The storm had passed, but the remnants of its fury still hung in the mist that coiled around Asael's Vigil. Kael stood on the edge of the hill overlooking the village, his crimson cloak billowing faintly as the morning breeze swept through. His eyes, shadowed with fatigue and thought, remained fixed on the iron-banded carriage arriving at the village gates.
Inside it: a prisoner. One of the kingdom's inquisitors, captured during a skirmish near the border of Eldrinthia. The Resistance believed he had answers about the recent massacres in the southern valleys—and more importantly, about the girl.
Kael turned as Lyara approached. Her presence was as steadying as the blood that coursed through his veins. Her hair, braided with tiny violet crystals, shimmered under the pale sun.
"The others are ready," she said.
He gave a nod. "Bring him to the sanctum."
The sanctum beneath the Vigil had changed. What was once a ceremonial shrine to the Forgotten God had now become Kael's private interrogation chamber. The old statues, draped in black cloth, watched silently as the inquisitor was dragged in—blindfolded, gagged, and bound.
The man bore the mark of House Virellan—known for psychological warfare, enchantment, and manipulation. His mind would be warded. But Kael had never relied on truth alone.
"Remove his gag," Kael ordered.
The inquisitor smirked as it was torn away. "You have no idea what you've begun."
Kael stepped into the lantern light. His eyes burned like coals.
"Neither did they."
The session lasted hours. The blood from Kael's scythe dripped steadily into the runic basin carved into the floor—an ancient enchantment to keep minds tethered to reality during interrogation. Or to slowly break them.
Lyara and the others watched from behind a veiled curtain. They were used to Kael's methods, but today was different. He wasn't simply extracting information. He was chasing a ghost. A whisper. A name he hadn't spoken aloud since the girl vanished.
"Where is she?" Kael whispered.
The inquisitor's head lolled back. "She chose to run. From you."
Kael's hand trembled. For a moment, the scythe dissolved into liquid blood in his grasp.
"She would never—"
"You scare even yourself, boy."
Later that night, Kael stood on the balcony of the Sanctum Tower, overlooking the distant lights of Azkaris. He hadn't been there in months. Not since the last whisper of her presence came from that twisted city of illusions.
The wind carried faint whispers—his own inner voices echoing back, layered atop each other.
"One man army... one mind alone..."
He clutched his temple as pain bloomed behind his eyes. The strain was becoming unbearable. With each persona that emerged to serve his fractured will—strategists, spies, soldiers—he lost a piece of himself. And yet, the organization grew stronger.
Was that not worth the cost?
A knock interrupted the spiral. Lyara entered, quiet as a prayer.
"Kael," she said softly, "the scouts found a glyph-stone. Buried in the southern ruins. It had her name."
His heart stopped.
"Show me."
The ruins were two days' ride. As the resistance traveled through the burnt fields, signs of Vharedros' crusaders littered the land. Entire towns were razed in the name of cleansing aura-bloodline heresy.
In the heart of the ruin, Kael found the stone: a curved shard of obsidian, etched with silver runes.
And there it was.
Her name.
Not a command. Not a memory. A plea:
"Don't follow."
He stared at it for hours. The others kept their distance.
Finally, he rose. He said nothing.
That night, the voices returned.
The general: "She betrayed you. She saw your truth."
The protector: "You scared her. But you never meant to."
The child: "I just wanted to go back. Before the scythe. Before the blood."
He screamed into the dark.
The next morning, Kael left the camp alone. Only Lyara dared to follow.
He stood atop a hill, cloaked in crimson and grief.
"What are you going to do?" she asked.
He didn't answer at first.
Then:
"She's alive. I'll find her. Even if I have to burn the kingdoms to ash."
Lyara stepped forward. "And when you do? What will you show her? A man? Or a monster?"
Kael looked at his reflection in the obsidian shard.
He saw both.
Back in Asael's Vigil, the iron mask taken from the inquisitor was mounted in the Sanctum.
A symbol.
Of what Kael had become.
Of what he had yet to lose.