Cherreads

Chapter 3 - Echoes of Ashes

Chapter 3

Before Draziel Vale opened his eyes in a body reborn, there was only one name that made kings hesitate and warlords tremble—*Kairos Vaelen*.

He was not born into power. His earliest memories were of stone floors and cold nights, of hunger echoing in his belly while the nobility feasted just beyond crumbling walls. His village lay nestled in the shadow of Arkanholt Citadel—a silent watcher that never reached down to help.

Orphans like him were usually forgotten, chewed up by the city's underbelly or sold into the mines. But Kairos fought. With fists. With teeth. With whatever broken blade he could find.

Fate, cruel and ironic, placed him before the Grand Knight of the Obsidian Order during a skirmish in the slums. While others fled, Kairos stood his ground against a bandit twice his size, armed with only a sharpened stick and fury. He lost, of course—but not before drawing blood.

That act changed everything.

The Obsidian Order, a militarized sect known for raising warriors beyond human limits, took him in—not out of mercy, but curiosity.

Training began immediately. Grueling. Merciless. Children died. Only the unbreakable survived.

Kairos didn't just survive.

He *excelled*.

By age sixteen, he had surpassed every benchmark. Mastery over every weapon, unmatched hand-to-hand combat, a mind sharp enough to outmaneuver commanders twice his age. He was not merely trained—he was forged.

And it was power that made the world pay attention.

---

By the age of twenty-one, *Kairos Vaelen* became the youngest commander in the Obsidian Order's history. Not by lineage or politics—but by blood-earned respect.

His name became legend on the battlefield. They called him the *Ashborn General*—not just for the black armor he wore, but because wherever he fought, only ashes remained.

His strategy was flawless. His soldiers followed without question. Cities fell, rebellions crumbled, and even cursed beasts native to the wastelands fled at his presence. Some claimed he bore the blood of old gods. Others whispered he had bargained with spirits beneath the earth.

The truth was more human—and more dangerous.

*Kairos was hungry.*

Not for power.

For purpose.

Every victory felt empty. Every feast after a conquest—hollow. He served the kingdom, yes. But deep down, he felt like a sword being swung by unseen hands. And worse… he began to see the fear in the eyes of his peers.

They smiled, saluted, laughed at his side—but behind the masks were clenched jaws and envious hearts.

He had risen too far, too fast.

Even among the elite, Kairos stood alone.

And they hated that.

Small things began to change. Orders delayed. Misinformation spreading. Ambushes "accidentally" unreported. His closest squadmates began dying in ways that didn't add up. The chain of command twisted. Trust frayed.

Then came the *Blackspire Campaign*.

An assignment too risky, too vague—leading a lone division into cursed ruins long sealed by royal decree.

Kairos sensed it.

But orders were orders.

And betrayal… was already in motion.

---

The campfire crackled softly, its orange glow dancing over Kairos's face. For a moment, the weight of the endless battles seemed to lift. He grinned and nudged Jalen. "Remember that time I slipped in the swamp and almost took us all down?"

Jalen chuckled, shaking his head. "Yeah, your legendary warrior status took a hit that day."

Lyria laughed gently, eyes warm. "You've grown a lot since then. We all have."

Kairos looked around at the team — the people he had bled with, laughed with, survived with. "We make it through because we have each other's backs."

But then Darin's gaze cut through the warmth like a cold wind. His eyes narrowed slightly as he muttered, "Trust isn't given—it's earned."

Kairos met his look, steady and unflinching. "We've got a battle to fight tomorrow. Let's keep our focus."

Darin's lips curled into a faint, unreadable smile. "Focus, huh? We'll see."

The night grew quiet again, the tension thick but unspoken.

---

Kairos tightened his grip on his sword as the campfire flickered weakly in the night. Around him, the men he once called brothers exchanged glances—whispers curling like smoke in the cold air. Something was wrong. He could feel it in the silence that pressed in too heavily.

"Kairos," said Darin, stepping forward with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "We need to talk."

One by one, his closest allies emerged from the shadows—faces once familiar now hardened with betrayal. They circled him like predators closing in on wounded prey.

