Days had passed since the sealing of the Vault, but the city of Aramoor was far from quiet.
Refugees poured through the gates—villagers, merchants, even minor lords—fleeing strange tremors that shook the coastal regions to the south. Whispers of islands rising from the sea, of ruined cities returning from the depths, spread like wildfire.
At the Council's request, Kael and Rynn stood atop the Watcher's Tower, overlooking the tumult below.
"Another caravan," Rynn said grimly, her sharp eyes scanning the haggard faces.
Kael nodded, unease gnawing at him.
"They say an empire lost to time has resurfaced," he murmured. "The Kingdom of Veyrad."
Rynn's brow furrowed. "Veyrad? I thought they were a myth. Stories told to scare children."
"Apparently not," Kael said, his voice low. "And they sent a delegation."
As he spoke, a procession entered the courtyard—elegantly robed figures whose clothing shimmered like fish scales, their hair braided with strands of pearl and coral.
At their head walked a woman of otherworldly beauty, her skin the color of deep ocean waters, her gaze fierce and cold.
She bowed before the assembled Council, but her eyes locked onto Kael's with unsettling familiarity.
"I am Queen Elystra of Veyrad," she said, her voice ringing like chimes. "We come to parley."
Terms of Alliance
The Council chamber buzzed with tension as Queen Elystra stood before them.
Khyros, looking wearier than Kael had ever seen him, cleared his throat.
"State your terms, Queen of the Deep."
Elystra smiled—a slow, predatory curve of lips.
"Veyrad wishes peace. Trade. Mutual defense." Her gaze slid pointedly to Kael. "In return, we offer access to the Heartstone."
The room fell into stunned silence.
Kael leaned forward.
"The Heartstone is real?"
Elystra's smile widened.
"It sleeps beneath the waves. A source of magic untouched since before the Sundering. Power enough to heal your wounded lands... or destroy your enemies."
Kael's heart pounded.
The Heartstone was legend. A relic said to predate even the first dragons, capable of shaping reality itself.
Khyros exchanged a glance with Kael.
"And what do you want in return?" the old mage asked warily.
Elystra's eyes gleamed.
"Marriage."
The word struck the chamber like a thunderclap.
Elystra turned fully to Kael, her bearing regal, her intent clear.
"Join our bloodlines, Stormborn. Bind our peoples. Together, we could forge a future beyond imagining."
Kael rose slowly.
"I already have someone."
He reached out, instinctively finding Rynn's hand where she stood just behind him.
Elystra's gaze flickered—barely—but Kael saw it.
Pride. Calculation. Anger.
"You would refuse the salvation of your world for... personal affection?"
Kael's voice was like iron.
"I would."
The Queen's smile turned razor-sharp.
"So be it. But know this, Stormborn: Veyrad offers only once."
She turned on her heel, her entourage swirling around her like a school of sharks.
As she left, the temperature in the room seemed to drop.
Kael met Khyros's gaze, grim understanding passing between them.
The alliance was dead before it began.
And war would follow.
Winds of Treachery
That night, Kael and Rynn walked the gardens of the Citadel, under the watchful light of a crescent moon.
"You didn't have to refuse," Rynn said, breaking the silence.
Kael stopped walking, pulling her into his arms.
"I would never trade you," he said fiercely. "Not for power. Not for kingdoms."
She leaned into him, her voice a soft breath against his chest.
"I know. But it's not just us now, Kael. Every choice you make echoes across the world."
He kissed her forehead.
"Then we'll face the echoes together."
A rustle among the hedges.
Kael's instincts screamed.
He spun, Veyrion leaping into his hand in a blur of steel.
Assassins burst from the shadows—cloaked figures bearing the sigil of Veyrad.
Steel flashed in the moonlight.
Kael shoved Rynn back as the first dagger sliced through the air where she had stood.
He moved with lethal precision, cutting down two attackers before they could blink. Rynn rolled to her feet, twin blades flashing.
The battle was brutal, swift.
When the last assassin fell, Kael stood amid the bloodstained flowers, breathing hard.
He wiped his blade clean and turned to Rynn.
"You all right?"
She nodded, cheeks flushed with adrenaline.
Kael crouched beside one of the fallen assassins, pulling down the man's mask.
A mark seared into the assassin's skin caught Kael's eye—a stylized eye, ringed with flames.
Not just Veyrad.
The Harrowed Eye.
An ancient cult—believed extinct—that worshipped chaos, destruction, and the unmaking of the world.
Kael felt cold to his bones.
This was no simple political power play.
Something far older—and darker—was at work.
And Queen Elystra might just be a pawn in its game.
A Council Divided
The next morning, the Council met in emergency session.
Khyros slammed his staff against the marble floor, silencing the chamber.
"Enough! This is no time for petty squabbling. We face annihilation if we stand divided."
"But we cannot face Veyrad and the Harrowed Eye alone," argued Lady Selcyn, head of the Mage's Collegium. "We must seek allies."
"The Nomad Clans will answer," Kael said. "And the Stoneborn."
"But will it be enough?" another councilor muttered.
Kael stepped forward.
"We have no choice. Veyrad is already moving. If we hesitate, Aramoor will fall."
He looked around the room, meeting each gaze in turn.
"I'll ride to the Clans myself," he said. "And to the Stoneborn fortresses. Rally our allies. Bring them here."
Khyros nodded, grim approval in his eyes.
"Go quickly, Stormborn. And may the winds favor you."
Rynn stepped forward immediately.
"Where he goes, I go."
Kael smiled grimly.
"I wouldn't have it any other way."
They made ready to ride at dawn.
Time was slipping through their fingers like sand.
The Ride to War
They rode hard across the plains, the rising sun behind them, their horses kicking up dust.
Kael carried a token of the Council's authority—a dragon-headed scepter that gleamed in the morning light.
They reached the first of the Nomad Clans by nightfall.
The Chieftain, a grizzled woman named Sharah Bloodwolf, listened to Kael's plea by firelight.
When he finished, she stood without a word, lifted her axe, and slammed it into the ground.
"The Bloodfangs will ride," she said. "And the other Clans will follow. We owe you, Stormborn."
Kael nodded, gratitude heavy in his chest.
One by one, they gathered strength.
The Stoneborn fortresses—ancient bastions carved into the spines of mountains—pledged their axes after Jorek spoke in Kael's name.
By the week's end, Kael rode at the head of an army unlike any the world had seen in centuries.
Nomads on fleet horses. Stoneborn warriors clad in iron. Mages, sorcerers, swordmasters—all banners flying.
And at Kael's side, always, Rynn—silent, deadly, unshakable.
Aramoor's salvation—or its last stand—was riding home.
And the storm ahead promised blood, fire, and the clash of worlds.