Kael woke to the sound of chains. The Cloisters were never silent. Iron scraped against stone, children whimpered in the dark, and guards' boots struck like hammers in the corridors above. Yet for all the noise, the place felt hollow, like a graveyard that still remembered the voices of the dead.
He shifted, and the shackles clinked against his wrists. His arms ached where they had been bound too tight. His cheek was pressed against the cold floor, sticky with dried tears. He remembered his parents, the way the soldiers had struck them down. He had cried for them until his throat was raw.
Now his voice was only a whisper. "Mother… Father…"
No answer came. Only the drip of water and the hushed sobs of others chained nearby.
When his eyes adjusted, he saw them: a dozen children scattered along the wall, some curled into themselves, some straining at their bonds. None looked older than him. Six years old, all of them, yet already broken into silence.
One girl with straw-blonde hair mouthed words over and over: "I want my Father. I want my Father." Another boy had wet himself, and the smell made Kael's stomach churn.
Kael shut his eyes tight. He was no different. He was not strong, not brave. He wanted his mother's arms around him, his father's voice telling him it would be all right. He wanted to wake up from this nightmare.
"Hey," a voice chirped.
Kael blinked. Across from him, chained like the rest, sat a girl with cropped black hair and eyes far too bright for the Cloisters. She grinned as if they were sitting in a sunlit meadow rather than a dungeon.
"You're the Hero, right?" she asked.
Kael froze. "I… I don't know."
"You are," she said cheerfully, as if it were settled fact. "I saw it. Big glowing card in your hand. Hero. That's cool. Way cooler than mine."
She turned her palm, and a faint shimmer appeared. Blacksmith. The letters gleamed sharp and silver.
"See?" She wiggled her fingers. "It's small. Useful, I guess. But not Hero."
Kael stared, unsure what to say. "Why are you… smiling?"
The girl tilted her head, still grinning. "Because my sister made me promise. Before she died. She said, 'Don't you dare cry when I'm gone, or I'll come back and scold you.' So I don't cry. I smile."
Her words were spoken as casually as if she were talking about the weather. Kael's stomach twisted.
"You don't… miss her?" he whispered.
"Of course I do," the girl said, rocking on her chains. "But missing hurts. Smiling's easier. Besides, if I keep smiling, maybe I'll make other people smile too. Even you, Hero."
Kael turned away, but her words gnawed at him.
She leaned closer, lowering her voice. "Don't worry too much. They'll take us to the capital soon. I heard the guards say. They don't leave us here forever. Just until the turn of the month."
Kael's breath quickened. "And then what happens?"
She shrugged, still smiling. "Dunno. But it's better than sitting here. Maybe they'll even give us food that isn't rotten."
Kael hugged his knees, wishing he could believe her.
The Cloister doors groaned open. Light spilled in, harsh and golden, and armored boots clattered down the steps.
"On your feet, brats!" a soldier barked. "Up! Up!"
The girl winked at Kael. "See? Told you."
But when the soldiers pointed at him and said, "That one. We have received orders from the capital to escort him today." her grin faltered for the first time.
"Guess you really are special," she said softly.
Kael's heart dropped. He wanted to shout that he wasn't, that he just wanted his parents. But the chains pulled him to his feet, and all he could do was stumble into the light as the others watched in silence.
The children looked at Kael, wide-eyed. Some shrank back as though he carried a plague. Others stared with something like awe.
Kael's heart hammered. He didn't want to leave. He didn't want to be special. He only wanted his parents.
"Please," he whispered as the soldiers dragged him to his feet. "I want to see my mother."
The soldier ignored him and locked him in a wagon. The chains clinked louder as they tightened around his wrists and ankles, heavier than before, more cruel.
Kael's breath hitched. For all his protests, he was only a child, and all he could do was stumble as they hauled him toward the light, leaving the others behind in shadow.
Kael's cheeks burned. He wanted to disappear. He wanted to shout that he wasn't special, that it was all a mistake. But the soldiers marched him on into a wagon where he was locked, they started their journey towards the capital.
