The night sky hung heavy, a vast ocean of black torn by streaks of fire as Kaelen stood on the hill above his camp. Torches hissed and sputtered in the cold wind, casting his shadow long across the earth. The witch sat near him, her voice rasping like the crackle of the flames.
"Your hunger grows, Kaelen. The gods watch with restless eyes. They will not tolerate weakness. If you wish to claim what is yours, you must spill blood—not just of your enemies, but of kin if the gods demand it."
Kaelen's lips twisted into a grim smile. "Blood I can give. Even my brother's. Even his son's, if the gods whisper it."
The witch leaned closer, her milky eyes gleaming.
"Beware, God-King. The gods do not bless liars. If you poison your son with falsehoods, you curse his fate and your own."
But Kaelen only laughed, sharp and cruel. "My son will not know weakness. He will grow in fire and fury, and when he looks upon his uncle, he will see the murderer who took his grandfather's life. He will see truth as I give it."
The witch's mouth curled, but she said nothing more. Kaelen turned back toward the flames of his camp, his mind already twisting with plans of conquest.
Far to the north, Xylos gathered his council inside the longhouse. The fire roared in the pit, throwing light across the worried faces of his people. His wife held their newborn son, swaddled and silent.
"My brother will not stop," Xylos said, his voice low but firm. "Every ally I have sought, he has sought to frighten. Every village we turn to for friendship, he poisons with fear. He would see us isolated. But I will not allow it."
An older warrior, his face marked with scars, spoke. "Then we must answer him with steel."
Xylos shook his head. "Not yet. War must be the last choice. But war is coming—I feel it."
As if summoned by his words, the shadows in the hall shifted. A cold wind blew through though no door had opened. The seer stepped from the gloom, his face painted by firelight, his blind eyes glistening with strange knowing.
"Your brother sharpens his blade with lies," the seer said, his voice like a whisper from the grave. "He feeds poison to his own blood. He believes he is a god. But gods who rise too high only fall further into darkness."
The hall went silent. Even the child in Xylos's arms stirred, as though sensing the weight of prophecy.
"What would you have me do?" Xylos asked.
The seer tilted his head, listening to something only he could hear. "Prepare. The storm is no longer coming—it is here."
And then, as suddenly as he had appeared, the seer was gone.
Two nights later, smoke curled black against the dawn. Word spread through the settlement: Kaelen has struck.
Xylos and his warriors rode hard to the borderlands, where they found the horror waiting. Several villagers from a friendly tribe—men, women, even children—were bound to wooden stakes. Their bodies charred, their cries already silenced. The acrid stench of burning flesh filled the air.
Across the valley, Kaelen stood with his warband, watching. His face was lit by the fires of his cruelty, his eyes wild.
Xylos's voice thundered across the wind.
"You are no god, Kaelen! You are only a murderer! You killed our father, and I will never forgive you!"
Kaelen threw his arms wide, laughing like a mad prophet.
"I am the only god this world needs! Even my son will know it! He will grow to hate you, brother—because I will feed him the truth you cannot bear!"
Xylos's warriors shifted, their hands tightening on their weapons. Rage surged through them, but Xylos raised his hand to hold them back.
"This land is not yours!" Xylos roared. "Step on it again, and you will not leave alive. You are no brother of mine."
For a moment, it seemed the clash would come then and there. But Kaelen, smirking, lowered his arms and turned away. His men followed, leaving behind only the stench of the dead and the echo of his laughter.
That night, silence fell heavy over Xylos's camp. He sat before the fire, his son asleep beside him. His wife touched his shoulder, but he could not look at her. His eyes were fixed on the flames.
The seer appeared once more, his presence colder than ever.
"The storm has come, Xylos. Brother will face brother. The land will drown in blood, and only one of you will walk away."
Xylos's heart clenched, but he forced himself to meet the seer's blind gaze. "Then I will be ready."
The fire crackled, throwing sparks into the air, and when Xylos turned to look again, the seer was gone.
He looked down at his sleeping child, then back at the fire. War was inevitable. And when it came, it would tear the world apart.