"Thought you were the strongest," sneered Kaelen, cracking his knuckles. "But we always knew you'd crumble when it counted."

Kairos's heart thundered, confusion spiraling into rage. "What is this? Why—?"

Darin's smile twisted cruelly. "You're a liability. The commanders don't want you alive anymore. We're just the messengers."

Before Kairos could react, blades flashed in the firelight. He dodged the first strike, but there were too many. They attacked with precision, a coordinated assault born from weeks of secret plotting.

He fought fiercely, each movement a desperate struggle against those who once fought beside him. His sword sang as it clashed against theirs, but the numbers were overwhelming.

Kaelen's boot slammed into Kairos's side, knocking the breath from his lungs. He fell hard onto the rocky ground, pain blossoming through his body like wildfire.

"We trusted you," hissed Mira, her eyes cold as ice. "And this is how you repay us?"

Kairos gasped for air, struggling to rise, but they pressed their advantage. Laughter rang out around him—mocking, triumphant.

"You're finished, Kairos," Darin whispered in his ear as the world darkened. "Goodbye, friend."

His vision blurred, and as the cold took him, all he could hear was their laughter echoing in the night—a haunting reminder of a brotherhood shattered by betrayal.

---

Kairos's vision swam with pain. The cold ground bit into his skin, rough and unforgiving. Every breath was a jagged shard stabbing through his chest, every movement a battle against the spreading darkness at the edges of his sight.

His sword lay just out of reach, gleaming faintly under the bloodied moonlight—a symbol of the power and honor slipping through his fingers.

He tried to push himself up, desperate to fight, to survive. But heavy boots pressed him back down, and cold steel kissed his throat.

Darin's voice cut through the chaos, low and chilling. "You were never meant to win, Kairos. This world doesn't need heroes. It needs survivors—ones who play dirty."

Tears burned in Kairos's eyes—not from pain, but from the unbearable sting of betrayal. These were the men he trusted most, the brothers who had shared every battle, every scar.

Kaelen leaned close, breath hot against his ear. "Remember this moment. Remember who turned their backs."

Kairos's fingers twitched, reaching for the hilt of his sword one last time. The memories of their camaraderie flooded his mind—laughter by the campfire, promises of glory, unbreakable bonds.

But those memories were chains now, weighing him down as his enemies tightened their grip.

A sharp pain blossomed in his chest as Mira's blade pressed harder, cold and merciless.

His breath hitched.

In that moment he spoke weakly, "I will have my revenge".

The stars above blurred, as if the heavens themselves wept for him.

And then—darkness.

---

The memory faded like smoke curling into the cold air, leaving Draziel's heart pounding. His past life as Kairos — the bonds, the betrayal — burned within him, fueling a fire that refused to die.

Yet, here he was, standing on the edge of oblivion, facing the monstrous shadow that lunged toward him with primal fury. His breath quickened. Time slowed. The roar of the beast filled the clearing, but so did the echo of laughter — cold, cruel, the laughter of those who had condemned him to death.

Draziel clenched his fists, feeling the surge of his new power pulse beneath his skin. This was not the end. It could never be the end.

The monster's claws swiped with terrifying speed. He dodged, muscles coiling like steel springs, eyes burning with a mix of pain and determination. Every strike, every movement, carried the weight of his past — and the hope for revenge reborn.

---

The memory faded like smoke curling into the cold air, leaving Draziel's heart pounding. His past life as Kairos — the bonds, the betrayal — burned within him, fueling a fire that refused to die.

The monstrous shadow lunged again, claws slicing through the air. But this time, Draziel was ready. The surge of his awakened power coursed through his veins like molten steel, steadying his breath and sharpening his senses.

With a swift, calculated move, he sidestepped the beast's strike, then unleashed a devastating blow. The force of his power cracked the ground beneath them. The monster let out a furious roar as it stumbled back, wounded and weakened.

Draziel's eyes glowed with determination. He pressed forward, relentless, every strike precise and fierce. The creature finally collapsed, defeated.

As silence fell, Draziel stood over the fallen beast, chest heaving, the taste of victory bittersweet but undeniable. He had won this battle — but the war for justice and revenge was only just beginning.

---

More Chapters