The sky wept lightning.
Crimson bolts rippled above the jagged horizon as Kael and his companions emerged from the Vault of the First Flame. The Ashen Wastes behind them simmered, quieted — but the air was restless. The second Veilstone Fragment now burned within Ashrend, and Kael could feel its weight in his soul. It wasn't just power. It was direction — a call toward something older than gods.
The Stormbreaker Company gathered at the cliff's edge, the wind howling like a beast unchained. Their numbers had thinned — too many lost in Rath Dura and the caverns below — but those who remained stood hardened, their eyes filled with something new:
Conviction.
Lyra approached him first, face streaked with ash and blood. "They're waiting. They need a reason to follow. A reason to bleed."
Kael nodded.
He stepped onto the rock outcropping above the army. Lightning struck behind him, framing him in the stormlight. Ashrend pulsed at his side, the second shard now fully fused.
He raised the blade, and his voice carried.
"The Sovereign thinks we are broken."
"He thinks fire is enough to erase blood."
"He thinks a crown is heavier than the will of the dead."
The wind howled. The soldiers leaned in.
"We lost brothers. Sisters. Homes. Names."
"But we did not lose purpose."
"We are not ashes scattered. We are the storm that follows."
He slammed Ashrend down into the stone. Red lightning cracked outward.
"Swear it now. Beneath this storm, with your blood and breath."
"Swear that we end this tyrant — not for vengeance. Not for glory."
"But because the world deserves a dawn not written in chains."
The soldiers raised their weapons. A thousand voices roared as one:
"FOR THE DAWN!"
Kael turned to Lyra, who was watching him with something between awe and grim amusement. "That was… almost inspiring."
"I've been working on it," he muttered.
That night, around the embers of a dying campfire, Kael sat with his inner circle: Lyra, Garros the Iron Fist, Malrik the Wyrmslayer, and Selene — the quiet mystic who had seen more than she let on.
They spoke of plans.
Of the last known location of the third and final Veilstone: Veyrath Keep, deep in Sovereign-controlled territory. Guarded by the Black Host. Rumors said it was buried beneath a fortress of bone and steel, where ancient war machines still walked.
"I know the place," Garros growled. "It was where the Sovereign broke the North."
Kael narrowed his eyes. "Then that's where we break him."
"But it won't be easy," Selene warned. "The Black Host isn't just soldiers. They're deathless. Bound by a curse older than the kingdom."
Lyra smirked. "Then we'll need to break the curse."
"Or kill everything that moves," Malrik added.
Kael stood, red lightning flickering at his fingertips.
"We do both."
As the Stormbreaker Company began its march toward Veyrath Keep, minor skirmishes dogged their every step.
Outriders from the Black Host attacked in small numbers — scouts, saboteurs, cursed warbeasts. But Kael faced them all.
And each time, his blade carved through the darkness.
"Veinbreaker Slash."
"Crimson Howl."
"Ashrend's Grief."
He named his strikes, each one burning with power. Minor enemies fell in moments — undead knights turned to ash, shadow-beasts torn apart by arcs of red lightning. The blade was learning with him, growing more sentient, more hungry.
But it wasn't just power. It was the way Kael fought with his companions.
He moved with Lyra, her blades intercepting enemies that got past his guard.
He brawled beside Garros, the two cleaving through enemy formations like a hammer and flame.
He covered Malrik's wild charges with precise slashes, protecting his brother's recklessness with calm fury.
And in the quiet moments, Kael and Selene would share glances — not of love, but of unspoken understanding. Two people who knew the weight of fate.
On the fifth night of their journey, they crested a hill overlooking the valley of Veyrath.
And they saw it.
The fortress of bone. A citadel carved from the remains of war machines and dragon skulls. Red banners fluttered in the wind — marked with the sigil of the Sovereign. And at its gates stood thousands of figures, unmoving, armored in black…
The Black Host had gathered.
Kael said nothing.
He stepped forward.
Ashrend pulsed in his hand — and the second shard blazed like a dying star.
Behind him, the Stormbreaker Company prepared for war.