They passed through the gates, into the streets of the mining town where Kael had lived all his life.
By the time they left the town behind, Kael's legs were shaking. The chains rattled with every stumble. He closed his eyes, crying, hoping this was just a bad dream, that this would end soon when he wakes up.
For a moment when he opened his teary eyes to his shadow, he caught a glimpse of something staring back at him giving him a sudden, intense sensation of fear, a chill running down his spine.
A bump on the road stumbled the wagon, dropping kael inside it.
"Keep him steady," one soldier muttered. "If something happens to him, the General will have our heads."
Another grunted. "Never seen them move this fast. Usually we wait 'til the first to haul the lot. Guess they don't want this one sitting around."
"Course not," the captain said. "Word's already out. The Dominion has a Hero as well. You think they'll waste time? They'll march him straight before the generals, let the world know. Osvarra and Lurienne will choke when they hear."
"What do you mean 'as well?'" a soldier asked in confusion
"Apparently, the seas have their Hero already," said the captain.
The men started muttering among themselves, their voices laced with unease.
Kael's stomach twisted. He didn't understand half of what they said, generals, Osvarra, Lurienne, names that meant little to a boy who had never left his village. But he understood one thing: they weren't talking about him as a boy. They were talking about him as a tool.
He bit his lip until it bled.
Suddenly the wagon jolted to a halt. Shouts erupted outside, metal clashing against metal.
"Take Positions!" a soldier shouted. "Protect the kid!"
Kael clutched the bench as the world tilted around him. Through the slats, he saw shapes moving in the trees, men in rough armor, faces painted in ash, weapons gleaming.
Mercenaries.
One leapt from the roadside ditch, palm outstretched. His card flared, letters burning: SPEAR. From thin air, a shaft of steel formed in his grip, which he hurled with lethal force.
A soldier raised his own card, SHIELD. Multiple walls of metal burst before him, the spear shattering on impact.
But another mercenary was already sprinting past, his hand glowing with EMBER. Sparks erupted, trailing fire across the wagon's canvas.
"Cover it!" the captain roared. A soldier with WATER swept his hand, a jet of liquid hissed through the air, smothering the flames.
Kael's heart hammered. He pressed against the wood, trembling as the sounds of war crashed around him.
The mercenaries weren't retreating. There were just too many.
One with CHAIN cracked glowing links from his wrists, lashing soldiers from their mounts. Another with STONE slammed his fists into the ground, jagged spikes tearing upward, throwing men and horses alike into the air.
The Dominion guards fought back fiercely, swords summoned from BLADE, arrows conjured from BOW. Steel clanged, fire hissed, earth split. The air burned with the stink of sweat and magic.
Still, the mercenaries pressed harder.
A man with FANG bared his teeth, which lengthened into jagged wolf's jaws. He tore into a soldier's throat, crimson spraying across the road. Another with WHISPER spoke, his words crawling into the minds of two guards, they screamed, clutching their heads, before being cut down.
Kael squeezed his eyes shut. The world outside sounded like a nightmare of tearing, burning, breaking.
And then.. silence.
No, not silence. A different sound. A low hum, like shadows breathing.
Kael opened his eyes.
The robed figure had stepped from his shadow.
The hood fell back slightly, revealing a face inked with black veins, eyes cold as the void. He raised one pale hand, and the world itself seemed to darken.
SHADOW.
It wasn't summoned like the others.. it simply was, spilling across the ground like water. It rose in tendrils, coiling around mercenaries, yanking them screaming from their feet. Blades of pure night stabbed from the earth, impaling bodies before they could cry out.
A mercenary with EMBER tried to burn it back, fire roaring in his hands, but the shadows swallowed the blaze, smothering it like a candle in the sea.
Another mercenary with IRON hammered his fists against the shadow chains binding him, sparks flying, until the tendrils crushed tighter, bones snapping like twigs.
