KAELEN STORMRIDER
The silence of the night was thick, hanging over Kaelen like a suffocating shroud. His fingers gripped the cold iron bars of his cell, the only thing between him and the endless, moonlit expanse beyond. His eyes burned with frustration, the darkness around him feeling all too familiar. It had been days, maybe weeks—he had lost track of time—since the spirits had begun to haunt him, whispering cryptic, maddening messages. Each time he had tried to seek answers, they had only left him more lost, more unsettled. Their words, spoken in fragmented phrases, danced on the edges of his consciousness, slipping through his fingers like smoke.
They had shown him nothing but fleeting glimpses of their twisted forms, eyes like hollow voids, faces distorted by time and death. He couldn't understand their language, their meaning. Every attempt to confront them had led to the same cold, empty silence. They were always there, always watching, but never truly answering.
Tonight, however, Kaelen felt a pull—something stronger than before. A growing itch in his chest, a gnawing feeling that there was something he was missing, something just beyond his reach. He couldn't wait anymore. He had to know what they wanted. He had to understand the connection between himself, the spirits, and this cursed land that had become his prison.
Kaelen stood, his breath steady but his heart racing in his chest. His muscles ached from days of restlessness, from the endless pacing in his cell, but the frustration burning in his veins pushed him forward. He couldn't stay in this cage anymore, haunted by these whispers. Tonight, he would confront them. He had no choice. If he was to understand anything about his fate, about the curse that had bound him to Druumari, he would have to force the answers from the spirits themselves.
He knew, deep down, that confronting them was a dangerous game. He had heard the stories—the ancient myths of Druumari, the tales of restless spirits that plagued those who dared to trespass on its sacred soil, although he hadn't believed in them. But Kaelen wasn't afraid. Not of death, not of curses, and certainly not of ghosts. He had been trained to face death head-on, to fight until there was nothing left. And if these spirits were truly a part of this land, then he would make them speak.
He moved quickly, his bare feet silent against the cold stone of the stronghold. The guards were few and far between this late at night, and he knew the pathways well enough now to avoid them. He passed through the narrow corridors, his mind focused solely on his goal. His breath hitched as the whispering started—faint at first, like an echo in the back of his mind, but growing louder with every step.
Kaelen…
The voice was soft, like a breeze, but it carried an unmistakable weight. He froze, his heart skipping a beat.
Kaelen Stormrider…
It was not the voice of one spirit, but many. A chorus of voices, their tones overlapping, murmuring in his ears, in his mind. He couldn't distinguish one from the other. The whispers flowed together, but their meaning was clear: they were calling him. They were beckoning him into the depths of the stronghold, into the darkness that lay beneath.
He followed the voices.
The air grew colder as he descended into the lower chambers of the fortress. The light from the torches flickered erratically, casting long shadows that danced on the walls like living things. The deeper he went, the more suffocating the silence became, as though the very land was holding its breath.
Kaelen reached a door at the end of the corridor—a door he had never seen before. It was old, its wood warped and splintered with age, but there was something unnervingly familiar about it. As though it had always been there, waiting for him to find it. He pushed it open, the hinges creaking in protest. What lay beyond was a dark, vast chamber, filled with a chilling energy that sent a shiver down his spine.
And then he saw them.
The spirits.
They stood in a semi-circle, their forms faint and shifting, like smoke caught in a storm. Their eyes were hollow, their faces ghostly, as though they had been carved from the very darkness of the world. Kaelen's breath caught in his throat. There were more of them now—at least a dozen, perhaps more, all staring at him with an intensity that felt like it was cutting into his soul.
One of them stepped forward, its face more distinct than the others. It was a woman, though her features were as twisted as the others. Her skin was pale as death, her long hair tangled and wild. But her eyes—her eyes burned with an unnatural fire, a light that seemed to pierce through the darkness.
You seek answers, the spirit whispered, her voice both distant and right beside him. It echoed in his mind. But you do not understand what you ask for.
Kaelen clenched his fists. "What are you? What do you want from me?"
The spirit's lips twisted into a faint smile, though it was devoid of warmth. What we want… is not for you to understand, Kaelen Stormrider. But it is what you must face.
The others murmured in agreement, their voices blending together like an eerie lullaby. Kaelen's mind raced, his frustration growing. "Face what? What is it you're trying to tell me?"
The woman raised a hand, her fingers long and skeletal, pointing toward the center of the room. Kaelen's eyes followed the gesture, his heart pounding as he saw a darkened patch of the floor, an ancient symbol carved into the stone beneath. It glowed faintly, an eerie light pulsing from it as though it were alive.
This is where your journey begins, the woman intoned, her voice a soft rasp. The land is bound to you, as you are bound to it. The curse that holds you here… it is not a punishment, but a choice.
Kaelen frowned, his mind struggling to process her words. "A choice? What do you mean?"
The land calls to you, she continued, her voice growing stronger, more insistent. You are connected to it, tied to its magic. Your blood flows through its roots, Kaelen Stormrider. The curse that binds you… it is the same curse that binds this land. It is ancient, older than the kingdoms, older than the gods. You are part of the key.
The air around Kaelen grew thick, the spirits closing in on him. The weight of their presence pressed on his chest, making it hard to breathe. He could feel the land beneath him, pulsing with a terrible power, a magic that hummed beneath his skin. His heart hammered, and for the first time since he had arrived in Druumari, he felt a deep sense of dread.
"You're saying…" Kaelen's voice faltered, but he pushed through it. "I'm… connected to this place? That the curse isn't just something that happened to me?"
No, the spirit replied. You are the one who brings it. The land is tied to you as much as you are tied to it. To leave would be to tear apart what you are, and what this land is. You cannot escape it, Kaelen Stormrider. Not without consequences.
The words hit him like a blow to the chest. He staggered back, the ground beneath him shifting as though the very earth had started to churn.
"And Seraphine?" he asked, his voice hoarse. "What does she have to do with this?"
The spirit's eyes flickered, an unreadable emotion passing through them. She is a part of this as well. Far more rooted to it, than you could possibly be. But that, too, is something you will have to discover for yourself.
Kaelen's breath came faster now, his mind reeling with the weight of the truth. He couldn't process it all, not yet. But there was one thing he understood now—the spirits, the land, the curse—it was all tied to him. He was not just a prisoner in Druumari. He was somehow tied to its heart.
And there was no way out.
With a sharp breath, he turned and fled from the chamber, his mind reeling with everything the spirits had shown him. He needed time to think, to understand what all of this meant. He had thought he could break free, but now he knew—there was no escape.
Not unless he faced the land's magic. Not unless he faced the truth of what he had become.
Kaelen Stormrider was bound to Druumari. And the storm was far from over.