Kael woke to pain.
His side throbbed where the axe had cut him, ribs grinding with every breath. The forge-fire in his veins had closed the wound enough to keep him alive, but the flesh beneath the scar pulsed like coal under ash.
He staggered to his feet in the ruin where he had slept, leaning against the cracked wall. Around him, the night was unnaturally still. No scavenger dared wander this stretch of the camp anymore. The husks of the men he had slain still lay scattered, and no one had braved touching them.
He was alone.
And yet he wasn't. He could feel it—the weight of eyes pressing from the dark, whispers carried on the smoke. The camp had turned against him. The storm he had unleashed was no longer his secret; it was rumor, fear, legend.
Soul-Eater.
Abomination.
Husker.
Each word gnawed at him, but none more than the last one. He could taste the truth of it. The forge had given him strength, but with every soul he devoured, something in him howled louder. Something that was not entirely his own.
The crunch of boots on rubble pulled him from his thoughts.
He turned sharply, shadows licking from his skin, ready to strike.
A figure in gray robes stood at the edge of the ruin, hands lifted in mock peace. His face was hidden beneath a hood, but Kael felt the weight of his stare like a nail driven into his skull.
"Kael Ardyn," the man said, voice low, almost gentle. "The camp whispers your name like a curse. But I know what you are."
Kael's grip tightened on his sword. "And what am I?"
The priest stepped closer, each motion smooth, deliberate. Behind him, Kael caught movement—two, no, three more robed figures fanning out, sigils glowing faintly on their skin.
"You are the Forge's mistake," the priest said softly. "But mistakes can be corrected. Come with us, and the fire inside you will be bound. You will be spared the torment that awaits if you continue this… feeding."
The forge in Kael's chest snarled, hot and defiant. Shadows bled across the ground.
He almost laughed, but the sound came out raw. "Spared? You mean chained."
The priest's silence was answer enough.
The air thickened, heavy with the smell of burning incense and hot metal. The other priests raised their hands, threads of searing light spilling between their fingers, weaving into chains of flame.
Kael's jaw tightened. His wounds burned, his body trembled on the edge of collapse—but the forge inside him pulsed hungrily, demanding blood, demanding souls.
He drew his sword, shadows writhing like wings.
"Then come bind me," he growled.