The wind carried the stench of ash across the broken lands.
From the ruined walls of Armathis, Kaien gazed southward. Beyond the blackened hills, faint smoke trails marked the movement of the horde. Thousands of demons, maybe tens of thousands, crawling across the land like a plague.
The Demon King was moving.
And every instinct in Kaien's chest told him that if they waited, if they let the King gather strength, the Citadel itself would fall.
Selene stood beside him, her cloak tugged by the wind. Her staff glimmered faintly, light pulsing in time with her heartbeat. "They're not just gathering," she said softly. "They're converging. Every fragment of the Abyss is pulling toward one point."
"The Citadel," Kaien finished, voice low.
Commander Varic strode toward them, his scarred armor clinking with each step. Behind him trailed soldiers—those who had survived the Soulforge, their faces pale but determined.
"We march at dawn," Varic announced. "We return to the Citadel. The Council needs to hear this with their own ears, and every blade must be sharpened before the storm breaks."
Kaien's hand rested on his sword hilt. His body still ached, every step sending pain through his chest, but the fire in his veins burned hotter. He nodded. "Then let's move. The longer we wait, the stronger he becomes."
---
The march home was silent.
The road stretched endless before them, blackened earth scarred by past battles. Where villages had once stood, only ruins remained—burnt-out shells, walls crumbling into dust. Each mile was a reminder of how far the demons' reach had spread.
Soldiers whispered when they thought Kaien wasn't listening. They had seen his shadows flare in the battle. They had heard Malrik's words—half-breed.
Some looked at him with awe. Others with fear.
But no one dared speak it aloud when he passed.
On the third night of travel, Kaien took watch alone. The fire crackled softly, throwing faint sparks into the air. He sat apart from the others, sword resting across his lap.
The shadows around him flickered, almost alive.
Half-breed.
The word gnawed at him. His earliest memories were of the Citadel—training, steel, fire, and pain. He had never known his parents, never known why the High Seers had chosen him for the Slayer path.
Now the pieces no longer fit.
The shadows whispered when he closed his eyes, shapes shifting in the corner of his vision. And in them, sometimes, he swore he saw faces.
Selene approached quietly, her steps soft in the grass. She sat beside him without a word. For a long time, they just listened to the fire.
"You haven't been sleeping," she said finally.
Kaien gave a hollow laugh. "Sleep brings worse things than waking."
She studied him carefully. "Kaien… whatever you are, it doesn't change what you've done. You've saved more lives than anyone else in this war."
He clenched his jaw. "You don't understand. If Malrik was right, then I carry their blood. That means I'm—"
"Enough," Selene cut him off sharply. Her eyes glowed faintly in the firelight. "You are Kaien. That's what matters. Not blood. Not curses. You."
Her voice trembled, but her conviction did not.
For a moment, the shadows around Kaien stilled. The whispering quieted.
He exhaled, tension easing from his shoulders. "…Thank you."
Selene gave him a faint smile. "One day you'll believe it yourself."
---
By the seventh day, the Citadel came into view.
It rose from the cliffs like a fortress carved from the bones of the world itself, black stone walls stretching high into the stormy skies. Spires gleamed with silver wards, the light of countless runes pulsing along the battlements.
The soldiers broke into murmurs of relief. For all its harshness, the Citadel was home.
As they passed through the massive iron gates, Kaien felt a strange weight settle on him. Familiar, yet heavier than before—as though the wards themselves were testing him, measuring him.
Inside, the Council waited.
Seven High Seers sat in the great chamber, their robes embroidered with symbols of the old world. Their gazes burned with power, ancient and sharp.
Varic stepped forward first, bowing stiffly. "Armathis has fallen. The Soulforge is destroyed, but the cost was heavy. And worse—the King is stirring."
The chamber rippled with unease.
One of the Seers, a woman with hair like silver flame, turned her gaze on Kaien. "And you. Slayer of shadows. Step forward."
Kaien obeyed, though his chest tightened under the weight of their eyes.
"You shattered the Soulforge where others failed. You survived an encounter with Malrik, when no mortal should. Tell us—what did he call you?"
The words struck like a blade. They already knew.
Kaien's fists clenched, but he forced himself to meet her gaze. "He called me half-breed."
A murmur spread across the chamber.
Another Seer rose, his voice sharp. "Then it is as we feared. His blood is not pure. The Abyss runs in his veins."
Selene stepped forward fiercely. "He has fought harder than any of us! Without him, Armathis would still be enslaved to the Forge!"
The silver-haired Seer's eyes narrowed. "Perhaps. But the question remains—is he our salvation… or the weapon the King has planted among us?"
Kaien's heart pounded, the shadows flickering at the edge of his vision. For the first time, he saw it clearly—the Council didn't just doubt him. They feared him.
And fear was dangerous.
---
That night, Kaien stood alone on the Citadel's high wall, staring out into the storm. The weight of the Council's words pressed against his chest.
Half-breed. Weapon. Curse.
He drew his sword and rested the blade against the stone. "If I am a weapon… then let me choose where I cut."
Behind him, a shadow stirred. Not demon, not soldier. Something older.
A voice whispered through the wind—low, chilling, yet familiar.
Blood calls to blood, child of two worlds. The storm is not yet here. But when it breaks, you will stand at the center… or you will be swallowed whole.
Kaien turned sharply, sword raised. But the wall was empty. Only the storm remained.