The battlefield was silent.
Smoke curled like ghostly fingers above the scorched fields. Cracked armor and broken banners littered the ground, mixing with the blood of kings and the cries of the fallen. And in the center, surrounded by ruin and fire, stood Kael, the Dread King.
Victory tasted like ash on his tongue.
He held Lyra in his arms, her blood staining his cloak—bright crimson against black. Her breathing was shallow, her lips pale. She had taken the blade meant for him, without hesitation, without fear.
"Lyra," he whispered, voice cracking.
Behind him, the Twelve Thorns stood in a protective circle. Eclipse knelt beside him, weaving healing magic with trembling hands. Luna stood at her brother's back, her eyes scanning the field with a fury barely leashed.
"She'll live," Eclipse said softly. "But not without scars."
Kael didn't respond. He looked at the wound again. Then at his father's broken form in the dirt—defeated, weaponless, a monster who had fallen to his knees, and still tried to strike with cowardice.
That was the man Lyra had once called father.
Kael had left him alive… but only barely. And now, the weight of that mercy threatened to crush him.
The sound of footsteps broke the silence.
A golden light shimmered in the air as a portal opened at the far end of the ruined plains. Cloaked figures stepped through—seven in all. Radiant. Proud. Righteous.
The Heroes of Velharys.
Each one radiated immense power, and with them came an army of soldiers clad in polished white and gold. Too late for battle. Too late for war.
The first to speak was a tall man with shining blond hair and a voice like steel.
"I am Aelric Dawnbringer, Paladin of the Flame and First Sword of Velharys. We came to stop the slaughter."
Kael didn't even look up. "Then you should've moved faster."
Aelric narrowed his eyes. "You've defied every known law of peace. Waged war against the humans. Slaughtered nobles. Overthrew a Demon Lord. The world must answer to this chaos."
Another hero stepped forward, her presence colder than the wind. Her silver cloak shimmered, and her voice dripped with arrogance.
Seris Vale, the Frost Warden.
"If you refuse to comply, Kael of Dreadhold… you will be labeled an enemy of the world. A threat to be erased."
The next breath didn't come.
In a blink of motion too fast for most to see, Kael vanished from his position and appeared just behind Seris. One arm still holding Lyra, the other glowing faintly with restrained magic.
His voice was low, like a blade dragging across ice.
"Then label me."
Seris froze, every instinct in her screaming. She reached for her sword—but didn't move. She felt it. A whisper of death brushing her skin. A presence like gravity crushing her spirit.
Behind her, Kael's cursed eye flickered beneath his hood.
Another hero, a younger man with a spear and fiery hair—Cassien Wildflare—looked Kael in the eye.
And for a heartbeat, the world twisted.
He saw himself split down the middle. His vision blurred, his heart stopped, and phantom pain screamed through his body as if Kael had already cut him in half. The illusion faded in a blink, but his knees buckled.
Cassien dropped to the ground, gasping.
Kael's voice echoed like thunder in a dead storm.
"You may have come as heroes... but if you threaten what's mine again—there will be no war. Only a massacre."
Silence.
Even Aelric took a cautious step back.
Kael gently turned away and returned to his position at the center of the field. Luna and Eclipse moved in beside him once more, expressions unreadable.
"I am not your enemy," Kael said. "But if you wish to make me one… I won't hesitate."
The heroes said nothing.
Behind them, their soldiers watched in stunned silence. None dared take a step forward.
That night, the Dread King's camp was quiet. Tense.
Kael sat outside Lyra's tent, watching the stars as the wind tugged at his bloodied cloak.
Valdran approached, arms folded. "You should rest."
"She shouldn't have taken that blow," Kael said.
"She did. That means she chose you."
Kael nodded slowly. "And I'll protect her. Even if it means war again."
Behind them, hidden in the shadows, a Thorn watched—his face unreadable, his loyalties unclear.
And in the far reaches of the ruined lands… something ancient stirred beneath the earth. Eyes opened in the dark. The curse that once shaped Kael was only a fragment of what slumbered below.
As the Heroes falter and thrones crumble, the Dread King's shadow grows. But power breeds enemies, and in silence… betrayal begins to bloom.