The monument stood in silent vigil.
Days had passed since Kael sealed himself away, but Dreadhold had not resumed its rhythm. The streets were quiet. The people bowed their heads when they passed the black obelisk crowned in thorns. No bells rang. No horns blew. Life, it seemed, held its breath.
Within the great hall, Lyra stood before the assembled Thorns. Her silver armor bore the scars of war, but her voice was clear.
"We will not let his sacrifice be in vain," she said. "Dreadhold will stand—not because of fear, but because of the unity he left behind."
Valdran nodded solemnly. Luna and Eclipse stood at her side. Nereza's eyes glowed faintly beneath her hood, but her storms did not rise.
The Thorns gave their word. Yet even as they pledged themselves to the kingdom, shadows moved behind their oaths.
That night, beneath the quiet halls of the inner sanctum, a figure moved silently.
Nyros the Thorn of Secrets, stepped into the forbidden wing of the old library. His dark robes brushed against the stone, his lantern casting long fingers of flickering light. Shelves of dust-coated tomes loomed around him like the ribs of some ancient beast.
He knelt before a sealed alcove and whispered a phrase in the Old Tongue. Runes shimmered—resisted—then gave way with a hiss of released power.
Behind the hidden door, a narrow passage descended.
Nyros moved quickly. He wasn't alone.
From the shadows above, a second figure watched. Cloaked. Masked.
A spy.
The cloaked one followed the Thorn down into the deep chamber—until Nyros turned.
"I know you're there," he said quietly, not looking back. "You've followed me three nights now."
The spy stepped into the torchlight. Female. Light armor. A deep hood.
"I didn't come to expose you," she said. "I came because I heard… whispers. About the seal."
Nyros finally turned, his eyes gleaming behind his half-mask. "So. You've heard it too."
"The sealing wasn't perfect," she said. "Was it?"
"No." Nyros's fingers hovered over a floating shard of crystal, pulsating faintly with dark light. "It wasn't meant to be."
The spy stepped closer. "Are you saying… Kael still exists?"
"He's not dead," Nyros said. "Not truly. The sealing spell required a soul willing to be split from the world. But Kael's power… his will… it's not something so easily caged."
The spy stared. "Where is he?"
Nyros touched the crystal. A ripple passed through the air.
And suddenly—the room changed.
A different place.
A realm of silver chains and shadowed sky. Of fractured mirrors floating in silence. Of memories stitched into the very air.
At the center, Keal sat on a jagged throne of broken stone, chained by bands of light and shadow alike. His crown was gone. His gauntlets were cracked. His eyes were closed.
But his chest rose and fell.
And then—he opened his eyes.
They were the same burning gold they had always been.
And when he saw the ripple—a glimpse of the world beyond—kael smiled
A slow, knowing, tired smile.
As if to say: I'm not done yet.
Back in the chamber, the crystal pulsed once. Then went still.
The spy backed away, her breath caught. "Then there's a way to bring him back."
"Maybe," Nyros said. "But breaking the seal could kill him. Or worse—unleash what was locked away with him."
The spy hesitated. "What do we do?"
"We wait," Nyros murmured. "And watch. Kael made his choice… but the world may yet need its king again."
Outside, rain began to fall.
Lyra stood at the edge of the city, cloak pulled tight. She looked up at the stormy sky, eyes closed. For a moment, she felt something in the air.
A shift. A flicker of something familiar.
She whispered into the wind, not knowing why.
"Kael…"
And somewhere, far beyond her reach, a chained king smiled in the dark.