The capital of Dreadmoor knelt beneath stormclouds, the black spires of the palace clawing at the heavens like fingers reaching to strangle the gods.
Within the throne room, the air pulsed—thick with mana and memory. Shadows slithered across stone pillars, and the scent of iron and incense hung heavy. At the heart of it all sat Kael Veylor, the Dread King.
His obsidian armor hissed with steam as droplets of rain slid down his cape. The Crown of Thorns rested on his brow, blood still fresh from where it dug into his skin. His cursed eyes—the Veilborn Gaze—glowed faintly, swirling with gravity magic and ancient runes.
He sat in silence, fingers steepled, as reports were delivered. Another border incursion. Another Holy Knight burned to ash.
"Have them buried," he said. "With dignity. They died for a kingdom that never saw them as more than weapons."
A ripple of tension passed through the chamber. Even his generals—his Thorns—weren't used to that softness in his voice.
A low growl cut through the silence.
From the side stepped two figures—tall, wolf-like, elegant and lethal. Luna and Eclipse, the twin wolf demons, padded forward in unison. Clad in black and silver war garb, their eyes glowed—Luna's like moonlight, Eclipse's like shadow.
"They sent a Sword Saint this time," Luna said, voice like silk drawn across steel.
"He fell," Eclipse added, licking blood from his claw. "Quickly."
Kael stood. The weight of his mana crashed over the room like an ocean.
"The Holy Kingdom grows bold. My father hides behind his saints and his summoned heroes, but he forgets—" He raised a hand, gravity distorting around it. "—what I've become."
A silence. Then a scream outside the hall.
A servant burst in, breathless, eyes wide. "Sire! A meeting of the world powers… it's being held at Ironveil Keep. They're discussing your kingdom. Whether you should be destroyed."
Kael's smirk didn't reach his eyes. "Let's not keep them waiting."
The hall at Ironveil Keep was forged from celestial steel and divine crystal, meant to withstand the weight of history. But it quivered now—under his presence.
Kael entered the chamber like a god walking through ash. Shadows peeled from the walls. His Thorns flanked him—silent, deadly. Luna stood to his right, elegant and feral. Eclipse to his left, his gaze burning like a dying star.
Conversations died. Spines stiffened.
At the head of the table sat not the king.
But her.
A woman of regal poise and moonlight hair. Cold eyes. Older than him, yet unmistakably familiar.
Princess Seraphine Veylor, firstborn daughter of the man who abandoned him.
Beside her—
A girl with silver eyes, younger. Strong aura. Her blade hummed at her hip.
Lyra Veylor. The Sword Saint prodigy.
His little sister.
He stopped before them, each footstep a quiet thunder.
"You summoned the Dread King," he said. "You have his attention."
Seraphine stood, trying not to flinch beneath his gaze. "This council seeks peace."
Kael's smile was a dagger in velvet. "Peace was an option. Before your father sold me like cattle. Before my mother wept blood into the gutters. You don't want peace."
He leaned forward, cursed eyes glowing.
"You want to survive me."
And Kael Veylor had never been interested in mercy.