The sun bled across the sky, dying slowly behind the broken mountains of the Hollow Spire range. Below, Kael, Lyra, and Darric advanced through the Veilcarved Path — a long-abandoned road once used by the Sovereign Guard, now buried in roots, ash, and old blood.
Every step crackled with unseen tension.
"They could be anywhere," Darric muttered, adjusting the straps on his arm-blade harness.
"They are," Lyra replied, bow ready, eyes sharp.
Kael walked ahead of them in silence. His crimson cloak flowed behind him, torn from battle but unbowed. Ashrend remained sheathed, though the air around him shimmered faintly — as if the Mark beneath his skin could no longer hide its presence.
They moved in tight formation, flanked by fractured stone and twisted trees. The Hollow Spire loomed in the far distance like a dark fang rising from the earth.
Suddenly, Kael stopped.
His eyes narrowed.
"Draw weapons."
Lyra didn't question. Darric spun his blade from his arm mount.
From the forest ahead, a low rattling began.
Like dry bones grinding together.
Then the wind shifted — and they came.
Veilspawn in blackened armor, faces hidden beneath bone-masks, descended from the trees like falling ash. Some walked on shattered limbs. Others crawled like insects. But all bore the sigil of Malrik's Black Host — warped by the cultists' rituals into something even fouler.
Kael's eyes flashed red.
"Form line."
The three fell into motion. Darric charged first, cleaving through a shrieker with a brutal sideways arc. Lyra loosed three arrows in one breath, each one finding a skull. The creatures hissed and surged forward.
Kael let the Mark burn.
He moved like fire.
Ashrend snapped from its sheath — a crimson arc slicing through the first wave with brutal efficiency. The blade left trails of red light, carving glyphs in the air. Veilspawn fell, twitching, headless.
"Crimson Talon."
Kael leapt into the horde, spinning mid-air — his blade split three enemies in half before his feet touched ground. Blood mist painted the trees.
One of the larger brutes roared — part ogre, part abomination, with chains fused into its ribcage. It lunged.
Kael raised his free hand.
"Crimson Brand — Ignite."
A flare of red fire exploded outward, engulfing the monster. Its scream echoed into silence.
Darric fought at Kael's side, cutting down two more. "You're burning hotter than last time."
Kael didn't reply.
More of them came. Too many.
Lyra signaled back. "Retreat to the ridge — draw them into the choke!"
Kael turned. "Go. I'll hold them here."
"No," Lyra shouted, not slowing. "Not again!"
But Kael had already surged forward.
At the ridge, Lyra and Darric watched as Kael became a storm of crimson and fury.
He cut through wave after wave, his movements fluid, merciless. Each swing of Ashrend left trails of dying flame in its wake. His aura had shifted — no longer just fire, but something deeper. The Mark blazed from his back like a second sun.
Darric muttered, "That's not the same Kael we followed into Hollowmere."
Lyra's eyes narrowed. "No. He's changing."
Below, Kael reached the center of the battlefield.
A final elite stepped forward — twice Kael's size, bearing a jagged glaive wreathed in necrotic green fire.
Kael tilted his head slightly.
"I know you," the creature rasped. "The boy from Blackhollow. The cursed heir."
Kael gripped Ashrend tighter.
"And you're already dead."
The two clashed in a flash of light and steel — fire and shadow ripping across the battlefield.
Ashrend met the glaive with a crack like thunder. Sparks erupted. The elite's glaive struck Kael's shoulder — but the crimson fire flared, absorbing the impact.
Kael twisted.
"Crimson Rend — Severance."
A final, decisive blow — diagonal, full-bodied, raw with fury — cut the elite from shoulder to waist. It collapsed, gurgling black smoke.
Silence.
Only ash remained.
Later, Kael rejoined the others, blood streaking his face, steam rising from his armor.
Darric stared. "That wasn't a skirmish. That was a message."
Kael nodded. "They wanted to see how far I've come."
Lyra looked at him long.
"And?"
Kael looked back toward the Hollow Spire. The Mark still pulsed on his arm, and now… it pulsed with hunger.
"They'll see."