Chapter 4
The acrid scent of charred flesh lingered in the air, mingling with the metallic tang of blood. Draziel stood amidst the smoldering remains of the beast, his chest heaving, each breath a testament to the battle's toll. The forest, once alive with nocturnal whispers, now held its breath, silenced by the raw display of power.
Shadows danced around him, not cast by any light but emanating from his very being. The Umbracurse pulsed rhythmically, intertwining with the Embersoul flames that flickered along his arms. This fusion of darkness and fire was unfamiliar, yet it felt innately his.
He glanced at his reflection in a nearby pool, the water's surface trembling. Gone was the visage of Kairos; in its place stood Draziel, eyes glowing with an otherworldly hue, a scar tracing down his left cheek—a memento from a past life.
Memories surged: Darin's betrayal, Kaelen's mocking laughter, Mira's silent withdrawal. Each recollection was a blade, cutting deeper than any physical wound.
A sudden rustle snapped him back. From the treeline, a group of scavengers emerged, drawn by the commotion. Their eyes widened at the sight of the fallen beast and the enigmatic figure standing over it.
"Who... what are you?" one stammered.
Draziel turned slowly, his gaze piercing. "Just a shadow of the past," he murmured.
Without warning, the shadows around him surged, forming tendrils that reached out, causing the scavengers to flee in terror.
High above, in the Dominion's observatory, Seer Alaric's eyes snapped open. The ancient runes on the walls glowed ominously.
"The Ash-Born has awakened," he whispered, a mix of awe and dread in his voice.
Back in the forest, Draziel stood alone, the weight of his rebirth pressing heavily upon him. He knew his journey was just beginning. The path ahead was shrouded in darkness, but he would walk it, driven by vengeance and the hope of redemption.
---
Draziel Vale's body throbbed with the aftermath of battle, the cold night air biting through his tattered clothes. Yet beneath the fatigue, something deep within stirred—a flicker of power awakening, fueled by rage and the unquenched thirst for vengeance.
The ruins around him whispered forgotten secrets, shadows dancing as if alive. Memories of betrayal clawed at his mind, each name a jagged thorn: Darin, Jalen, Mira, Kaelen, Lyria. They had thought him dead, buried beneath their treachery.
But death had only forged him anew.
As the moonlight bathed his figure, Draziel's eyes glowed faintly—an ominous sign of the dormant dominion awakening inside. He flexed his fingers, sensing the raw energy pulsing beneath his skin. This was no longer the man who fell betrayed; this was something else. Something dangerous.
He moved silently through the ruins, every step a vow. The world had forgotten him—but he had not forgotten himself. Each heartbeat thudded with renewed purpose. He would hunt them all.
But first, he needed to understand the extent of his newfound powers.
The night seemed endless, but within it, a plan began to form.
---
The cold night air wrapped around Draziel like a shroud, sharp against his skin, yet it was a welcome contrast to the burning rage simmering beneath his chest. The ruins stretched endlessly before him—crumbling stones half-swallowed by creeping vines, fractured columns reaching skyward like broken fingers grasping at the moonlit sky.
He paused, every breath shallow, his eyes scanning the desolation with a predator's precision. This place, once the heart of his fallen world, now echoed with silence, a silence that felt like betrayal itself. But Draziel did not belong to silence anymore.
A faint pulse thrummed beneath his skin—deep, primordial, whispering secrets of power long dormant. His fingers twitched involuntarily, as if recalling a forgotten dance. Memories flickered in his mind—battles fought, comrades lost, and the sting of betrayal. Names burned in his thoughts: Darin, Jalen, Mira, Kaelen, Lyria. The faces of those who had left him to die, laughing as they dealt the final blow.
He clenched his fists. "They think I'm gone," he muttered, voice low and harsh, "but I am far from finished."
The moon hung high, silver light cascading over his form. The darkness did not frighten him. Instead, it felt like an ally, a veil behind which he could gather strength.
