The morning after Kael's dream felt heavier than the night that birthed it.
The Keep woke restless. Whispers threaded through the stone halls like rats in the dark, slipping from mouth to mouth faster than torches could burn them away. "He nearly killed children," one voice murmured. "No, it was Vael twisting his eyes," another hissed back. But all of them, no matter how softened, circled the same unspoken truth: Kael was dangerous.
Mira walked a half-step behind him as they moved through the market square, her presence both a shield and a reminder. Some people bowed their heads in gratitude; others averted their gaze. More than once Kael caught the whites of wide eyes, the quick scuttling steps of someone eager to avoid his shadow.
He tried to ignore it. But the ember inside him pulsed in rhythm with every whisper. The more they feared him, the hotter it burned.
At the gatehouse, Garrick was waiting. His arms were crossed over his chest, the muscles beneath scarred leather taut like steel cables. His jaw clenched when Kael approached.
"I've told the council you can't be trusted," Garrick said without preamble. "You're a risk, Kael. To them, to all of us. One slip, and the Keep falls from within before the dead ever touch the walls."
Kael stiffened. "If I were going to betray the Keep, Garrick, you'd already be on the ground."
"Threats?" Garrick's lip curled. "Or promises?"
Mira stepped forward, her hand raised. "Enough. We don't have the luxury of infighting. If the walls fall—"
"They will fall," Garrick cut in. His gaze never left Kael. "And when they do, let's see if you're still holding your leash, or if you drag the rest of us into the grave."
The words landed heavier than Kael wanted to admit. The ember in his chest thrummed in approval, like it fed on Garrick's doubt. He shoved past without answering, Mira's worried eyes tracking him until the gatehouse swallowed him whole.
The storm came sooner than anyone expected.
The first horn blew at noon, sharp and frantic, echoing across the courtyard. By the second blast, the Keep was alive with shouts, armor clattering, and boots slamming against stone.
Kael was already moving when the third horn thundered. He reached the battlements with Mira and Garrick at his side.
The sight beyond the walls curdled his stomach.
The dead moved in swarms, their bodies spilling like a tide across the wasted earth. Some shambled, their skin sloughing from bone; others moved faster, twisted with unnatural strength, their jaws unhinged in silent hunger. Among them lumbered hulking figures with limbs swollen and distended, battering against the iron gates with fists like mauls.
"By the gods…" Mira breathed.
"They've never come this many, this fast." Garrick drew his blade with a rasp, eyes narrowing. "Something's driving them harder. Something worse than hunger."
Kael didn't need to guess. He could feel it—the cold thread of Vael's influence stitching the horde together, pulling them forward like marionettes.
This is their hunger, Vael's whisper coiled in his skull. But it mirrors yours, Kael. Do you see it? How alike you are?
The first crash against the gates sent a shudder through the Keep. Screams rang out from below as archers loosed volleys of flaming arrows, streaks of fire raining against the tide. The dead burned, but they did not falter.
"Reinforce the gate!" Garrick barked, leaping down the stairs. "Hold them back!"
Kael moved to follow, Mira at his side, when the second crash came—louder, sharper, iron bending under the strain. Then came the third. With a deafening roar, the gates splintered inward, and the horde poured through.
The courtyard erupted.
Steel clashed against claw and bone. Fire licked across the stones as barrels of oil were tipped and set ablaze. The air filled with ash, the stench of rot, the shrieks of both dead and dying.
Kael's sword was in his hand before thought reached him. He waded into the tide, cutting down one, two, three undead in rapid succession. Each strike sent sparks of pain through his chest, the ember demanding more, screaming for him to consume.
He gritted his teeth and pushed it back.
But then—he froze.
Two figures ran through the smoke ahead of him. For an instant, his vision warped. Their faces hollowed, their eyes burned black. He saw not survivors, but ghouls charging at him. His blade lifted instinctively.
"Kael!" Mira's voice cut through. The haze snapped. He blinked, and the truth returned: two terrified villagers, clutching pitchforks, fleeing from the horde.
Kael staggered back, bile rising in his throat. He'd almost struck them. Again.
See how thin the veil has become? Vael crooned. Soon, you won't need illusions. You'll choose it yourself.
The gates screamed as another wave forced its way in. Kael looked around—the guards were breaking, Garrick locked in a losing struggle against the hulks, Mira pulling villagers to safety. The Keep would not stand unless he acted.
The ember roared inside him. Hungry. Demanding.
Kael clenched his fists, a low growl tearing from his throat. He hated himself for what he was about to do. But he hated the thought of watching them die even more.
He opened himself to the hunger.
