought, the more it stirred. And each time, he felt something… older… staring back through it.
Darric leaned on his sword, grimacing. "We can't keep doing this. The attacks are getting closer to the inner kingdoms. The Black Host isn't just spreading chaos—they're searching."
"For me," Kael said again.
Lyra stepped forward, her voice quieter. "Then we hit them before they find what they're looking for. Make them fear what they've awakened."
Kaelen smiled faintly at that. "The Sovereigns never feared power. They shaped it."
He reached into his robes and produced a weathered scroll wrapped in bone clasps. "This was recovered from the Hollow Spire before the fall. A record… written in Sovereign cipher. It speaks of a gate—one hidden beneath the Cindermoor wastes. A place where the Mark was first carved into flesh."
Kael's eyes sharpened. "You want to go there?"
"I want you to remember who you are," Kaelen said. "Not what they made you."
A long silence passed between them, the wind carrying ash over cracked stone.
Then Kael nodded once.
"I'll go."
—
Later that night, beneath the fractured stars, Kael stood by the remnants of a broken watchtower, Ashrend planted in the ground beside him. Lyra sat on a low stone nearby, her cloak wrapped around her shoulders. Darric tended to his wounds not far off, occasionally muttering about the "damned smartmouth demons" he'd faced that day.
"You're changing," Lyra said.
Kael didn't respond immediately. "I have to."
"No," she said softly. "You're becoming. And that's different. You fight harder. Your blade cuts deeper. It's like the sword knows where to strike before you do."
Kael looked at Ashrend. The blade pulsed faintly, crimson runes shifting like fire under its surface.
"It's not just a weapon anymore," he said. "It's remembering who it served. And it's remembering me."
Lyra looked at him, concern in her eyes. "Just… don't lose yourself in it. We still need you. I still need you."
Kael glanced at her, but didn't reply.
Then from the north, a horn sounded—distant, low, and echoing.
Kaelen emerged from the shadows, cloak billowing.
"They've found us again," he said. "This time, it's not a scout party. It's a full vanguard."
Kael reached for Ashrend.
"Then let's remind them who walks the Crimson Path."
The blade ignited with red fire, the sigil on Kael's chest blazing in response.
As the night swallowed the stars, Kael stepped forward—and the ground seemed to quake beneath his feet.
Crimson Gale Slash — a sweeping arc of blade and aura that split five Veilspawn in a single motion.
They came in waves. They fell like leaves in fire.