The flames from the fallen outpost still licked the horizon when Kael turned away. His sword, heavy with blood, pulsed against his back like a second heartbeat—reminding him what he had done. What he had become.
They had burned down the monastery. Slaughtered its occupants. Not soldiers. Not warriors. But monks. Men of peace. And yet Kael had let the fire grow.
His hands were no longer clean. But they were needed.
"Mercy has its place," he murmured, staring into the scorched earth. "But not here. Not anymore."
The Hollow March
Kael led a band of twenty now—former prisoners, rebels, and outcasts like himself. Among them, the quiet but lethal Nira, the sharp-eyed boy mage Raen, and the enigmatic swordsman who only called himself Ash.
Iris marched beside Kael, her presence colder than before. Since the monastery... she hadn't said much.
"You could've spared them," she said finally.
Kael didn't look at her. "They housed the Crimson Sigil. They blessed the children for sacrifice."
"They were afraid."
"We're all afraid," he growled. "But we either fight, or we feed the flames."
Iris turned away.
That night, they made camp beneath a dying tree. Nira sharpened her blades with silent intensity while Raen whispered incantations into a circle of runes. Kael sat apart, studying the map Ash had brought—a new city, a new stronghold, a new cult.
But then he felt it.That sensation again.Something watching.
His vision blurred for a heartbeat.
Then he was standing in the Black Corridor.
The Voice in the Dark
Shadows danced along the obsidian walls. At the far end of the corridor stood the being—horned, cloaked in ash and chains, its mouth a sealed slit glowing with red cracks.
"You bleed well, son of the storm," it hissed. "But you do not bleed enough."
Kael stepped forward, unafraid now. "You cursed me."
"No. I awakened you."
The ground shook beneath his feet. The chains on the entity's chest rattled.
"Your blood is not just of men. It is of the First Flame. Of the Abandoned God. You are not Kael of the Bastards. You are Kael of the Ashen Gate."
Kael's heart pounded. His veins throbbed.
"What do you want from me?"
"Nothing," the voice whispered. "It is they who want. The kings. The cults. The gods above and the beasts below. They fear your return."
Then came silence. The corridor faded.
Back to Reality
Kael gasped, waking near the campfire. The others were asleep.
But Raen stirred and looked at him with wide, glowing eyes.
"You were... speaking in the ancient tongue," the boy said.
Kael frowned. "You understood it?"
Raen nodded slowly. "No one has spoken that language in a thousand years."
Kael stood, walking away, hands clenched.
He didn't just carry a curse. He carried a name buried by time. A name the world wanted forgotten.
The gods hadn't abandoned him.
They had feared him.