In moments, the road was littered with corpses.
The robed figure lowered his hand. The shadows receded, leaving no trace but the silence of the dead.
Kael stared through the wagon slats, trembling. His mouth was dry. His chest heaved.
The figure glanced back once. Their eyes met.
Kael flinched. The man's gaze wasn't cruel, nor kind. It was empty, as if Kael were nothing more than another word on a page.
Then the hood fell again, and the figure melted back into shadow.
The captain's voice broke the stillness. "Clear the road. Burn the bodies. Let's move on."
The road stretched on, black stone winding through forests stripped bare for lumber. The journey lasted hours, broken only by brief halts for water. Kael's feet blistered, his shoulders aching under the weight of iron.
When he stumbled, a soldier grabbed his arm roughly, yanking him upright. "Careful, boy. You're important now."
Important. The word made Kael feel sick.
By dusk, the horizon changed. Towers of black stone jutted against the blood-red sky. Its walls loomed like cliffs, black stone cut so sharp it could hurt one's eyes. Iron banners clattered in the wind fluttered from their heights, each one emblazoned with the Dominion's sigil, a sword encircled by chains pointed downwards.
The capital. Armathis.
The gates opened with a groan like thunder. Beyond, the streets stretched wider than the main road of his village, paved in dark brick that gleamed even under the dust of boots and hooves. Soldiers marched in endless columns.
Kael's breath caught. He had never seen anything so vast, so cruelly beautiful. The walls loomed higher than mountains, the gates forged from black iron wide enough to swallow his village whole.
The soldiers' pace quickened. Trumpets blared from the ramparts. Word had already reached the city.
The escort dragged Kael through it all. People lined the streets.
Some were nobles in lacquered carriages, silks shimmering, faces hidden behind jeweled masks. They pointed and whispered, their servants repeating the words like gossip spilled from a feast
"The Hero child"
"A Hero in our Dominion."
Others were ragged, barefoot, their ribs showing through thin shirts. Beggars knelt at the roadside, hands outstretched, but no coin fell from the passing carriages. They stared at Kael with hollow eyes, too tired even to whisper.
Kael's knees buckled. He wanted to run, to hide, to vanish. But the chains pulled him forward, into the jaws of Armathis.
"Steady, boy," the man growled. "You are in the capital now."
Kael wanted to scream that he didn't care about capitals or sigils or chains. He wanted his parents. But the words stayed locked in his chest.
The wagon jolted over cobblestones, and Kael nearly bit his tongue. His wrists ached where the irons rubbed raw, but it was the eyes that made him curl smaller on the bench. Always the eyes.
Through the narrow slats of the wagon he saw them: crowds pressed against the street, their stares sharp as spears.
"Is that the boy?"
"They say his word was Hero."
"Blessing."
"Curse."
The words stung more than the shackles. Kael tried to shrink away, but the wagon carried him forward, dragging the whispers with it.
His mothers voice came back to him, comforting him, a warmth from the memory seemed to be the only thing keeping him from breaking down.
He bit his lip until it hurt. Mothers voice made it sound so easy. But she wasn't here. Father wasn't here to give him courage. Only soldiers in black, their armor dull and heavy, riding with hands on their blades.
He shut his eyes. For a moment, he was back in Veyrden, sitting by the fire, his Father telling him stories of miners who had found veins of silver so wide they shone like rivers. His Mother hummed as she mended his shirt. Warmth. Home.
The wagon jolted again, shattering the memory.
They climbed a hill paved in black stone, until a cathedral towered before them a vast cathedral of black stone and iron. Its spires clawed at the sky, stained-glass windows burning crimson and gold in the sun, iron spires clawing the sky. The crowd parted as the soldiers dismounted.
The captain banged on the wagon door. "Out."
Kael's knees buckled as he stepped down. The stone was too smooth, too clean. He felt smaller than ever. The soldiers shoved him forward.
The robed figure moved ahead without a word, leading toward the cathedral gates. Soldiers closed around Kael, a cage of steel. Trumpets blared overhead.
