The ruins breathed dust and silence.
Every step Kael took echoed faintly through the hollow corridors — remnants of a structure that had once been alive with power. Stone arches cracked under centuries of decay, their carvings half-consumed by vines and soot. Strange, pale lights shimmered faintly in the walls, flickering like trapped souls.
Elara moved beside him, fingers tracing the air as faint magic pulsed from her palm, illuminating faint symbols etched into the floor.
"This wasn't just a fort," she murmured. "These runes… they're containment sigils. Old, dangerous ones. Whatever the Syndicate built here wasn't meant to be found again."
Kael crouched near a broken console of brass and glass. He brushed away dust, revealing a crest burned into the surface — an emblem of intertwined wings and an eye.
"The Raven Division," he said quietly.
Elara's jaw tightened. "So the Syndicate was here first."
He didn't answer. His hand hovered over the emblem, tracing its cold edges. A faint hum met his touch — a ghostly vibration, alive beneath the ruin.
Then the walls stirred.
A distant clang echoed through the corridor, deep and hollow. A whisper followed — not words, but something heavier, older. Kael's instincts flared. He rose instantly, drawing his twin daggers.
"Elara," he said, voice low.
"I feel it too."
They turned as one toward the sound. The air had grown colder. The faint shimmer of light dimmed as though swallowed by something unseen.
And then — footsteps.
Measured, deliberate. Slow.
From the shadowed archway ahead, a tall figure emerged, cloaked in gray and silver, armor faintly gleaming under Elara's spelllight. His presence seemed to pull the air inward. Even the ruins seemed to bow around him.
The Blade of Silence.
He stopped several paces away, sword resting against one shoulder. Rain still clung to the folds of his cloak, and beneath the helm, two faint lines of violet light burned like patient fire.
Kael felt his throat tighten. Every instinct screamed danger — not the kind that could be outrun or outthought, but the kind that erased everything it touched.
Elara's fingers twitched, summoning faint arcs of lightning. "Who are you?"
The Blade's voice, when it came, was low — calm, yet carrying weight like thunder.
"Names are for the living. You may call me what the Syndicate does."
"And what's that?" Kael asked.
He raised his sword. The runes along the blade ignited faintly.
"Their silence."
The air cracked.
Kael barely moved before the world turned white — a flash of motion, the clash of metal, and he was flung backward as his daggers met impossible force. The Blade had crossed the distance in an instant.
Elara cried out, hurling lightning — the strike hit squarely, flaring across his armor. But the man didn't fall. He stepped through it, the magic crawling across him like water over stone.
He swung once. The shockwave shattered a wall.
Kael rolled, coming to his feet with a snarl. His shoulder burned, the impact numbing half his arm. "Elara—stay back!"
"Not a chance!"
She raised both hands, channeling raw energy through her palms. The air vibrated, her hair lifting as a surge of power lit the room. Sigils on the floor flared in answer — dormant magic reawakening.
"By the chains of Aster, bind!"
A ring of blue fire spiraled upward, trapping the Blade momentarily. The runes tightened like claws around him — ancient containment wards snapping shut.
For a moment, it held.
The Blade looked down at the glowing lines around his feet. His voice was almost amused.
"You've studied well, girl."
Then the runes dimmed — one by one. His sword glowed, absorbing their light, feeding on their power until the circle broke with a sound like a scream.
Elara staggered back, gasping. "No—"
Kael was already there, striking fast. Daggers blurred, slicing at joints and gaps in the armor. He moved like a shadow — silent, trained, precise — every strike meant to kill.
The Blade blocked each blow effortlessly. Not with grace, but inevitability — like he had fought this fight a hundred times before.
Kael ducked a swing and countered, the blades scraping against metal. Sparks flared, then died. He pivoted, drove his knee into the man's side — nothing. The impact barely moved him.
The Blade's gauntlet closed around Kael's wrist, twisting. Pain flared white-hot.
"You fight well," he said, almost gently. "Your master taught you to kill without hesitation."
Kael gritted his teeth, forcing himself free. "Then you'll understand when I don't stop."
He drove a dagger toward the man's neck — but the Blade shifted, catching it in two fingers. A hum pulsed through the weapon, and the steel cracked.
Kael froze. His blade — shattered.
The Blade leaned closer. Beneath the helm, faint lines of light moved — like runes alive beneath his skin. "You don't even know what you are."
Before Kael could react, the man struck — not with the sword, but with his hand. The force sent Kael crashing into a broken pillar, the impact ripping the breath from his lungs.
"Kael!" Elara screamed, running forward — her magic flared again, a shockwave of wind and light bursting from her palm. The force slammed into the Blade, throwing up dust and flame.
For a heartbeat, she thought it worked.
Then he stepped through the haze. His armor smoked, but he walked unharmed. "You shouldn't have come here."
Elara summoned another spell — but before she could release it, the Blade was gone from sight. A heartbeat later, a steel hand closed around her throat.
Her spell died mid-breath.
He lifted her effortlessly, his sword angled toward her chest. "They told me to kill you both. But she had your eyes."
Elara's fingers trembled, sparks dancing weakly across her skin. "Who—who are you talking about?"
The man's voice faltered for the first time. "Someone who believed in storms that cleanse, not destroy."
Kael struggled to rise, pain stabbing through his ribs. His head rang. He could barely breathe, but his eyes burned with defiance. "Let her go!"
The Blade turned his gaze to him. "You should not exist."
"Then finish it." Kael's hand gripped his last dagger, trembling. "If you think you can."
The Blade's grip tightened on Elara — then, for the briefest instant, loosened. His sword wavered.
"I—"
A distant hum echoed through the chamber — deep, steady, familiar. The faint shimmer of runes flickered to life behind Kael.
Elara's eyes widened. "Kael—behind you!"
The Blade froze. His head turned slightly — and the air split open.
A sphere of violet light expanded, runes spiraling around it like the beating of a heart. From the center, a figure stepped through the shimmer — calm, hooded, cloak glinting faintly with silver threads.
Master Ardyn.
His presence changed the air itself — heavier, sharper, like gravity bending around him.
Kael's knees almost gave out. "M–Master?"
Ardyn didn't look at him. His gaze was fixed on the Blade of Silence.
The two men stood in stillness, facing one another across the ruin — one bound by chains of oath, the other cloaked in calm command.
The Blade released Elara, letting her fall gently to the ground. His sword lowered an inch, uncertainty flickering behind the helm.
"Ardyn," he said at last, voice colder than before. "You shouldn't be here."
Ardyn's tone was quiet — almost kind. "And yet, here I am. Watching you hunt the wrong ghosts."
The Blade's fingers tightened around his sword. "he carries the mark. You know what that means."
"I know what it used to mean." Ardyn stepped forward once, light pooling at his feet. "But not what it does now. You've chosen the wrong target."
The Blade's head tilted slightly. "You speak as though you understand my chains."
Ardyn's voice hardened. "I forged some of them."
A tense silence filled the chamber. Even the air felt frozen, charged with invisible power. Elara pulled herself up beside Kael, both too stunned to speak.
The Blade finally raised his sword again. "Then you know this can't end with words."
"I wouldn't have it any other way," Ardyn said. His eyes flared faintly — the same deep violet as the storm outside.
The storm above the ruins roared, thunder shaking the ground.
And then — silence.
Three figures stood in the ruined hall — one master, one weapon, one heir — all bound by oaths, lies, and a past about to burn again.
The first strike hadn't yet fallen.
But the storm was already awake.