The moon sat high in a stormless sky, casting a cold glow over the cliff-lined shores of the western continent. Kael sat by a dying fire outside a makeshift camp. The soldiers were quiet in their own strange corner, sharpening weapons they might never use. They did not speak. They did not sleep.
Across from him, the old man stirred the flames with a crooked stick, humming an unfamiliar tune—part lullaby, part dirge. His eyes weren't on the fire, but somewhere far off. Somewhere in time.
Kael broke the silence. "You were once a king, weren't you?"
The old man stopped humming.
"No," he said, chuckling faintly. "Kings have courts. I had cemeteries."
Kael leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "That name of yours. You've never said it."
The old man sighed, reached into his robes, and pulled out a rusted ring. It bore a symbol: a bleeding falcon wrapped in chains.
"Azerus."
Even the wind seemed to pause.
"The Iron-Blooded Emperor," Kael said, voice low. "The one whose name stopped the Alakari Civil War just by being whispered. The one the eastern kingdoms called 'The Walking Plague'."
Azerus looked into the fire.
"I was born during a storm that flooded three cities," he said softly. "When I was crowned, half the continent bled. When I spoke, kings listened. When I slept, their armies held their breath."
Kael watched him, silently.
"But power," Azerus continued, "it's not stolen. It's offered. And the ones closest to you... they offer it up, only to take it back when they see the cost."
Kael leaned in. "Who betrayed you?"
Azerus didn't answer right away. His fingers tightened around the ring.
"My blood," he said. "My heir. My general. My wife."
Kael's jaw tensed.
"They struck when the wars had stopped. When I had started to build instead of break. When I became... human."
He spat into the fire.
"They chained me in the catacombs of my own palace, stripped me of my name, and left me to rot. But the rats don't stay buried forever."
Kael looked at him with something between pity and awe. "And now?"
Azerus smiled, but it was broken.
"Now I travel with a boy who drinks like a lord and talks like a poet, chasing legends with twenty mute phantoms and a dream of peace."
Kael laughed. "You call that peace?"
"I call it curiosity," Azerus replied.
The two sat in silence again.
And just as Kael stood to retire for the night, Azerus spoke once more—this time, serious.
"You think you're going west for answers. You're not. You're going west to be tested."
Kael froze.
"Tested by who?"
Azerus stared into the night.
"By me."
To Be Continued...