The sound of screams came first.
But before the screams, there was laughter.
Kael remembered it vividly, like a fragile glass picture he was afraid to shatter.
The sun had been gentle that day, casting soft light over Ravenskull Village. The air smelled of bread from the baker's stone oven, and the rhythmic clang of the blacksmith's hammer rang somewhere in the distance.
Kael lay stretched out on the porch, head resting on his mother's lap. Her fingers moved in slow circles across his scalp, massaging away the stiffness from his morning training. She hummed softly — a tune he'd heard since he was small — and Kael felt himself drifting between wake and sleep.
"You're too tense, Kael," she chided with a smile. "Relax your shoulders."
"I'm relaxed," he murmured, eyes half-closed.
From inside the house, his father's voice boomed. "Relaxed? Hah! Boy, if you were any more relaxed, you'd be a sack of flour!"
Kael cracked an eye open in mock annoyance. "At least a sack of flour doesn't have to hear your bad jokes, Dad."
His father stepped outside, grinning, and ruffled his hair with a big calloused hand. "Careful, or next training session I'll make you carry two sacks of flour."
"Oi!" Ryn's voice called from the fence. "Don't waste all the mom-treatment on him, save some for us!"
Beside him, Jarek laughed and waved. They'd been living with Kael's family ever since Kael's father had pulled them — bloodied and crying — from the ruins of their own village years ago. They had no parents left, so they'd simply… stayed. Over time, Kael's mother had become their mother too, and they called her "Mom" without hesitation.
"Get over here, you troublemakers," she said warmly. "You're just jealous Kael's the youngest."
Ryn flopped down on her other side while Jarek sat cross-legged nearby, leaning back with a contented sigh. "Youngest gets the best treatment. Not fair," Ryn muttered.
They talked about silly things — about trying to sneak extra bread from the baker, about fishing in the river, about who could climb the big oak tree fastest. They laughed until their sides hurt.
It was perfect.
That was only an hour ago.
Now, the sky bled red.
A deep, earth-shaking thud rattled the houses. Then another. Dogs barked wildly, children cried, and the air seemed to grow heavier with each passing heartbeat.
The third thud came, and he appeared.
A towering figure in blackened steel, his armor crawling with etched patterns that seemed alive. Two jagged horns jutted from his helm. His eyes burned gold, and his smile was the smile of a predator.
Varak Bloodbane. Dusk Commander. The name alone could silence a tavern.
"I smelled weakness here," Varak rumbled. "Thought I'd paint the ground with it."
Before anyone could move, the air split with a bone-piercing howl — a sound that made Kael's skull throb and his knees buckle. Villagers collapsed, some unmoving.
Kael's father shoved the boys behind him, drawing his old spear. "Stay back!"
His mother stood before the house, defiant even as fear flickered in her eyes.
Varak strode forward, dragging his greatsword lazily through the dirt, sparks flicking up. His gaze swept over the crowd and stopped on Kael's family.
He moved.
Too fast.
One moment Kael's father was standing, the next Varak's blade had torn through him. Blood sprayed, painting the dirt. Kael's mother screamed — not in fear, but in rage — and threw herself at Varak with a kitchen knife.
It never touched him. A backhand blow sent her crumpling to the ground.
The world went silent.
Kael's breath came in ragged bursts, his vision tunneling. Something inside him tore free — a burning, roaring heat that wasn't just anger, but something far deeper. Beside him, Ryn and Jarek screamed as light flared around them, their own rage erupting into something new.
A voice — not quite human — whispered in Kael's mind:
[Skill Unlocked: Crimson Surge — C-Rank]
Your fury fuels your strength. The more you bleed, the harder you strike.
The three of them moved as one, charging Varak in a desperate rush.
Kael's spear lashed out, faster than he'd ever moved. Ryn's axe came down in a deadly arc, and Jarek's broken pitchfork was replaced by a glowing spear of conjured light.
For a moment — just a moment — they thought they could do it.
Varak caught Kael's spear with two fingers.
His other hand knocked Ryn aside with enough force to send him crashing into a wall. A twist of his wrist shattered Jarek's glowing spear like glass.
"Cute," he said, and kicked Kael in the chest hard enough to drive the air from his lungs.
They would have died there if not for the shadow that landed between them.
Steel clashed against steel with a thunderous crack. Sparks lit the air as Captain Draven Kaelor — the Iron Fang of the Triarch Blades — forced Varak back a step.
Draven's voice was like stone grinding against stone. "Go back to your pit."
Varak tilted his head, smile fading just enough to show he'd taken the man seriously. "Another day, little cubs. Grow stronger. I want to taste it."
And then he was gone, leaving only fire and the smell of blood behind.
Six Years Later
Kael woke with a start, chest heaving, the memory still raw.
A knock came at his door. "Kael! Get up! Guild trials are today!"
It was Ryn, his voice carrying that same cocky lilt it always had.
Kael sat on the edge of his bed for a long moment, rubbing the scar over his heart. Six years of training. Six years of waiting.
He wasn't that helpless boy anymore.
And when Varak came again, he swore on his parents' graves…
This time, he'd be ready.