Long ago, in a kingdom ruled by a distant monarch, there was a powerful rebel—a warrior feared by the army and cherished by the villagers.Every supply line the military sent was cut down,every troop dispatched against him was defeated without mercy.
To the people, he was a hero.To the King , he was a threat that needed to be erased.
The village of Rydale was the sort of place the world usually forgot—a handful of homes, a crooked well, and smoke from chimneys that always rose a little sideways because of the valley wind.
Kael never minded its smallness.After a lifetime of blood and wandering, small felt like peace.Small felt like something he could protect.
That night, peace didn't last.
The Commander's Shadow
They came without warning.
No horn. No torchlight to give away their march.Only the dull rhythm of boots moving through grass and mud.At the front walked Commander Varkos, a man built like the blade he carried—long, rigid, and without softness.
The officers waited for his signal.Varkos watched the sleeping village for a moment—a long, unsettling moment—before he spoke.
"Do it fast. No survivors."
A captain swallowed hard. "Sir… these people aren't rebels."
"Everything he loves is rebel enough. Move."
There was no debate after that.
What followed felt less like war and more like butchery.Fire spread faster than the screams.Steel flashed in doorways where families had moments ago been dreaming.It was over too quickly for anyone to understand what had happened.
Only two survived:a trembling blacksmith boy hiding beneath collapsed shields…and Kael's child, taken by force, kicking and sobbing into armored arms.
Varkos didn't watch the killings.But he didn't look away either.
"This will bring him," he murmured."Let the rebel see the price of his stubbornness."
A Strange Quiet
Hours later, Kael was wiping someone else's blood from his hands.
Another ambush. Another small victory.He should have felt triumphant, but a cold unease crawled along his spine.
"You keep glancing east," Daren said."Home's the other way."
Kael forced a tired smile. "Feels like I'm being tugged by the guts."
"That's usually a bad sign."
"Yeah," Kael muttered. "I know."
He started walking faster.Then running.
By the time he smelled smoke, he already knew.Somehow—he already knew.
The Village of Ash
He entered Rydale like a man walking into a nightmare he hadn't finished dreaming.
Charred beams.Bodies where they had fallen.A cradle, its blankets blackened and curled.
Kael's breath left him.Not all at once—more like it broke out of him in pieces.
He crouched beside a burned doorway, staring at the soot on his hands.His mind refused to put the pieces together.He felt like a cracked shell of himself, hollow and shaking.
Then a voice, small and weak:
"...Kael…?"
The blacksmith boy dragged himself from the rubble, coughing.Kael caught him before he collapsed.
"What happened?" Kael whispered.He barely recognized his own voice.
The boy's lips trembled. "It… it was the Commander. Varkos. He knew you weren't here. He took— he took your boy, Kael. They killed the rest of us. I'm sorry. I couldn't… I couldn't stop them…"
Kael didn't answer.He stared at the ground for a long moment, jaw clenched so tight it hurt.
Not rage. Not yet.
Just the kind of sadness that empties a man.
Then, slowly, he stood.
"Thank you," he said softly.The calm in his voice felt wrong, even to him.
"Kael— what're you going to—"
But Kael was already walking.
Through the Gates
By the time he reached the capital, the guards didn't stand a chance.
He didn't shout.Didn't roar.Didn't even speak.
He just moved—like something had slipped free inside him.Steel whispered. Men fell.And Kael kept walking.
Inside the fortress, the king paced before Saint Arvian, the Elder Seer.
"There is unrest in the south," the king muttered."There is always unrest," Arvian said. "But this… this is different."
The saint's eyes—clouded and old—lifted suddenly.
"Your Majesty… something terrible is coming.Not an army. A man. And grief walks with him."
The king scoffed. "A single man?"
A crash sounded from the outer hall.Then another.Then silence.
Arvian's face paled.
"He's here."
The doors splintered inward.Kael stepped through, blood on his boots, ash clinging to his hair.
The king stumbled back."You— you were supposed to be dead!"
Kael didn't answer.He only raised his sword.
Arvian moved forward, voice trembling."Kael… think. This is not—"
"Think?" Kael whispered, almost gently."My boy is gone. What else is there left to think about?"
The blade fell.The saint crumpled.The king didn't last longer.
When the bodies hit the floor, Kael didn't feel relief.Or victory.Just a strange, hollow quiet.
Like something inside him had died long before they did.
The Curse
Far away, three Elder Saints felt Arvian's life wink out.
"Kael of the Ashen Road has killed one of us," Saint Velkar murmured."That cannot be allowed," Ylmera whispered."He is lost—beyond saving," Thorian added.
Together, they lifted their hands and spoke words older than the kingdom itself.
"Let his soul linger.Let his rage consume him.Let him never find rest, nor peace,nor the child he seeks.So it shall be."
Kael felt the curse like a cold wire threading through his spine.He staggered.Tried to breathe.Tried to scream.
The world went black.
His body fell.
His soul did not.
A Whisper in Wars to Come
Decades later, soldiers would swear that sometimes, in the worst battles, a strange fury overtook them.
Not theirs.Something older.Something broken.
People had a name for it.
Not a kind one.
"The Riven Soul."
But old storytellers, the ones who remembered the truth, spoke a different name around their fires.
They whispered it the way you whisper a warning:
"Kael still walks."
But the curse was never broken over centuries and it never will be .
Asher opens his eyes. But all he see was pure white