Draziel's breath slowed, his mind reaching inward to that strange energy simmering beneath the surface—his dominion, a power both mysterious and terrifying. A faint glow began to emanate from his palms, wisps of shadow and flame weaving together in a delicate, deadly dance.
He raised his hand slowly, watching the energy pulse and ripple like a living thing. The sensation was intoxicating, a heady mix of control and wild unpredictability. This power was a part of him now—an extension of his will.
Yet, it was also a reminder. A reminder that he was no longer Kairos, the betrayed warrior who had fallen in the pit of treachery. He was Draziel Vale—a name forged in fire and shadow.
His thoughts drifted to the faces of his betrayers again. Darin's cold smile. Jalen's calculating gaze. Mira's deceptive kindness. Kaelen's cruelty. Lyria's silent betrayal.
"They will pay," he whispered, voice thick with venom.
But vengeance required more than rage. It demanded patience, cunning, and strength.
Moving silently through the ruins, Draziel's eyes caught movement—shadows shifting just beyond sight. His senses sharpened, every muscle coiled like a spring. The power within him surged, responding to his growing resolve.
The night stretched on, endless and unforgiving. But so was he.
As the first light of dawn teased the horizon, Draziel found a vantage point atop a shattered pillar. From here, he could see the distant spires of the city where his journey had begun—and where it would end.
He closed his eyes, letting the energy flow through him, grounding him in this new existence.
One thing was clear: the world had forgotten him, but he would not forget. Not the betrayal. Not the pain. And certainly not the debt owed.
The hunt had begun.
---
The wind carried more than just the cold—it whispered names from a life lost. Draziel sat on the edge of a collapsed archway, a jagged reminder of forgotten battles. Below, the forest trembled with life, though none dared approach the ruins. They sensed something was reborn here—something cursed.
His mind drifted unwillingly.
Back then, he would've charged into a battlefield with reckless resolve, his blade singing through flesh and flame. But now? Now, the fire within him was colder. More calculated. Rage had crystallized into something harder, quieter—vengeance, not passion.
He exhaled slowly, watching his breath coil into the twilight. The body he now possessed—young, lean, and deceptively agile—was not his own, yet it carried his soul. His past memories were etched into every movement, every reflex.
The Dominion within him stirred again, stronger this time. A subtle hum threaded through his bones, coalescing at his core. Not just power—but hunger.
"What *are* you?" he murmured, staring at the ethereal wisps coiling from his fingertips.
The shadows responded, pulsing as if pleased by his curiosity. In time, he would master it. In time, they would all fear it.
He stood, brushing dust from his cloak—one he had stitched from scavenged rags, dyed dark by the forest's inkberries. It wasn't armor, but it did well to hide his presence. He wouldn't be storming cities. Not yet. First, he needed strength. Allies. And understanding.
But he would begin where the trail was freshest.
*Jalen*.
The strategist. The planner. The man who likely orchestrated it all.
He still remembered Jalen's words, spoken softly after Kairos fell. *"He was too powerful to be trusted."*
Draziel's jaw tightened. "You'll see what power untrusted feels like."
He left the ruins before the sun crested the hills, moving through the thick woodland like a shade. Birds fell silent as he passed. He drank from chilled streams and hunted with makeshift blades. Every moment tested him. Every moment honed him.
And each night, the Dominion whispered louder.
On the fifth night, it changed.
As he meditated beneath the twisted roots of an ancient tree, pain lanced through his chest. He gasped, doubling over. The shadows around him recoiled—then surged. Symbols etched themselves along his arms—burning, ancient glyphs of a forgotten tongue.
His heartbeat stilled.
Time slowed.
The darkness gathered into a single voice.
*"You are not merely reborn… You are chosen."*
And then—nothing.
When he awoke, the roots around him had withered. The tree's bark had turned black.
He rose, the pain gone, the Dominion settled. Something had unlocked, and though he didn't yet understand it, he knew what it meant.
His path would not be one of mercy.
—