Night in the fortress was a restless thing. The wounded moaned in their beds, and the wind howled through shattered windows, carrying the scent of blood and ash. Kael wandered the empty halls, unable to sleep, haunted by the memory of fire in his veins.
He paused before a cracked mirror in a forgotten antechamber. His reflection stared back—one blue eye, one gold, both rimmed with exhaustion. He pressed his palm to the glass, half-expecting to see something monstrous staring back.
A voice echoed in his mind, low and ancient.
You are not theirs. You are mine.
Kael recoiled, heart pounding. He gripped the hilt of his sword, knuckles white. The voice faded, but its chill lingered.
He remembered the battle—the way the demon beast's rage had become his own, the way his wounds had closed faster than they should. He remembered the fear in the eyes of the soldiers who had seen too much.
He was becoming something else. Something dangerous.
Footsteps sounded behind him. Kael spun, sword half-drawn, but it was only Lira. She studied him, her gaze sharp.
"You're not sleeping," she said.
He shook his head. "I can't. There's something inside me, General. Something I can't control."
Lira leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "You're not the only one with demons, Kael. The difference is, you're fighting yours."
He managed a weak smile. "What if I lose?"
"Then you'll have to trust someone to pull you back."
A silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken fears.
A sudden commotion echoed from the courtyard. Kael and Lira hurried outside, where a group of soldiers had cornered a cloaked figure. The stranger's hood fell back, revealing horns and silver eyes—Vaessara.
The soldiers raised their weapons, but Lira stepped forward. "Stand down. She's with me."
Murmurs rippled through the ranks, but the soldiers obeyed.
Vaessara's gaze found Kael, searching, uncertain. "We don't have much time. My father's warlords are moving against us. The prophecy—your blood—"
Kael's breath caught. "What about my blood?"
Vaessara hesitated, then spoke quickly. "You are the key. The wards, the gate—your blood can seal them, or destroy them. My father will stop at nothing to claim you."
Lira's face hardened. "Then we move before he does. We gather our allies and strike at the heart of Yth'razel."
Kael looked from Lira to Vaessara, fear and hope warring within him. He felt the demon within stir, hungry for power, for belonging.
He clenched his fists. "If I am the key, then I choose how this ends. I won't let him use me."
Vaessara nodded, respect in her eyes. "Then we fight together."
As dawn crept over the battered walls of Twelve Moons, Kael felt the weight of destiny settle on his shoulders. The war was no longer just outside the gates—it raged within his very soul.