This was no trial for children. This was a gathering for him.
Inside, the air smelled of incense and metal. Rows of benches lined the hall, filled with nobles and generals. At the far end stood the dais, where the Judges waited. Their robes were crimson, their masks silver, each bearing the Dominion's chained sword.
The cathedral's doors groaned open, spilling Kael into a cavern of stone and firelight.
The ceiling arched higher than any mountain he had ever seen, its ribs carved into chained swords and bleeding suns. Stained-glass windows painted the floor in reds and golds, their saints' faces staring down with hollow eyes.
Kael stumbled forward under the push of a soldier's hand. His boots clicked on polished black stone, the sound too loud in the silence.
At the far end of the hall, a half-circle of thrones loomed. Upon them sat the three pillars of Armathis: nobles in masks of beaten gold, generals in iron breastplates, and Judges in crimson robes. Incense smoke curled from braziers at their feet, filling the air with a cloying sweetness that made Kael's stomach turn.
The robed figure stood in the shadows behind him, silent, watchful.
Kael's heart hammered. He felt smaller than ever, a child dragged before monsters.
The silence broke.
"Bring forth the card." The center Judge's voice was low, muffled by his silver mask.
Kael hesitated.
The card rose in his palm, searing against his skin.
HERO.
His palm trembled.
Gasps rippled through the chamber. Nobles leaned forward, their gold masks flashing. A general's lips curled in a grin sharp as a blade.
"There it is," one of the nobles breathed. "Proof that the Dominion is chosen."
"A weapon beyond compare," a general said. "With this boy, Azerath's legions will sweep the seas and the sands alike."
Murmurs surged.
But the Judges did not cheer. They stilled, their silver masks reflecting the glow of Kael's word.
"This cannot be," one whispered. "The Hero was only mentioned in an unreliable prophecy."
"Prophecy of an impending doom!" another hissed.
The center Judge raised his hand. The chamber fell silent. His voice trembled, but his words carried iron. "The Hero is no gift. He is a herald. Do not rejoice."
The generals bristled. "Superstition," one snapped. "You would waste such a weapon because of old tales? This is strength given flesh."
"And if your 'strength' burns the Dominion to ash?" the Judge retorted.
A general slammed his fist against the table. "Osvarra has already declared their Hero, a boy of Veyros blood! Will we sit idle while the seas crown theirs, and the Covenant whispers of divine judgment?"
"Propaganda," a noble sneered. "If we do not parade ours, they will claim the heavens favor them."
A Judge's voice was a hiss: "And what of Lurienne? They will twist it as they always do that they need no Hero, for they are already god's chosen. Mark my words, their faith will make weapons of envy."
The nobles squabbled next, voices shrill beneath jeweled masks. "Parade him! Let the people know the gods favor us!"
"A child cannot be paraded," a general snarled. "He must be tempered. Tested. Molded into the finest soldier Azerath has ever seen!"
"A child?" the Judge's voice cut like a knife. "He is not a child. He is a bad omen."
Kael stood frozen, his palm burning. They spoke of him as if he were not there at all. A weapon. A curse. A tool. Anything but a boy who wanted to go home.
His throat ached. He forced the words out, small and trembling. "I… I just want my parents."
The chamber erupted.
"Parents," a nobleman drawled, laughter sharp as glass. "Hear him! The boy craves only comfort."
"Then give it to him," another chimed in. "Promise him his mother's embrace, his father's hand, if he obeys. A leash woven of love binds tighter than any chain."
The generals exchanged dark smiles. One leaned forward, voice low and iron-heavy. "Serve the Dominion, boy, and we will see them again. Obey, and the gates of Armathis will open for your family."
Kael's chest tightened. His lips parted, hope and fear warring in his eyes.
But a Judge's voice cut through, cold as a blade. "Do not dangle hope before him. The Hero is not someone to be coddled."
"Fool," the noble spat. "Do you wish to squander the one the gods themselves have delivered?"
