Chapter 33
The small city was no longer just scattered huts and tents. Stone walls rose where once there had only been wooden palisades, and merchants now called out from makeshift stalls lined along the cobbled streets. Children ran past him, laughing, their bare feet kicking up dust that shimmered faintly in the evening sun.
Keal walked slowly, silently, his long cloak trailing over the ground as the people noticed him.
At first they bowed respectfully, but then their reserve gave way to something warmer. Old women pressed small tokens into his hands—baked bread, carved trinkets, even flowers. A child tugged at his robe and held up a painted pebble, grinning wide.
For a moment, Keal simply looked at them.
Warmth… is this what it feels like to protect, not just to conquer?
His cosmic eyes dimmed slightly, softening as he let the villagers' gratitude wash over him. For a brief span of minutes, he was not a king burdened by death and betrayal. He was simply a man who had shielded his people, and they loved him for it.
But that fragile peace did not last long.
A voice threaded into his mind, cold and sharp as steel.
"Keal."
It was Myros, speaking through the threads of telepathy.
"The Gate is ready."
The warmth in Keal's chest turned to iron resolve. He handed the pebble back to the child, gave a nod, and without another word, turned toward the black fortress that loomed over the city like a shadow.
The commanders were already assembled when he returned.
Selvaria leaned casually against the table, her illusionary veil flickering at her shoulders, while Lyra sat with arms crossed, watching him like a hawk. Vaelgor was half-shifted, draconic scales shimmering faintly along his jaw, while Nyx was simply… there, his presence coiled like an endless shadow.
"You mean to go alone?" Lyra's voice cut through the silence, sharp and disapproving.
"Yes." Keal's tone left no room for doubt.
"Unacceptable." Selvaria straightened, her illusions briefly casting phantom sparks across the room. "If you fall, what happens to everything we've built?"
"You're not just a commander," Vaelgor rumbled, fire glowing faintly in his throat. "You are the King. Our King. If anything happens to you, I'll make sure the one who let you go burns in dragonfire."
Nyx's lips curved into a rare smirk. "For once, the lizard speaks sense."
Banter flared among them, but beneath the words was iron loyalty. They would not allow him to risk himself without a companion.
Keal studied them, then gave a faint nod. "Fine." His gaze drifted over each commander before settling on one figure—Seryna Veylith, the Mysterious Talker. The shadows clung to her cloak as if alive, hiding her features. "You will accompany me."
She inclined her head slightly. "As the King wills."
The Gate chamber pulsed with unearthly light. The Aetherion Core thrummed at its heart, radiating waves of power that bent the very air around it. Black runes spiraled outward like a living web, drawing the walls into a vortex of shifting energy.
Myros stood at the forefront, his skeletal hands raised as he muttered the final words of the incantation.
The Gate opened.
Reality tore apart like glass under a hammer. A rift yawned before them, swirling with unstable light, the edges dripping shadow.
Keal stepped forward, his expression unreadable. Seryna followed, her movements silent, like the whisper of a secret never told.
The world folded—and then reformed.
When Keal opened his eyes, he was standing on familiar soil.
The ruins of betrayal.
The land was not like the Dead World. The magic here was frail, thin as if the life had been drained from it long ago. The sky was a washed-out gray, and the earth beneath his boots felt brittle, as though it might crumble away at any moment.
Seryna's voice slipped out like silk. "Is this the place?"
Keal's cosmic eyes flared faintly. "Yes."
But his voice was cold. He did not rage. He did not strike. His vengeance was not a blade—it was a noose, and his enemies would learn to choke on it slowly.
He scanned the land with his cosmic vision. The atmosphere trembled, whispering faint traces of life.
"A village," he said at last. "Not far from here."
They walked.
When they arrived, the villagers grew tense at the sight of strangers cloaked in aura and shadow. Men gathered with farm tools, women herded children back into their homes.
An elder soon emerged, a chief draped in worn but ceremonial robes. He bowed cautiously.
"Travelers… what brings you to our village?"
Keal lowered his eyes slightly, voice calm and composed. "I am Alaric, a historian. My companion and I study the rise and fall of kingdoms. I have come to learn of the Demon King's ruins, and the structure of his fallen empire. I have never walked this land before."
The chief's brows rose, then his face split into a relieved smile. "Ah! A scholar, then. You honor us, Historian. Please, rest in our village. I will tell you all I know."
As dusk painted the sky in dying colors, Keal and Seryna sat in the small hall of the chief's home, listening to the old man's eager recounting of battles long passed, of the Demon King's fall, of the scars that still lingered on the land.
Keal absorbed it all, but said little, the false name hanging on his tongue like a mask he was already comfortable wearing.
The chief clapped his hands together as Keal rose to leave. "It grows late, Historian. May the spirits watch over you on your travels."
But before Keal could reply, the village gates creaked open.
A group of armored adventurers strode in, dust and blood clinging to their gear. Their leader, a broad man with a scar across his cheek, spoke grimly.
"We seek aid. Bandits infest the forests nearby. Dozens of them. We tracked their den, but they're too many for us alone."
The chief's face fell. "Our village has no warriors strong enough to face such numbers. I am sorry."
The scarred adventurer cursed under his breath.
It was then that Keal spoke, his voice calm yet laced with steel.
"I will help."
The chief's eyes widened in alarm. "No, Historian! You must not. These men are ruthless, killers all. You will be throwing your life away."
Keal's gaze was steady, his tone unshakable. "I can protect myself."
Seryna's shadows shifted behind him like silent laughter.
The hall grew silent, the weight of his words hanging heavy.
The King had chosen his first step in the world that betrayed him.
And it would begin… with blood.