Chapter 11 – Old Scars, New Chains
The fire had burned down to embers, but the stink of smoke and death lingered like rot.
Kael sat with his back against a half-buried boulder, sword across his lap, watching the horizon bleed gray. Dawn in the Ash Wastes was a sickly thing — no golden light, just a smear of pallid sky over broken land. He'd seen too many mornings like it, each one reminding him he hadn't died the night before.
Nyra lay bundled in her cloak beside him, pale as chalk. The storm had wrung her hollow. Her chest rose and fell shallow, her lips cracked from fever. He'd kept her alive through the night with water and what little firewood he could find, but it felt like patching a ship with paper.
Darric Voss loomed a few paces away, cleaning his greatsword with slow, deliberate strokes. His one good eye was fixed on Kael, unblinking, like a wolf waiting for a stumble.
Finally, Darric broke the silence. "She nearly burned herself to ash."
Kael didn't look at him. "She's alive."
"For now." Darric set the greatsword down, its edge gleaming even in the dim light. "But you keep her around, you'll be digging her grave sooner than later. That storm magic doesn't forgive debt."
Kael's grip tightened on his blade. "You'd know a thing or two about debts."
That earned a dry chuckle. "Aye. I paid mine in blood, and I still don't sleep sound. You?" His eye narrowed. "Still running from yours."
Kael finally met his gaze. "Careful, Darric. We're both too tired for old ghosts."
Darric smirked, but there was no humor in it. "Old ghosts are the only thing keeping me warm."
The wind shifted, carrying the sound of movement — faint, distant. Horses. Kael's head snapped toward the horizon. Against the dull sky, riders moved like shadows, cresting a ridge. Too many to be wanderers.
Darric rose in an instant, greatsword in hand. "Company."
Nyra stirred at the noise, her voice raw. "Not… more wraiths?"
Kael shook his head. "No. Men."
As the riders drew closer, banners unfurled. Black cloth, stitched with a red serpent coiled around a crown. Serik's mark.
Kael swore under his breath. "So much for slipping quiet."
The riders surrounded them in a crescent, armor gleaming, spears lowered. At their head was a man in steel-plated mail, helm shaped like a snarling beast. He lifted the visor, revealing a face lined with scars and a beard streaked gray.
"Kael Thorne," the man barked. "And the storm witch. By order of Serik, you ride with us. There's work to be done."
Kael stayed seated, sword across his knees, his expression flat. "We already bled for Serik. He didn't say anything about sending dogs after us."
The man sneered. "You think you've a choice? He owns your contract, rogue. You're breathing because he allows it."
Darric stepped forward then, planting his greatsword in the dirt like a pillar. "And what of me?" His voice dripped contempt. "Serik didn't pay me to dance on his leash."
The riders shifted nervously. The scarred leader eyed him warily. "Darric Voss. We thought you dead."
"Not yet." Darric's grin was all teeth. "But keep talking, and we'll see how quick that changes."
The tension crackled, hard and sharp. Kael rose slowly, brushing dust from his cloak, placing himself between the riders and Nyra. He gave the scarred man a lazy smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"Tell Serik we'll ride," he said. "But we ride on our own terms. He wants us chained, he can come put the shackles on himself."
The scarred man bristled, but he didn't press. He signaled, and the riders drew back, leaving a gap. "Two days' ride. South. Don't wander. Serik doesn't like chasing rats."
With that, they wheeled their horses and rode off, dust rising in their wake.
Kael watched them disappear, his jaw tight.
Nyra's weak voice cut the silence. "Serik won't stop until he has us under his thumb."
Kael nodded grimly. "Then we make sure the thumb gets cut off."
Darric chuckled low, hefting his sword. "You're still the same bastard, Kael. Too stubborn to bow, too smart to die quick."
Kael glanced at him. "And you're still here. Means you're not done with me yet."
Darric's grin widened, dangerous and hungry. "Not by a long shot."
The three of them stood in the ashes of the battlefield, each bound by chains they couldn't cut, yet forced to march south into Serik's game. Old scars throbbed, new chains tightened, and the road ahead promised only blood.
But for Kael Thorne, that was just another day in Vael'Dar.