Five years later — the world had forgotten Kael Valenhart. But in the underworld, his name echoed like a god's curse.
They called him "The Revenant." A man who couldn't be killed. A ghost who wore suits of black, ruled the shadows, and made entire empires fall with a whisper.
He didn't care for gold, or crowns, or power. All of it meant nothing. He was building an empire for one reason only: To find her. Lira. --- In a dark room lit by golden chandeliers and the smell of blood, Kael sat at the head of a long table.
Around him, the most feared criminals in the world kept their heads lowered, not daring to look him in the eye. "District 6 has fallen, sir," one of his men whispered. "We've taken the Blackthorn Syndicate. As ordered." Kael didn't blink.
He leaned back in his chair, slowly swirling the blood-red wine in his glass. "And the girl?" His voice was low. Dangerous. "Still no trace. But… we found someone who might've known her. She worked at an orphanage near the edge of the old capital." Kael's grip on the glass tightened until it shattered in his hand. He didn't flinch. Blood dripped from his palm like ink, mixing with the wine on the table.
"Bring them to me," he said. "And burn the rest."