The moon was broken.
Its pieces shined above the battlefield, bright and cold like glass in the sky.
Kael stood in the middle of the ruins. His sword was heavy with blood, his body weak and shaking. Around him, the ground was covered with fire, smoke, and fallen men.
People called him many things—Monster, Killer, Evil King.
But to his men, he was only one thing: their leader.
"Boss…" one soldier said weakly, his hand pressing on his wound. "We… can't hold them anymore."
Kael's heart grew heavy. His men were almost gone. His dream of ruling the land was dying with them. Still, he refused to bow down.
From the enemy side, a man stepped forward. His armor was black, and in his chest was a glowing stone full of strange power.
"Kael," the man shouted. "This is your last night alive!"
Kael spat blood but raised his sword. His chest burned, his strength was leaving him, but his eyes stayed sharp.
"If the moon can break," Kael said, "then so can you."
He ran forward.
Their weapons crashed again and again under the broken moon. Sparks flew. The ground shook. Kael fought with all he had, his body filled with pain but his spirit refusing to stop.
Then—the enemy's spear pierced his side. Kael's blood poured out. His rival smiled, sure of victory.
But Kael laughed, even as blood filled his mouth. With the last of his power, he pushed his sword deep into the man's chest.
A blinding light exploded. Both men were thrown to the ground.
Kael lay on his back, staring at the broken moon above. His body felt heavy, his eyes slowly closing. For the first time in years, he felt peace.
"So this… is how it ends."
The light around him grew brighter, then his vision turned black.
In the darkness, a soft voice whispered:
"Not the end. Not yet."