Book One: Rise of the Demonborn
Chapter 22 : Ashes on the banner
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The storm over *Solmar* hadn't broken in three days.
Lightning danced across the towers.
Rain battered the citadel walls.
But no one dared call it natural.
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In the palace infirmary, *Arwen Stormfire* lay on a slab of white stone.
Her once-pristine armor was burned, shredded, and *cursed*—black veins spiderwebbed across her skin, pulsing with dark residue.
A *cleric of the Sunlight Order* worked over her with trembling hands.
"She shouldn't be alive," he muttered. "No one makes it out of Vorth Karran."
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When she awoke, she sat up gasping, eyes wide.
*Seren* was there.
Arwen gripped her arm.
"They're not undead.
Not like before.
They *think*, Seren.
They *plan.*
One of the heroes… he's one of them now."
Seren's heart dropped. "Belek?"
Arwen nodded.
"And he *remembered* me."
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That night, the *Council of Heroes* gathered again.
Six chairs sat empty.
Arwen stood at the center, wrapped in white cloth and shaking.
"The forest *closed behind us*. We couldn't leave."
She told them everything.
The forest. The soulbound undead. Kael's throne.
And then…
"He's building something."
The room went quiet.
"A city," she said. "Not of ruins. Of *order.* They were planting crops—feeding beasts—training children born from necrotic magic."
She looked around.
"He's not just raising the dead."
She swallowed.
> "He's raising a *civilization*."
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Across the world, in the deep jungles of Velan, an Oracle screamed and scratched a word into stone:
*"Theronox."*
The name of the city Kael had begun building.
A name from the *Forgotten Age.*
A name from *before humanity ruled.*
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*Meanwhile*, in the center of the *Cursed Forest*, Kael watched as the foundations of Theronox took shape.
Constructed from twisted roots, carved obsidian, and hollowed stone.
Necromancers worked tirelessly. Wraith-horses hauled crystal beams. Newborn soulbound trained in formation.
*Children* of the dead—not zombies. *Descendants*, forged from soul-fragments, bone-magic, and Kael's power.
Some had human voices.
Some had none.
All of them *called him Father.*
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In the throne room of *Vorth Karran*, Kael met with the five *Wills of the City*—undead thinkers, seers, and architects bound to his rule.
They showed him the map of expansion.
"We will reach the edges of the river within ten days," said Miraith, her eyes hollow silver.
"And then?" Kael asked.
"Then the world will know peace," she answered.
He stared at her, unreadable.
"Peace?" he echoed.
"No," he said. "They will know *correction*."
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In Solmar, as Arwen fell asleep under heavy sedation, she whispered one last thing to Seren:
"He's not coming for our cities…"
"He's waiting for us to *walk in.*"
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