Chapter 148 – The Vale of Ash
The march north was silent.
Only the crunch of boots over frostbitten grass and the steady rhythm of steel armor filled the air. Kael led from the front, eyes fixed on the horizon where the hills rose like the backs of slumbering beasts. The Ashen Vale was close now. Too close.
Umbra slinked at his side, fur bristling, lips curling back at the faint scent of blood and ash carried on the wind.
Rogan muttered, voice low. "Feels wrong. The air's too heavy. Like walking into a storm that hasn't broken yet."
"It hasn't," Lyria answered, her hand resting on the hilt of her blade. "But it will."
They crested a ridge, and the Vale spread before them — a scar of blackened earth choked with dead trees and curling mist. The ruins of ancient wards were etched into the ground, glowing faintly as if some hidden pulse still lingered.
And at the center of it, firelight.
Dozens of figures huddled around pits of flame, their chants a low, guttural hum that rolled through the night. Symbols painted in blood and ash stretched across the earth in widening circles. At the core, a monolith of obsidian jutted skyward, cracked and pulsing with a faint crimson glow.
Lyria drew in a sharp breath. "They've already begun."
Kael's fists clenched at his sides. Chaos magic stirred at his call, faint wisps of shadow curling from his skin. "Then we end it here."
Thalos stepped forward, his hand gripping his warhammer so tightly his knuckles went white. "What's the plan?"
Kael's eyes never left the ritual circle. "Swift and brutal. Break their ritualists first. Scatter the rest. No time to waste."
Varik's grin was sharp and humorless. "Finally."
They descended into the Vale like wolves among sheep.
The first nomad guard never saw them coming — Kael's blade punched clean through his chest, his body falling without a sound. Rogan followed with a savage cleave, sending another sprawling before he could cry out.
Then the shouting began.
The ritualists broke their chant, panic flashing across painted faces. Lyria was already among them, her blade carving through blood-smeared robes. Thalos smashed into the nearest cluster, his hammer scattering bodies like broken dolls.
Kael surged forward, chaos flaring around him, striking down any who dared stand before him. But as he neared the obsidian monolith, he felt it — a pulse beneath the stone, slow but steady, like the heartbeat of something vast and ancient.
One of the nomads shrieked, hands raised in supplication. "He wakes! The lord of shadows wakes!"
Kael silenced him with a slash that left the man crumpled in the dirt. "Not tonight."
A roar split the night. Dozens more nomads poured from the mist, blades raised, their desperation fueling their fury.
Rogan bellowed a challenge, throwing himself into the fray. Varik moved like a wraith, arrows striking throats before enemies could close the distance. Lyria fought at Kael's back, her movements sharp, efficient, unyielding.
Still, they pressed on. Still, they clawed toward the monolith.
Kael raised his hand, chaos magic surging into a lance of shadow that tore across the ritual circle, obliterating half the sigils in a single strike. The ground trembled violently, cracks spreading from the monolith's base. The crimson glow dimmed, flickered… but did not die.
"It's not enough!" Thalos roared.
Kael's eyes burned, his voice thunderous. "Then we break it."
Together they drove forward, cutting down every nomad that dared stand in their path. Blood slicked the earth. The chants fell into silence.
At last, Kael reached the monolith. He pressed both hands against its surface. It was cold — impossibly cold — but beneath that chill lurked something older, darker. He could feel it pressing back, straining against the cracks, whispering promises in a tongue no mortal should understand.
"Not today," Kael hissed, and chaos exploded from his core.
The obsidian cracked, then shattered, the pieces collapsing into a heap of smoldering stone. The crimson light died, leaving only the Vale's unnatural mist.
For a heartbeat, there was silence.
Then Kael staggered. The mist coiled unnaturally, thickening, wrapping around him. His soldiers shouted something behind him, but their voices were muffled, distant, as though he stood underwater.
And then he heard it.
A voice — deep, echoing, vast as the void itself.
"So… the bloodline of ruin walks before me."
Kael froze, every muscle tight. "Who speaks?"
The mist boiled, shaping into a vast, horned silhouette, eyes burning like coals. Even half-shackled, even half-asleep, the Daemon Lord's presence was suffocating.
"You touch my prison, dragonoid… and I taste your soul." The shadow leaned closer, and Kael swore the earth itself recoiled. "Dragon fire in your bones. Demon corruption in your blood. The offspring of worlds that should never meet. And yet… here you stand."
Kael's heart thundered. The words struck deep, sharper than any blade. Demon. Dragon. His father's face — vague, cruel, distant — flickered in his memory. He had buried that truth beneath layers of rage and denial, but now the Daemon Lord spoke it plainly, without hesitation.
"You know me," Kael forced out. His voice was hoarse. "You know what I am."
"I know what you will be." The voice rumbled like mountains breaking. "A storm upon this land. A scourge and a shield, both. Whether by choice or by fury, you will serve the design. For there are powers stirring — older than kings, older than gods. And you, half-breed of ruin, will not escape your role."
Kael's teeth clenched. "I will never serve you."
The Daemon Lord laughed, a sound that shook the marrow of Kael's bones. "You already walk the path. Your rage is mine. Your grief is mine. One day, when the veil burns and the earth splits, you will understand. You will kneel — not to me, but to destiny itself."
The mist trembled, pulling away as the shattered monolith collapsed further. The shadow's form unraveled, the Daemon Lord dragged back into his slumber. But his last words lingered like poison.
"We will meet again, dragonoid. And when we do… the world will tremble."
Kael fell to one knee, gasping, sweat cold on his skin. The mist cleared.
Lyria's voice broke through first. "Kael!" She was at his side in an instant, hand on his shoulder. "What happened?"
He shook his head, forcing his breath steady, though his eyes still burned with the image of those coal-bright eyes. "…Nothing we can't outrun. For now."
But inside, Kael's heart churned. The Daemon Lord had known him. Known what he was. And for the first time since the Hollow's founding, Kael felt the weight of his father's blood like chains around his throat.