Night fell heavy over the northern plains of Logustus.
The wind carried with it the scent of rain and death.
And among the ashes of a ruined village, Marcus stood alone.
His boots sank into the mud where a home once stood. The fire was gone, but the air still glowed faintly red — as if the earth itself remembered the flames.
Marcus knelt beside the broken gate, brushing his hand across the ground. The soil was warm.
Too warm.
He frowned. "It wasn't a normal fire…"
Behind him, old Duncan, the blacksmith who'd once treated him like a son, limped through the wreckage carrying a lantern.
Duncan: "Aye. The air reeks of sulfur and magic."
Marcus looked back. "How far did the beasts come this time?"
Duncan: "Farther than before. This was no wild hunt — someone sent them."
Marcus rose to his feet, the black veins along his arm faintly glowing beneath his sleeve.
He clenched his fist to hide them.
Duncan's eyes narrowed. "You're changing again, aren't you, boy?"
Marcus turned away. "It's nothing."
Duncan grunted. "Nothing never bled like that."
Marcus didn't answer. His gaze wandered toward the mountains — black shapes under a bleeding sky.
Duncan sighed. "I've seen that look before. It's the same look your father had before he vanished."
Marcus turned sharply. "What do you mean?"
The old man shook his head. "You were a child then, but… your father wasn't taken by plague like your mother said. He went north. Said the blood was calling him. I followed for three days before losing his trail near the Vale of Chains."
Marcus froze.
"The Vale of… Chains?"
Duncan nodded slowly. "A cursed place, deep beneath the capital. Folk say it's where the first king sealed the monsters away — but the seals have been breaking for centuries."
Marcus's hand trembled. The same name — Chains.
It couldn't be coincidence.
Before he could speak, the ground rumbled. The lantern's flame wavered.
Duncan looked around. "What in hell—"
A low growl cut through the night.
From the forest's edge, eyes began to appear — dozens, then hundreds, glowing crimson.
Marcus stepped forward, drawing his blade. "Get behind me."
Duncan raised a trembling hand. "Boy… those aren't wolves."
The creatures emerged — twisted forms of fur and bone, their faces stretched, human and animal both. The scent of rot filled the air.
Marcus gritted his teeth. "Who did this to you…"
The first lunged. Marcus met it midair, his sword flashing black and red. The impact split the night — and when the creature fell, its body dissolved into ash.
Duncan whispered, "They… they vanish when you kill them?"
Marcus didn't answer. More came.
The battlefield turned into chaos — claws and steel, light and shadow. For every monster that fell, two more took its place. Marcus fought like a storm, his sword roaring with cursed fire.
And then—
One of the beasts spoke.
Its voice was broken, human-like.
"Marcus… you cannot fight yourself."
Marcus froze for half a heartbeat. The beast's face shifted — and for an instant, it looked like his own.
He roared, slicing it apart, but his heart trembled. His vision blurred. His reflection was everywhere — in the eyes of every monster.
Duncan shouted, "Marcus! They're coming from the forest! We have to fall back!"
Marcus stumbled. His veins burned. The air thickened, heavy with the taste of iron. He raised his sword again — and this time, when he struck, the flames didn't fade. They devoured everything.
When it was over, nothing remained.
Only silence. Only ash.
Marcus fell to his knees, breathing hard. His sword cracked, the black flame still licking its edge.
Duncan approached slowly. "You did what you had to do."
Marcus didn't look up.
"I killed them, Duncan. But they were… alive. They called my name."
The old blacksmith placed a hand on his shoulder. "Then maybe it's time you stopped running from what you are."
Marcus looked at his arm — the veins were spreading. "What I am… is cursed."
He stood, turning toward the horizon, where the faint glow of the capital painted the clouds gold.
Marcus: "If the answer lies beneath that city… I'll find it."
Elsewhere, in the capital.
Arnold stood in his quarters, staring at a sealed parchment he wasn't supposed to have.
He had stolen it from the council archives.
The seal was black wax, marked by the sigil of the wolf devouring the sun.
He hesitated only once before breaking it.
Inside was a single page — written in old tongue.
He could barely read the words, but one line burned into his mind:
"When the Blood of Veylen awakens, the world shall fracture once more."
Arnold whispered, "Veylen… our family name…"
He sat down heavily. "Marcus… what have they done to you?"
Far beneath the royal citadel, in the catacombs where light dared not reach, the Veil of Chains gathered again.
Their leader raised a silver chalice filled with dark liquid.
"The boy has begun to hear the whisper."
"Then the seal will not hold much longer."
"Good," another hissed. "Let the curse bloom. Let the monster wear the crown of men."
The chalice shattered, and the darkness around them pulsed — alive, hungry, waiting.
High above the capital, lightning split the clouds.
Marcus stared up from miles away, his heart pounding with the same rhythm as the storm.
He whispered,
"The world is changing. And I can feel it calling my name."
To be continued…