The generals' voices overlapped, some pressing to shape Kael with promises, others urging discipline, threats, fear.
Kael stood at the center of it, trembling, their words clawing into him. Mother… Father… if I do as they say… will I be able to see you again?
The robed figure shifted in the shadows behind him, silent, unmoving. Watching.
At last, the center Judge raised his hand. The chamber stilled, but the air was thick with greed.
"Enough," the Judge said. "If he is to be tempered, let the fire of the Grounds test him. Promise him what you will, but the Dominion decides when, or if, he tastes reunion."
The decree fell like iron.
The guards seized Kael's arms again. His card faded from his palm, but the weight of it clung to him. Not as a gift. Not even as a curse.
As a chain.
He was now taken to the training school of sorts where children from the cloisters were brought in every month and forged into obedient soldiers, weapons, and assets of Azerath.
The barracks smelled of sweat and damp straw.
Dozens of narrow beds lined the long hall, each with a thin blanket and a chipped cup of water beside it. The children of the Cloisters shuffled in, heads bowed, some clutching their arms as if they could still feel shackles there.
Kael followed, soldiers close at his back. His stomach twisted, he had half expected to be thrown into a dungeon again. Instead, he was led to the far corner of the hall, where a bed waited that was not like the others.
It was larger. The blanket thicker. The water clean.
And beside it stood a chest of folded clothes, simple but finer than anything the other children had been given.
The whispers started before he sat down.
"Look at his bed."
"Why does he get that?"
Kael hunched his shoulders, wishing he could vanish. He didn't want the larger bed, didn't want the cleaner water. He wanted the small cot at the end of the row, the one no one would notice. He wanted his parents.
"Your Hero has finally arrived here you brats." a soldier announced the new entry to the children inside the barracks
When Kael glanced up, he caught the stares of the others. Some were sharp with jealousy, others wide with awe, others hollow with fear.
One boy sneered. "The hero gets silk while we get rags."
A girl whispered back, "Maybe he deserves it."
Another child muttered, "If I had Hero, they'd bow to me too."
Kael curled on the bed, clutching the blanket tight. It felt less like a gift and more like a chain, another way to make him different.
The next day, training began.
The trainers prowled like wolves, their voices echoing off the walls. They demanded the children run, climb, lift until their bodies shook. Cards flashed as powers were tested until they collapsed.
Kael's chest burned, his small legs aching as he was forced to run and climb until his body shook. A boy with the Lantern card collapsed, his palm flickering weakly. 'Get up, worthless!' a trainer snapped, striking him with a switch until the boy scrambled back to his feet. This was how the Dominion shaped destiny.
Some trainers treated Kael harsher, insisting he behave as they imagined a Hero must: noble, unyielding, fearless.
"Heroes do not fall," one snapped when he stumbled on the obstacle wall.
"Heroes do not cry," another spat when he gasped for breath.
But others softened. A gray-haired instructor pressed bread into his hands when no one was looking, whispering "Stay small while you can. The world will make you large soon enough."
Still, when Kael returned to the barracks at night, whispers followed him like gnats. Some hissed envy. Some muttered prayers. A few children crept close, asking, "Will you protect us? Will you save us?"
He didn't know what to say. He wasn't a protector. He was just a kid who wanted to go home to his parents.
Days passed.
The training yard was alive with sweat and dust. Children stumbled under drills, sparks and shouts filling the air as their cards flared in flashes of power. The Dominion's instructors prowled like wolves, snapping orders, striking with switches when a child faltered.
Kael pushed through it as best he could, his chest burning, his small legs aching. His Hero card still refused him, glowing faintly at times but never answering when he needed it most. Each failure drew more stares. More whispers.
He was already a target.
It began when the older trainees of the noble lineage arrived. Boys and girls nearing nine, some even ten, who had been in the Grounds for years. Their faces were hard, eyes sharper than any child's should be. They liked to pick on kids who were brought from cloisters as a form of entertainment.
