The wind howled through the forest clearing as two figures clashed.
Kael's staff cracked against Arath's with the force of a storm. Sparks of wind and light burst with every strike. The boy was no longer a boy. Ten years of relentless training had forged him into a warrior. At twenty, he stood tall, shoulders broad, muscles corded with strength, and eyes sharp with focus. His sorcery flowed as easily as breath.
Arath the Cloud moved with deceptive calm, his staff weaving like mist. His clouded eyes tracked every motion. When Kael tried to break his defense with brute force, the old seer countered with a strike that sent him stumbling.
"You've mastered your mother's gift," Arath said, voice steady. "The winds answer you. Your speed, your strength, your mind, all sharpened. You've even chained the demon within." He paused, staff leveled. "But tell me, Kael… when the day comes, will you know when to unleash it?"
Kael's chest heaved. "If I lose control, I become the very thing I swore to destroy."
Arath's lips curved faintly. "Perhaps. Or perhaps it is the only thing that can destroy the darkness ahead."
Before Kael could answer, a villager burst from the tree line. His tunic was soaked in blood, his face pale with terror. "Help us!" he cried. "The vampires… they've come again!"
Arath turned to Kael. His staff lowered. "Your first hunt."
The village was fire and ruin. Screams tore through the night as vampires descended upon the huts, their eyes glowing crimson. The smell of blood choked the air.
Kael felt his heart pound, memories of his family's capture searing into his mind. But he was not helpless anymore.
With a roar, he charged.
Wind blades screamed from his hands, slicing through the first pair of vampires. His speed blurred him into shadows, his fists cracking bones with inhuman strength. Villagers gasped, some in awe, some in fear.
Arath moved with him, his staff glowing as sorcery blasted back the enemy.
Then came the vampire warlord, massive, armored in bone, eyes like burning pits. It leapt at Kael with monstrous speed. Their clash shook the earth.
Kael fought with everything he had. Winds tore roofs apart, fists shattered stone. But the warlord's strength was endless. It sank its fangs into his shoulder, claws ripping his skin. Kael's blood boiled. His vision reddened. The demon within stirred.
His eyes flared crimson. For an instant, claws sprouted from his hands. The warlord recoiled at the sudden surge of fury.
"No…" Kael growled, forcing the demon back. His hands glowed, not with shadow, but with roaring winds. "I fight as myself."
With a final strike, he unleashed a hurricane slash that ripped the warlord in two. The beast disintegrated into ash.
Silence fell. Then sobs and cheers from the survivors.
"You saved us," a villager whispered. But his eyes carried fear — Kael looked too much like a demon.
By dawn, the battle was over. Villagers mourned their dead, burying them in silence. Kael stood among the graves, bloodied, his hands trembling. Arath placed a hand on his shoulder.
"You see now," the old seer said. "To save this world, you will have to spill rivers of blood."
Before Kael could reply, figures emerged from the smoke. Masked fighters, armor pieced together from scraps, red scarves tied around their arms. Their leader, a scarred man with a soldier's bearing, stepped forward.
"I am Captain Darius Vale," he said. "We are the Rebellion."
The villagers froze. To fight Malakar was expected. But to defy the Holy Land? That was unthinkable.
Darius's eyes narrowed on Kael. "You fight with strength, boy. But know this, the Holy Land is no savior. Its lords grow fat in their towers while villages burn. We fight them as we fight Malakar."
Kael frowned. "So, you fight everyone?"
Darius smirked. "We fight for the people. One day, you will have to choose with us, or against us."
And just like that, the rebels vanished into the forest.
Days later, Kael and Arath set out on a longer path to the city of No Laws, where Arath's old companions waited.
The journey was grim. They passed burned villages, starving refugees, and corpses rotting by the roadside. Once, they watched as Holy Land soldiers extorted peasants for coin, beating them when they could not pay. Arath's silence was heavy, Kael's fury barely contained.
No Laws was worse.
The city was chaos made flesh. Streets ran with blood. Corpses lay forgotten in gutters. Criminals walked openly with blades, mercenaries dueled in the squares, and gamblers fought over scraps. It was a kingdom without a crown, only strength.
"Welcome to the heart of man without chains," Arath murmured.
In a filthy tavern, Kael and Arath found trouble quickly. A gang of criminals mocked Kael, sneering at his youth. Kael warned them once. They laughed. Then he moved a blur of fists and wind. In seconds, bodies sprawled across the floor, groaning in pain. The tavern went silent.
That was when Arath's allies appeared.
From the shadows stepped Elandor, silver-haired elf swordsman; Thrain Stonefist, scarred dwarf warrior; and Mira of the Veil, exiled sorceress wrapped in shifting shadows.
"Old friends," Arath greeted softly. "The Cloud has returned."
They embraced briefly, then their eyes turned to Kael.
"The boy?" Thrain spat. "He reeks of demon."
"He carries the prophecy," Arath replied.
Mira's eyes glowed faintly purple. "Or he carries our doom."
Kael clenched his fists. "I am not my blood. I am my will."
Elandor said nothing, but his gaze lingered on Kael longer than the others.
Their reunion was cut short when wolves howled outside. The tavern shook as Malakar's agents descended, corrupted wolves and vampires bursting in. The battle spilled into the streets.
Kael fought side by side with Arath and the allies. Wind magic slashed vampires to ash. Elandor's blades danced. Thrain's hammer crushed skulls. Mira's shadow magic blinded enemies. Together, they left the streets slick with blood.
When it was over, Elandor finally spoke. "Perhaps the prophecy lives."
With allies reunited, the group set out toward the Holy Land.
The journey revealed a broken world. Villages starved while nobles feasted. Elves hid in their forests, ambushing both vampires and men. Giants stood like statues in the mountains, unmoving but watching. Dwarves fought endless wars beneath the earth, unseen and unremembered.
And humans? They clawed at survival, caught between demons, vampires, wolves, and their own corrupt rulers.
"The world is rotting," Kael muttered.
Arath's voice was low. "And you are the knife that will cut it open."
At last, the Holy Land rose before them, walls of white stone, towers glittering with magic. From afar, it was paradise. Up close, it was rot-painted gold.
At the gates, Kael saw beggars starve while nobles rode past in silks. Soldiers extorted travelers for coin before allowing them through.
Inside, the council chambers gleamed with opulence. Arath and his allies stood before the ruling sorcerer lords.
High Lord Cassian's eyes narrowed as he studied Kael. "So, this is the child of the prophecy. The boy who carries both our salvation and our destruction."
Kael stiffened. The guards shifted, spears lowering.
Another councilor whispered, "The boy is too dangerous. He must never leave these walls alive."
Arath's hand tightened on his staff. Kael's eyes glowed faint red as the air thickened around him.
He realized then the Holy Land was no salvation. It was a gilded prison.
And the trap had already closed.