The square should have been alive with late-night revelers. Instead, silence smothered it, broken only by the faint hum of crimson runes. The cult had cleared it, sealing every street with wards. Torches flickered unnaturally, their flames bent inward as if consumed by the darkness gathering at the center.
Kael stood there, still as a statue, cloak drifting in the midnight breeze. Shadows coiled around his feet like restless hounds. Across from him, the silver-haired woman lifted a hand, and the runes flared brighter. Her followers drew their blades in unison.
"You cannot hide forever, Sovereign," she said. Her voice carried an edge of reverence—mixed with defiance. "The Eye of Dusk belongs to the Veiled Truth. Return it, and perhaps we will grant you a place in the new order."
Kael tilted his head slightly. His tone was measured, calm. "A place… beneath you?" His lips curved faintly. "You misunderstand. I am not here to kneel."
The cultists hissed, stepping closer, runes crackling across their blades.
The woman's smile did not falter. "Then we will carve the truth into your bones."
She snapped her fingers.
The trap sprang.
From the runes etched into the cobblestones, chains of crimson light erupted, shooting upward and weaving into a dome. The square sealed like a cage, humming with energy. The air itself thickened, charged with oppressive weight.
Kael's shadows recoiled, their edges fraying against the barrier. The woman raised her hand. "This circle was crafted to bind your kind. You cannot summon beyond its walls. You cannot escape."
Kael did not move. His gaze swept the glowing lattice, then returned to her. His voice was soft, but it cut through the hum of the runes.
"You have mistaken the leash for the wolf."
He extended his hand.
"Arise."
The ground beneath him rippled. From his own shadow surged forth knights clad in black armor, their swords gleaming with voidlight. Though the circle resisted, Kael's will pressed harder, bending the laws of the ward with sheer dominance. One knight fell to his knee at Kael's side, eyes burning violet.
Gasps rippled through the cultists. The woman's confident smile flickered.
Kael's shadows rose higher, filling the square with a suffocating darkness that pressed against the crimson dome.
"Your cage is too small," he said.
The cultists charged.
Runes blazed across their bodies, enhancing their speed, their strength. The first swung a blade crackling with red flame. Kael sidestepped with calm precision. His knight intercepted, parrying the blow and driving a gauntleted fist into the cultist's ribs. Bone crunched.
Another lunged from behind. Kael whispered, and a tendril of shadow burst from the ground, impaling the attacker through the chest before dissolving him into smoke.
But these were not ordinary pawns. Their bodies twisted unnaturally, bones bending, muscles swelling. They howled like beasts as the runes etched into their flesh flared brighter, consuming them.
Not men, Kael realized. Vessels prepared to burn themselves out for the cause.
They came in waves, reckless, suicidal. For every one his shadows cut down, another rose, fueled by fanatical devotion. The square became a storm of crimson and violet, runes clashing against void.
Kael moved like a conductor amidst chaos, every gesture summoning, binding, striking. His knights fought in flawless unity, but the cultists fought without fear, without pain.
The woman at the center watched with calculating eyes. She had not yet moved. She was waiting—testing.
At last, she stepped forward.
Her blade was unlike the others—long, curved, inscribed with spirals of living crimson light. As she drew it, the runes across the dome pulsed in resonance.
Kael's instincts sharpened. This was no disposable vessel. She was an anchor. A commander.
"Do you see?" she said, circling him lightly, blade humming. "Even the power you wield is incomplete. The throne you claim is fractured. Without us, you are nothing."
Kael's violet gaze locked with hers. His voice was quiet, steady, every word laced with conviction.
"Nothing? Look around you. They already kneel—in silence."
He gestured. The square's ground was littered with the fallen, their bodies dissolved into black ash. Only five remained, gasping, their runes sputtering.
Her eyes hardened.
She lunged.
Her blade met his shadow-forged steel with a shockwave that rattled the cobblestones. Sparks of crimson and violet clashed, scattering across the darkened square.
She struck fast, her movements honed, blade weaving arcs of scarlet fire. Kael parried with calm precision, never hurried, each block and counter designed not to overwhelm but to measure.
She pressed harder, her strikes fueled by the resonance of the dome. Kael's cloak tore at the edges as sparks grazed him. She smirked, certain of her advantage.
But Kael was not finished.
He whispered. Shadows surged, rising behind her like jaws. She spun, slashing them apart, but that heartbeat of distraction was all he needed. His sword swept low, cutting across her guard. Her eyes widened as the force sent her skidding backward, boots carving furrows into the cobblestones.
Kael's voice carried across the dome, calm, commanding.
"You built this cage to bind me. But cages… are my kingdom."
The shadows swelled, pressing against the dome until cracks spiderwebbed across the crimson light. The cultists screamed as the runes faltered, their power feeding Kael's shadows instead.
The silver-haired woman snarled, crimson flaring in her eyes. "This isn't over!" She slashed her blade through the air, carving a sigil that burst into light.
The dome shattered.
The backlash hurled dust and fragments across the square. When it cleared, she was gone—vanished with the surviving cultists.
Kael stood amidst the ruin, shadows swirling around him, the last echoes of violet flame fading into the night.
The square lay silent.
No witnesses would remember this night; the wards had ensured that. Only whispers would remain—of a battle no one saw, of crimson fire against violet shadow.
Kael exhaled, steadying his breath. He had tested his strength. He had revealed enough to send the Cult reeling, yet not enough to reveal his true depth.
He glanced at the Eye pulsing faintly beneath his cloak. It had grown warmer, as if drinking in the battle.
So this is what you wanted, Kael thought. Conflict. Blood. Proof of sovereignty.
Above, unseen on a distant rooftop, crimson eyes watched.
Cid smirked, chin resting on his hand. "Now this," he murmured, "is getting interesting."