The storm rolled low and black over the shattered plains of Hollow Spire.
Veilspawn flooded the valley like insects swarming from a dying hive—chittering horrors born of warped magic and old hatred. Their shapes twisted—some with too many limbs, others bearing scorched, weeping faces that weren't their own. The ground reeked of scorched blood and charred roots, the very earth rejecting their presence.
Kael stood before them, cloak shredded, Crimson Mark glowing faintly beneath the torn folds of his tunic. His blade—Dreadmourne—quivered with a low hum, eager for the blood of abominations. Around him, Lyra loosed arrows dipped in searing oil. Darric blocked a beast's pincer with his shield, driving his axe down into the soft meat beneath. Isrynwhispered dark hymns, wreathing herself in midnight flames that devoured the unnatural.
They had come seeking knowledge hidden in the Hollow Spire's ruins.
They found a war.
"Push forward!" Kael's voice cut through the chaos like a war horn. "We end this now!"
The companions surged behind him, blades cleaving through corrupted flesh. Kael's sword danced—each strike laced with deadly purpose. One Veilspawn leapt, maw open. Kael spun.
"Riven Cleave!" he shouted.
His sword flared red, a shockwave ripping the creature in two and blasting back those behind it.
He didn't stop. He couldn't. Not now.
The ruins rose ahead—ancient black stone laced with crimson veins pulsing in time with Kael's heart. A final guardian, unlike the others, stepped forward—a towering Veilbound general named Dreskhaal, adorned in iron bones and wrapped in smoke-wreathed chains.
"You carry the Brand…" Dreskhaal's voice echoed like thunder beneath the earth. "The Sovereign's seed. It shall not bloom."
Kael's grip tightened on Dreadmourne. The Crimson Mark on his chest blazed with burning light. Heat surged through his limbs, igniting his blood, his breath, his very soul.
"I'm not your Sovereign," Kael snarled. "But I'll bury you just the same."
The two clashed. Magic collided with steel, the ruin trembling beneath them. Kael's aura burned brighter, brighter still—until a blazing shockwave erupted outward. The companions shielded their eyes as Kael's body was consumed in red flame.
Crimson Spark—unleashed.
With newfound speed and fury, Kael struck. Every motion was pure destruction.
"Blazefall Surge!"
He drove Dreadmourne downward, shattering the stone beneath Dreskhaal and splitting the ground in a fiery fissure.
"Ashrend Spiral!"
A cyclone of crimson fire erupted around his body, tearing through the Veilspawn that dared to swarm him.
Dreskhaal staggered. For the first time, he looked… afraid.
"You are not just marked," the general rasped. "You are becoming."
Kael's eyes, burning embers in the stormlight, narrowed.
"No," he whispered, voice layered with something ancient. "I already am."
With one final strike, he drove Dreadmourne through Dreskhaal's core. Crimson energy surged down the blade and into the creature, detonating it from within. The explosion lit the ruins like a false sun.
Silence fell. Smoke drifted across the battlefield. The Veilspawn scattered.
Kael stood amid the ruins, flames fading from his body, the Mark still glowing—but calmer now. Controlled. His companions stepped beside him, awe etched into their faces.
Then a new sound.
A slow, deliberate clap.
From the shadows stepped figures in dark crimson robes—eyes obscured by veiled hoods, symbols etched into their skin.
One knelt.
"We have waited long for your return, Sovereign."
Kael's heart thundered in his chest—not from battle, but from recognition. Something deep within stirred. Forgotten. Or buried.
And now awakened.