The night crept over the Outskirts like a dark shroud, the last embers of twilight fading behind jagged ruins. Kael stood atop a cracked stone wall, the bloodstone compass warm in his palm, its pulse steady like a heartbeat—his heartbeat.
The bandit leader he spared earlier sat beside a flickering campfire, nursing a makeshift wound. His rough features were softened by the firelight, and for the first time, he seemed less like a predator and more like a man haunted by his past.
"You spared me back there," the man said, voice low and cautious. "Not many would."
Kael didn't look away from the flickering flames. "I'm not many," he replied simply.
The bandit—called Ralek—exhaled sharply. "There's power here you don't understand. The Bloodhunters, the Houses—they all fight over scraps, but the real game lies in the trade routes."
Kael's eyes sharpened. "Trade routes?"
Ralek nodded, lowering his voice as if the shadows themselves might overhear.
"Several warlords carve up the Outskirts, controlling the flow of weapons, food, and magic relics. They're ruthless—killers and liars—but they respect strength."
Kael processed the information, the compass vibrating lightly in his hand. "Names?"
"Zarek the Blade runs the eastern pass. He's brutal, but clever. Then there's the Widow, who commands the southern marshlands with poison and whispers. And a third… a shadow no one sees, called the Crimson Prophet."
"The Crimson Prophet?" Kael's pulse quickened.
Ralek's eyes flickered with something like fear or awe.
"Legend says he's a revenant from the old Vyr wars. A ghost with blood magic so potent it bends the very earth. Some say he's a savior. Others say he's a curse."
Kael's mind churned, the compass glowing faintly as if responding to the name.
A sudden sharp pulse of light burst behind Kael's eyelids.
His vision blurred and shifted, dragging him into the past—
Flashback Vision:
The battlefield was drenched in crimson. A lone Vyr warrior stood against a tide of monstrous foes—twisted, hulking beasts born of corrupted blood magic.
The warrior's sword gleamed as it cut through shadow and flesh. His eyes burned with fierce resolve, knowing this was his final stand.
As the enemies closed in, he raised a blood-red banner—the symbol of the Crimson Heart—and shouted a cry that echoed through time:
"For Vyr! For the blood that binds us all!"
Kael's heart thundered in his chest as the vision dissolved, returning him to the flickering firelight.
He shook off the memory, breath shallow.
"The legacy is more than history," Kael muttered. "It's a call. And I am bound to answer."
Ralek glanced at him, suspicion mingling with curiosity.
"You really believe in that old blood magic? That it can save or damn us all?"
Kael met his gaze, determination steady.
"I don't know what it will do… but I know I won't let it consume me."
The compass throbbed once more—a whisper of secrets waiting to be uncovered.