Darkness.
No sound. No pain. No body.
Then—light. Cold. Weight. A heartbeat.
Vael walked.
The road ahead stretched on, endless and cracked. The ruins behind him smoldered, but he didn't look back. He couldn't. The past was ash, and the crown pressed down on him like a sentence.
Whispers followed.
Soft at first. Then sharper. Always there.
Stronger. You will be stronger.
His hands were still wet with blood. Sticky. Real.
He remembered killing them—the soldiers. But not their names. Not their faces. Just the way they fell. The way the shadows moved when he called.
He should've felt sick. But he didn't.
The night air clawed at him, sharp and dry. Leaves rustled in the black trees lining the road. Smoke drifted. The wind smelled like death and fire.
In the distance—movement.
Not fast. Not loud. Just... wrong.
Then he saw it.
A field of bodies. Dozens. Maybe more.
Stacked like broken things.
Some still clutching blades. Others torn open.
Their eyes stared up, wide and empty.
Not his doing.
Vael stepped closer. The whispering in his mind coiled tighter.
Careful.
A noise.
Low. Rough. From the trees.
His eyes narrowed.
A figure stepped out. Tall. Wrapped in a pitch dark robe. Its face hidden, but its eyes burned—orange, like dying coals.
Not human.
It tilted its head, watching him.
Then it spoke.
"You wear the crown."
The voice echoed—layered, strange.
One mouth. Many voices.
Vael didn't answer. The shadows stirred at his feet.
The figure stepped closer.
"The power you carry... it's old. Hungry."
A pause.
"But you already know that."
The crown beating on his head. The whispers became clearer. This stranger wasn't safe. But neither was Vael.
"Who are you?" it asked.
Its voice sounded distant. Like it belonged to someone else.
The figure laughed. Dry. Empty.
"A servant," it said.
"Like you."
Vael didn't move. The word servant scraped at something deep inside him.
The figure turned. Its robe flowed like smoke.
"Keep walking," it said. "You'll understand soon enough."
Then it just vanished.
Just... gone into thin air. Swallowed by the dark trees.
The road ahead was still there. Still waiting.
The whispers became clearer again.
He took a step.
No turning back.