The gates of Nhar-Kheth were made of old ship hulls—moss-covered, bolted with dragonbone, and painted with the eyes of the drowned.
Kael stood before them, hood drawn low, fingers twitching beneath his cloak.
Behind him, two revenant scouts flanked a cart bearing no cargo—just the Crimson sigil scorched into its side.
The guards atop the walls didn't speak.
They watched.
Kael called up, voice bored: "I bring an offer from the one they call Revenant."
Still silence.
Then a long metal screech.
The gates groaned open.
Not fully.
Just enough to let a man pass.
Kael smirked.
"That's a warm welcome."
Inside, Nhar-Kheth breathed like a beast.
A city of ruin dressed in gold teeth.
Crumbling towers stitched with silk. Streets paved in shattered idols. Every corner was lit with lanterns made from bone and oil.
And its people?
Unmasked witches.
Silent soldiers with candlelight eyes.
Children with tattoos made from prophecy ink.
Kael walked without fear.
But not without watching.
A woman joined him mid-way through the market—a guide, barely older than twenty, with no eyes, only sockets stitched with crimson thread.
She didn't speak. Just walked.
Kael followed.
They led him to the House of Cinders.
A crooked palace made of wood too old to burn, with smoke rising from every window, though no fire was seen.
Inside waited the Court of Cinders—seven thrones, none matching, each occupied by a creature once human.
A headless warlock.
A priestess with glass for skin.
A shadow in chains.
And at their center: Vephra.
Queen of Nhar-Kheth.
Blind. Still. Wrapped in gray silk and rusted rings.
She spoke first.
"You are the knife that walks beside the revenant."
Kael gave a mock bow. "Kael's fine."
"He sends you here to ask for men."
"I send myself here to see who's still worth trusting."
Vephra did not smile. "You still lie beautifully."
Kael chuckled. "Flatter me more. I'm easily bribed."
They offered no wine.
No chair.
Just silence, until one of the Court finally asked:
"What does your king offer us?"
Kael's eyes narrowed.
"He's not a king."
"Then why wear a crown of bone?"
Kael didn't answer.
But he stepped forward, slow and unafraid.
"He offers a future. One without chains. Without gods. Where your ghosts are not punishments, but power."
The Court murmured.
But Vephra remained silent.
Then, she reached behind her throne and withdrew something wrapped in black velvet.
She unwrapped it.
A skull.
Etched with hundreds of names.
None readable.
Only one freshly added:
Leonis Virelain.
"This belonged to the last one who came here promising freedom."
Kael didn't flinch.
"We burned him. Then we buried him. Then we remembered him."
"And now he walks with your master's face."
Kael exhaled slowly.
He was about to speak.
But Vephra raised one finger.
"You are brave. Perhaps foolish."
"We will consider your pact."
"But not before your trial."
Kael blinked.
"Trial?"
"You brought us no offering."
"So we will test what you hold most sacred."
Kael's smile faded.
"We will test your name."
And from the side door came a figure—
Tall.
Wearing Kael's face.
Eyes stitched shut.
Blades drawn.