Stone. Cold, broken stone beneath his back.Ash in the air.And blood. So much blood.
Kael opened his eyes.
The world above was cracked—arches split, ceilings torn apart. Moonlight filtered through ruined marble, slicing the darkness into slivers. He lay at the center of it, half-buried in rubble, drenched in something sticky and black-red.
He didn't remember his name.
Didn't know where he was.
But the hunger—he knew that.
It gnawed at him. Deeper than the stomach, deeper than the bone. It was in his marrow, in the cracks of his soul, screaming silently. It wasn't just thirst. It was need.
He sat up.
The room around him—no, not a room, a temple—was littered with bodies. Torn, twisted. Some looked human. Others did not.
His fingers brushed the floor. Dust. Glass. A piece of bone.
He looked down at his hands. Pale, veined. Clawed.Not human either.
Footsteps echoed in his head. Not real ones. Echoes of memories he didn't have.
He rose. His limbs obeyed, but stiffly—like they hadn't moved in centuries.Something shifted behind his ribs. Breathing, but not breath. A pulse.
"Kael..."
The name wasn't spoken. It bled into his mind, like a drop of ink in water.He flinched.
He looked toward the altar. A throne sat there—made of obsidian and bone, cracked down the middle. Burned symbols ran across its surface, pulsing faintly red. It called to him.
"Kael…"
He didn't answer. But his body moved.
Step by step, he approached. The hunger grew sharper, pulling him forward like a hook in his spine.
He passed a mirror—shattered. What remained of his reflection showed red eyes and black veins crawling up his neck. For a heartbeat, he saw something else behind him in the glass. Something tall. Thin. Watching.
He turned. Nothing.
But the air changed. Thickened.
Then the sound came. Not a scream. A whimper. Behind a pillar.
Kael moved before thinking. Fast. Quiet. A predator.
A man lay there. Barely alive. Armor broken. Inquisitorial insignia on his chest—burned, but visible.
He tried to speak. Blood bubbled in his throat.
Kael stared at him. The scent hit him like a storm—iron, warmth, life. The hunger roared.
He kneeled.
"Please…" the man whispered.
Kael didn't know why. But something inside him said: You don't beg a god to be merciful. You pray he chooses someone else to burn.
He sank his teeth into the man's neck.
Fire.
It wasn't blood. Not to Kael. It was fire, cold and perfect and pure. His mind burned. Memories flickered—chains, chanting, a blade of sunlight—then vanished. He drank deeper.
When he pulled away, the man was a husk.
Kael wiped his mouth.
His mind cleared, slightly. His name echoed again, stronger now.Kael Duskveil.
It fit like an old coat. Heavy. Familiar.
But before he could breathe, he felt it again.
A presence.
Behind the veil of the world. Watching. Still.
The shadows twisted near the throne.
A whisper came—not in words. In hunger.
Kael turned slowly, fists clenched. Eyes glowing dim red.
From the shattered doorway came the sound of steel boots.
Voices. Human. Armed. Closing in.
"Inquisitorial sweep," one said. "They said no survivors. Kill everything."
Kael exhaled.
The hunger smiled.