Dreadhold stood shrouded in an eerie silence, the sky above cloaked in unnatural red clouds. A rain of blood fell in slow, steady droplets, painting the obsidian stone of the fortress crimson. Soldiers stood at attention, their armor streaked with red, their faces drawn tight with tension and awe. The storm was not born of nature—it was an omen, a warning.
At the highest tower of Dreadhold, Lyra stood with the Twelve Thorns behind her, her obsidian armor glinting beneath the scarlet downpour. She no longer looked like the sheltered noble girl who had once been protected by the Dread King—she was steel now, forged by sorrow and battle.
Luna and Eclipse stood on either side of her, silent. Valdran, the Thorn of War, stepped forward, his blade sheathed at his side. He looked across the gathered Thorns—some bloodied, others exhausted, all battle-hardened.
"It has been an honor," Valdran said, voice low but firm, "to fight beside each of you. No matter what comes, Dreadhold does not fall alone."
There was no cheer, no proud nods. Only the heavy silence of warriors preparing for a siege.
Lyra looked around at them—these monsters, heroes, family. Her heart trembled, not from fear, but from the ache of knowing what they might soon lose.
"They're coming at dawn," she said. "And Kael… he's still out there."
A heavy gust of wind howled through the tower, and in the storm of red, a ripple formed in the air. The Thorns tensed, weapons half-drawn, until the ripple solidified into a figure.
Kael.
But not Kael as they knew him.
He stepped from the portal like a shadow carved from midnight—taller, cloaked in darkness, his body marked by gold-veined black lines that pulsed with ancient magic. His right eye wept blood, while the left held the cursed eye of N'therak, glowing like a dying sun. There was no warmth in his presence—only cold precision.
"Kael!" Lyra gasped, stepping forward.
He raised a hand—not threatening, but halting.
"I am here… not to stay," Kael said, his voice a strange mix of his own and something deeper. "The god within me made a vow. As long as I remain his vessel… you will be spared, Lyra."
Lyra's face twisted in sorrow. "That isn't you speaking. Please… fight it. Come back to us."
Kael's lips curled into something too pained to be called a smile. "I made a deal to keep you safe. That is all I can give now."
A surge of divine pressure flooded the tower, enough to make even the Thorns stagger. And then he turned, walking back toward the portal as if the world behind him no longer mattered.
Lyra tried to follow, but the portal closed in an instant, leaving nothing but a trail of blood where his feet had stood.
The storm above Dreadhold grew thicker. The ground trembled.
The war had truly begun.
And far above, hidden in the clouds, the god N'therak watched over it all through Kael's cursed eyes. His voice echoed like thunder only Lyra could hear.
"You should have let him go. Now he will break the world to keep you safe."