The first soul burned its way into him like molten glass.
Kael's blade sliced through a ghoul, and before the corpse even hit the stone, he reached—not with hands, but with something deeper, darker. His will clamped onto the faint ember glowing in its ruined chest, and he tore.
Light bled into him. Heat seared his veins. The ember at his core roared in triumph.
The ghoul's body collapsed into lifeless husk, a faint echo of its scream trailing into silence.
The world tilted.
He saw clearer. Sharper. Every heartbeat on the battlefield rang against his skull like a drum. He felt the hunger writhe, demanding another. Then another.
Kael gave in.
He ripped a second soul free, then a third. Each one stoked the fire, the courtyard swimming in pale lights only he could see. To everyone else, he was hacking through bodies; to him, he was feasting.
And the survivors saw it.
They saw the way his skin glowed faintly under the torchlight, cracks of bluish fire threading across his forearms. They saw the way shadows bent toward him, drawn into the hollow where the souls disappeared. They saw his eyes flare—one bright, one swallowed in darkness.
They recoiled in terror.
A woman dropped her bow, backing away as though from a nightmare. One of the guards shouted, "What is he?" Panic spread. Whispers—"monster," "demon"—broke into the screams of battle.
Kael's blade cut down another ghoul. Another soul slammed into him, and his legs nearly buckled from the surge. The ember inside his chest howled with pleasure.
Yes… more. Tear them all down. You are stronger than Garrick, stronger than their walls, stronger than their gods. You were never meant to save them—you were meant to devour them.
"Kael!" Mira's voice pierced through the roar.
He spun. She stood a few paces away, blood streaking her cheek, her staff braced against the stones. Her eyes—fearful, yes, but steady—locked onto his.
"You're losing yourself!" she shouted. "Stop before it takes you completely!"
Her voice tethered him for a breath. Just long enough to remember why he was doing this. He wrenched control back, barely.
But the dead weren't slowing.
Garrick fought at the gate, his blade driving into the hulk's throat. "If you're going to be a weapon, then be it!" he roared at Kael, voice dripping with disdain. "Or get out of my sight!"
Something snapped inside Kael. Rage, shame, and hunger tangled into one. He flung himself forward, carving through the horde with a ferocity that frightened even him. With each kill, more souls burned their way inside.
Too many.
The ember swelled like it would burst his ribs apart. His skin glowed with cracks of pale fire. His vision split—half reality, half nightmare. He saw the Keep burning even as it still stood, corpses piled high at his feet. He saw himself feeding, unstoppable.
The survivors screamed—not at the dead, but at him.
"Monster!"
"He's not human!"
"Get him away from us!"
Their voices struck harder than claws ever could. His breath hitched. For a moment, he thought he might actually turn his blade on them, silence them, feed.
"Kael!" Mira again, closer this time. Her hand gripped his wrist, anchoring him. Her eyes blazed—not with trust, not with doubt, but with fierce defiance. "Don't let him win."
Her words broke through the haze. For a heartbeat, the ember stilled.
Kael dropped to one knee, gasping. Souls still burned inside him, screaming to be loosed, but he forced them down. Forced the ember quiet.
The battle's tide shifted. Garrick's men surged forward, finishing the last of the undead. The hulks fell, torches and steel dragging them to pieces. Slowly—painfully—the Keep silenced.
But no one cheered.
They stared. At Kael.
At the cracks of fire crawling across his skin. At the unnatural glow in his eyes. At the way shadows seemed to cling to him, even as the torches blazed.
"He's not one of us," someone whispered.
Garrick wiped blood from his blade, his expression sharp with vindication. "Now you see," he told the survivors. "Now you all see what I've been saying. He's no hero. He's a curse. A monster in waiting."
Mira stood between Kael and the crowd, her staff raised—not at them, but at anyone who might dare step closer. Her voice rang out, trembling but resolute. "He just saved your lives. You'd all be corpses if not for him. Don't forget that!"
Some faltered. Others turned away. None looked convinced.
Kael barely heard them. The fire inside him still raged, too much, too heavy. His vision swam, the world spinning. He tried to stand, but his legs betrayed him.
Darkness crashed down.
As he fell, Vael's laughter filled the void.
In the vision, the Keep burned. Survivors screamed, souls tearing free one by one as Kael devoured them all. Chains clinked around his wrists—but not to bind. To crown. To proclaim ownership.
You are mine, Vael whispered, voice silk and venom. And the sooner you stop fighting, the sooner you will know peace.
Kael jolted in the dream, chains heavy around his limbs. But this time, when he pulled—he felt them tighten.
The fracture widened.
And this time, the crack did not close.