They carried themselves like soldiers already, and they looked at Kael as if he were fresh meat.
"So that's him?" The tall one sneered. His palm glowing with the word Maul. His knuckles thickened, fists turning dark like iron clubs. "The Dominion's little miracle?"
Another smirked, flexing a hand as green vines slithered from his sleeve. Palm glowing with the card Bindweed. He was leaner as compared to the others. "Doesn't look like much. Looks like he'd snap if I sneezed on him."
A third scraped her boot across the dirt, pebbles rattling unnaturally at her feet. Her card faintly glowing Gravel. "Maybe he just needs to be ground down. See what's left."
Their eyes fell on a younger boy nearby, scrawny, trembling, his card flickering with the word Lantern. A faint light sputtered in his palm, too dim to be of use under the sun.
They grinned.
"Perfect," one of them chuckled. "Let's see if the Hero lives up to his name."
The leaner boy lashed his vines, wrapping the Lantern boy's arms and legs, dragging him to the ground. The girl scattered the yard with sharp stones that bit into the boy's skin. He cried out, struggling, but the vines held fast.
"Help!" the boy sobbed. "Please — !"
His head turned to Kael.
"Go on, Hero," The girl jeered, kicking dirt toward him. "Save him. Show us what destiny looks like."
Kael froze. His stomach knotted. His breath came shallow.
The bullies sneered.
But when he saw the boy on the ground, face streaked with tears, Kael's stomach twisted. His parents' faces flashed in his mind from the day when he was taken to the cloisters, his father's defiant glare, his mother's broken body. He clenched his fists.
"Stop," he said. His voice cracked, but he stood anyway.
The older trainees blinked, then burst into laughter.
"Did you hear that?" the tall one grinned, fists glowing dark. "The mouse roars."
Kael's legs shook, but he stepped forward. "If you want to hurt someone… hurt me."
Silence rippled through the yard. The instructors didn't move. The other children stared.
And then the tall boy laughed, deep and cruel.
"With pleasure."
His fist swung, heavy as a hammer.
Kael raised his hands, desperate, willing the card to come, but nothing answered. No shield, no light, no strength. The blow crashed into his cheek, knocking him sprawling into the dirt. Pain burst white-hot, the world spinning.
The laughter exploded.
"Some savior he is!" The leaner boy howled. "He can't even protect his own face."
"Hero?" The girl spat. "Looks more like Beggar."
The leaner boys vines tightening on the lantern kid. "Maybe his word's just a trick. A lie to make fools like you kneel."
The tall one loomed over Kael, cracking his knuckles again. "Stand up, rat. Let's see what kind of blood the hero bleeds."
Kael gasped, spitting blood, trying to push himself up. But when he looked at the Lantern boy terrified, helpless, he thought of his parents, of their broken bodies. He thought of what they would want him to be.
Something inside him refused to yield. He pushed himself to his knees, breath ragged, vision swimming.
"I won't… let you hurt him," he whispered.
Another blow crashed into his stomach, driving the air from his lungs. He collapsed, clutching the dirt. The older boy loomed over him, iron fist cocked back for a final strike.
"Hero huh." The sneer cut deeper than the pain. "You'll die before you save anyone."
The fist came down, aiming to do more than just knock him out.
And struck steel.
The sound rang sharp, ripples echoing through the yard.
Kael blinked through the haze, and saw a figure approaching towards him
The girl from the Cloisters. Cropped black hair. Wide grin. Her palm glowed with the card: Blacksmith.
A slab of gleaming iron had burst into shape before her, catching the bully's fist mid-swing. Sparks spat where knuckles met steel.
She tilted her head towards Kael, smiling as if this were a game. "Guess you are not that special, Hero"
The yard froze. Even the instructors held their tongues. The noble kids faltered. The younger ones stared, wide-eyed.
Kael struggled for breath, shame burning hotter than the bruises. He hadn't been strong. He hadn't been brave.
But she had.
And she was smiling.