Morning broke cold and gray over the Ardentis stronghold.
The fortress-city was a monument to the clan's power, carved into the cliffs of the southern highlands.
Banners bearing the crimson crest of a blade wreathed in fire snapped against the wind. Every stone of the citadel whispered the clan's creed: strength is truth, and weakness is death.
For most, it was a place of honor. For Kael Ardentis, it was a prison he was being cast out of.
The great courtyard was already filled with clan members when Kael arrived. Warriors stood in orderly ranks, their swords gleaming, their expressions sharp and cold. Nobles sat in the galleries above, their fine cloaks fluttering as they looked down with disdain.
At the far end stood Darius Ardentis, the Sword Emperor himself. His presence was overwhelming, a mountain of a man whose aura seemed to press on the air like a crushing weight. Beside him were Kael's siblings—each one a prodigy, each one a reminder of what Kael could never be.
Kael walked forward slowly, feeling hundreds of eyes pierce him like blades. His footsteps echoed, too loud in the silence.
The decree had already been written. All that remained was to speak it aloud.
"Kael Ardentis," Darius said, his voice deep and unyielding. "You have failed to meet the standards of this clan. You lack the strength, the discipline, the will that defines our blood. Therefore, as patriarch, I strip you of the name Ardentis. From this moment, you are no longer of my blood. You are no longer my son."
The words struck harder than any sword.
Kael clenched his jaw, forcing himself not to flinch. His heart hammered, but outwardly, he stood still. The Kael of yesterday might have crumbled, might have begged for mercy. But last night had changed him.
I am no longer theirs to break.
Darius's gaze lingered on him, unreadable. "Leave this place. You will take nothing of our house with you. Should you ever return, it will not be as kin—but as enemy."
Gasps rippled through the onlookers. To be disowned was one thing. To be declared enemy of the clan was another.
Kael's siblings smirked, whispered, or stared in silent pity. His second brother, Talrik, let his lips curl in open contempt. "At last," he said just loud enough for Kael to hear, "the clan is rid of its shame."
Kael's fingers twitched toward the hilt of the practice sword belted at his side. For an instant, he imagined drawing it, striking Talrik across his smug face. But he knew what would follow. One move, and the courtyard would drown in his blood.
So instead, he lifted his chin. "If being your son means living as your shadow, then I would rather be cast out."
A ripple of whispers swept the courtyard. Few had expected him to answer back.
Darius's expression did not change. His eyes, however, flickered—just faintly, as if something unexpected had stirred in him. But his voice remained cold.
"Then go. You are no longer of us."
Kael walked out of the stronghold with nothing but the clothes on his back and the battered sword at his hip. The gates closed behind him with a thundering boom, sealing him away from the life he had known.
The road stretched before him, winding down from the cliffs into the wilderness beyond. Each step felt surreal, as though the ground itself were new beneath his feet. He was free, yes—but freedom had never felt so much like exile.
For hours, he walked. The sun rose high, then began its slow descent. Hunger gnawed at him. Doubt whispered in his mind.
What if Nytheris lied? What if nothing has changed?
At dusk, Kael collapsed beside a stream, staring at his reflection in the water. He half expected to see the same failure staring back—the boy too weak to lift his father's shadow.
Instead, the water rippled. The reflection's eyes gleamed faintly with darkness. Shadows pooled faintly at the edges of his form.
"You doubt me already?"
The voice of Nytheris curled from the trees like smoke. The shadows deepened, gathering into the familiar formless figure.
Kael sat up, startled but not afraid. "I was cast out. I have nothing. What am I supposed to do now?"
Nytheris's laughter was soft, chilling. "You have what you did not before—possibility. No longer bound by their chains, you may carve your own fate. Do you wish to learn how to wield the power I have given you?"
Kael swallowed, then nodded.
The god's form leaned closer, a towering silhouette against the fading light. "Good. Then you will begin. Your sword arm was weak because it clung to the path of the Ardentis. Cast away their forms, their drills, their hollow strength. The shadows have their own language. You must learn to listen."
The figure reached out, and Kael felt the air thicken, pressing on his chest. His own shadow twisted, rising from the ground like a living thing. It wrapped around his arm, his wrist, his sword.
He gasped as the blade in his hand darkened, its dull edge sharpening with a hiss. The weight shifted, balanced as though it had been forged for him alone.
"Wh-what is this…?"
"Your true weapon," Nytheris said. "The Ardentis taught you nothing but their creed of steel. But shadows can cut deeper than steel. They can reach where light never touches. With this, you will be what they cannot comprehend."
Kael raised the blade, the air around it humming with faint whispers. It felt alive in his grip. For the first time in his life, holding a sword did not feel wrong.
He slashed once at the air. The arc of shadow that followed cleaved a tree trunk cleanly in half. The cut was smooth, unnatural, as though the wood had been erased rather than broken.
Kael staggered back, wide-eyed. "I… I did that?"
Nytheris's voice was smooth, triumphant. "Yes. And this is only the beginning. The world has forgotten me. Through you, it will remember."
Kael stood still, his chest rising and falling. For years he had been nothing but a failure, mocked and discarded. Now, with a single stroke, he had cut down the weight of that past.
He looked toward the distant mountains, where the Ardentis stronghold lay hidden beyond the horizon. His exile had begun.
But in his heart, a fire burned.
He would not remain forgotten.
Someday, he would return—not as the weak son they cast aside, but as something greater. Something they could not control.
And when that day came, the world would know the name Kael Ardentis again.