The bells of the Citadel tolled, deep and thunderous, shaking the stone walls. Every clang rippled through the city below, stirring the thousands who called it home. Soldiers scrambled to their posts, smiths hammered day and night, and war banners were unfurled across the battlements.
The Council had spoken.
The Demon King was coming.
Kaien stood on the edge of the training grounds, watching rows of fresh recruits clash with wooden blades. Sweat and determination soaked their faces, but behind their eyes he saw fear. Fear of the abyss, fear of the horde—and now, fear of him.
Whispers followed him wherever he walked.
Half-breed.
Shadow-born.
What if he turns against us when the King arrives?
Kaien tightened the strap on his gauntlet, jaw locked. He had endured worse than whispers. But something inside him twisted every time he saw their eyes—the doubt, the mistrust.
Selene found him before dawn. Her violet cloak swayed with the wind, eyes sharp yet kind. "The Council has summoned us. Every Captain, every Slayer. The War Council begins today."
Kaien nodded. "Then let's not keep them waiting."
---
The War Chamber was unlike any other place in the Citadel. It was carved from blackstone, vast enough to hold a hundred warriors, its walls lined with ancient maps and relics from battles long past. At the center stood a massive obsidian table, etched with glowing runes.
Around it, the Captains had gathered.
Commander Varic loomed like a mountain at the head, armor scarred, face harder than steel. To his left stood Captain Mira of the Silver Fang, her crimson eyes cold, her twin blades resting at her hips. To his right was Lord Calren, a strategist known for victories carved through cunning more than steel.
And at the far end, cloaked in shadows, the High Seers. Silent, watchful, judging.
Kaien stepped forward with Selene at his side. Immediately, a murmur spread. Mira's gaze flicked to him, sharp as a blade.
"Why is he here?" she said flatly.
Varic's tone was iron. "Because he saved Armathis. Without him, none of you would be alive to sit at this table."
"And because," Selene added, voice like fire, "if you plan to stand against the Demon King, you'll need more than blades and pride. You'll need him."
Mira's lips curled into a smirk. "Or he'll be the one to gut us from the inside."
The words hung heavy in the chamber. Kaien said nothing, but the shadows around his feet stirred as if answering her doubt. Mira's smirk faltered for just a heartbeat.
Varic slammed a gauntleted fist on the table. "Enough. We don't have the luxury of distrust. The King gathers his forces. Reports place his horde at over fifty thousand—an army of twisted beasts, corrupted slayers, and creatures we've never seen. If the Citadel falls, the last bastion of mankind falls with it."
Calren unfurled a map across the table. "We have three choices. One: we fortify the Citadel, hold until the enemy breaks on our walls. Two: we strike preemptively, meeting the horde before it reaches us. Three: we divide our forces, lure smaller factions of the army into ambushes before they converge."
Debate erupted. Captains slammed their fists, voices rose, and the Seers whispered among themselves.
Kaien studied the map silently. His eyes traced the valleys, the ridges, the rivers. His shadows whispered faintly in his ears. He closed his eyes for a moment—and then spoke.
"Option three."
The room stilled. Mira arched a brow. "Bold of you to speak, half-breed. Care to explain why?"
Kaien ignored the insult. "If we wait here, we'll be swallowed whole. If we strike the full horde, we'll be crushed. But their strength lies in their numbers—and numbers can be broken. The horde isn't unified. They're drawn together by the King's will, but not all obey equally. If we cut down the vanguard and ambush their supply lines, we can weaken them before the true battle begins."
Calren's eyes narrowed, considering. "A war of attrition… risky, but possible. It requires coordination and speed."
Varic looked around the table. "We'll vote."
One by one, hands rose. Calren. Selene. Two more Captains.
Mira hesitated, her crimson eyes fixed on Kaien. Finally, with a grunt, she lifted her hand. "Fine. But if this fails, the blame rests on the half-breed's shoulders."
Kaien met her stare, unflinching. "If it fails, I'll already be dead."
---
The Council dismissed them with orders. Squads were assigned to ambush routes, supply caches were stockpiled, and the Citadel became a living storm of preparation.
Kaien spent his days training.
He clashed with Slayers in the arena, their wooden blades cracking against his steel. He sparred with Selene, her magic forcing him to adapt. He even fought Mira once, her blades dancing so fast they nearly cut his shadow clean from his body.
Each night, when exhaustion set in, he dreamed.
Dreams of fire.
Dreams of a throne of bones, and a crown of shadow.
Dreams of a voice calling his name—not Kaien, but something older, deeper.
Sometimes, when he awoke, he wasn't sure if the voice had come from his sleep… or from within.
---
On the seventh night, the War Council reconvened. Scouts had returned—bloody, broken, but alive long enough to deliver their report.
"The horde is closer than we thought," Varic announced grimly. "Two days. Three at most. And they are not just demons."
He gestured, and a soldier dragged something into the chamber. A corpse—tall, armored, its face once human but twisted into a grotesque mask of horns and fangs.
Gasps rippled through the room. Selene's eyes widened. "That's… that's a Slayer."
Varic nodded. "Turned. Corrupted. The King has found a way to twist our own against us."
The chamber fell silent. Even Mira looked unsettled.
Kaien's hands clenched at his sides. The thought of his comrades becoming part of the horde—it was worse than death.
Varic's gaze swept the room. "This is no longer just survival. This is annihilation. The King seeks to erase us, to make us part of him. We cannot allow that. Ready your blades. Ready your souls. For when the storm arrives, there will be no retreat."
---
That night, Kaien stood once more on the Citadel's wall. The storm rolled in across the horizon, lightning splitting the skies.
Selene joined him, silent for a while before speaking. "When the war ends, what will you do?"
Kaien kept his eyes on the storm. "If it ends, I'll still be what I am. Half-breed. Weapon. Curse. There won't be a place for me when it's over."
Selene's hand brushed against his, tentative but steady. "Then we'll make a place. Together."
Kaien turned, meeting her gaze. For once, the shadows around him seemed to quiet, as if the storm itself paused to listen.
But before he could answer, a horn sounded from the watchtower.
Three blasts.
The signal of imminent attack.
The storm had arrived.