Chains clinked in the silence.
Kael hung from iron restraints deep beneath the cult's temple, his body broken but not bowed. Blood dripped from the fresh wounds on his back, pooling beneath his feet. The room around him pulsed with dark energy — a ritual circle etched in bone and blood. Hooded figures watched from the shadows, their whispers barely audible beneath the hum of corruption.
The Mad Sorcerer stepped forward, his voice a purr of venom.
"You've held out longer than most, Kael. But even kings bleed. Even kings break."
Kael lifted his head, blood trailing down his jaw. His left eye, still tainted with red, burned — not from weakness, but fury.
"I'm not your weapon," he growled.
The sorcerer smiled. "You always were."
He pressed a clawed hand to Kael's chest, and the Eye flared. Images rushed through Kael's mind — flames, ruin, the corpses of those he loved. A kingdom reduced to ash beneath his own hands. His body trembled, but his will held.
Not yet. Not like this.
Far away in Dreadhold, the war room burned with energy.
The Thorns were all assembled — Luna, Eclipse, Valdran, Syra, Veyna, and the rest — standing around the central table carved with battleground maps. At the head of the room stood Lyra, arms crossed, her eyes steeled with determination.
And beside her, the unexpected presence — Kaien, the Crimson Blade, no longer draped in Velharys colors, but wearing simple travel leathers.
"The nations are preparing an assault on Dreadhold," Kaien said. "They believe Kael is lost, and they mean to carve up his kingdom while he's gone."
Valdran's voice was like thunder. "Let them come. We'll paint the mountains red."
"No," Lyra said. "We're not just fighting for Dreadhold. We're fighting for Kael. And for the people who still believe in him."
Syra slammed her fist against the table. "Then what do we do? Sit and wait?"
Lyra looked to Kaien. "How far will you go?"
Kaien met her gaze. "As far as it takes."
A plan began to form. They would split their forces — some to defend the capital, others to uncover the cult's location. If Kael was still alive, they would bring him back. Not as a broken king, but as the flame that would burn down the darkness.
In the dungeon, Kael's head fell forward again, the pain mounting.
"You know it's useless," the sorcerer whispered. "You were born to destroy."
Kael raised his eyes — no longer clouded with pain, but defiance.
"No," he rasped. "I was born to protect."
The chains shuddered. The air twisted. The sorcerer's smile faltered.
Something deep within Kael… resisted.