The fortress of Malakar was a place of chains and whispers. Shadows moved like living smoke across the black walls, and crimson glyphs pulsed faintly with hellish energy. At the center of this domain sat Malakar, the Wraith-Lord, his monstrous frame bound in chains not of restraint but of power. His crimson eyes glowed as he looked down on those who knelt before him.
Seloria, the vampire noblewoman, stood with her crimson robes flowing like blood in water. Beside her crouched Ragnor, the Wolf General, his beast-like body straining against his armor. Ilyra, the demon scholar, stood silently with scrolls in her hands, her face hidden behind a mask of curiosity.
"The boy must be found before Arath returns," Malakar said, his voice deep as thunder, shaking the pillars of the hall. "The bloodline must not awaken unchecked."
Seloria's lips curved into a faint smile. "You speak of Arath the Cloud. That relic still wanders? Perhaps the boy is nothing but a fading hope."
Ragnor growled, slamming his clawed fist into the stone. "Let me loose my wolves upon the human villages. If the boy hides among them, their screams will draw him out."
Ilyra did not speak. She traced her fingers along the scroll she carried, where Kael's name appeared amidst runes of prophecy. In her eyes, the boy was not prey; he was the key.
Malakar's clawed hand gripped the throne. The chains around him rattled. "You will obey. Prepare the world for my master's return. Hunt, deceive, and bleed the humans. The child of the bloodline will come to me."
Far away, the Holy Land of the Sorcerers shone under a silver dawn. Towers of white stone pierced the skies, banners of magic fluttering in the wind. In the training grounds, sparks of light erupted as apprentices clashed.
Lyara, daughter of High Lord Cassian, stood in the circle. Her golden hair glistened with sweat as she cast spell after spell, her opponent overwhelming her with speed. She faltered, fell to her knees, but still pushed herself back up.
"You are too slow, Lyara," her opponent spat.
From the balcony above, Lord Cassian Blackrest's voice boomed. "Strength alone will not save our people. Discipline will. Remember this." His eyes, however, were not on the duel. They were dark, haunted, remembering another war.
Later, as Lyara Blackcrest walked alone across the garden of the Holy Land, she overheard her father speaking with other lords.
"If the prophecy boy rises," Lord Cassian Blackcrest said, his tone like steel, "he will be cut down before he brings ruin upon us again."
Lyara froze, a strange shiver running through her heart. Who was this boy they spoke of? And why did their voices drip with fear?
Beyond the Holy Land, in a hidden cavern lit by crystals, three figures gathered.
Elandor the Silent Blade, an elf with silver hair and cold eyes, sharpened his twin swords in silence. Thrain Stonefist, the dwarf, leaned heavily on his war hammer, his scarred face twisted with old grief. Mira of the Veil, cloaked in shifting shadows, stood with her arms crossed, her eyes glowing faintly purple.
"The Cloud has taken the boy," Elandor said softly.
"Then the prophecy still stirs," Thrain growled. "The Demon-King will rise again if the boy falters."
Mira's veil rippled like smoke. "Or worse. If the boy awakens too soon, we may not face Malakar alone. We may face a new Demon-King born of both man and demon."
A silence fell among them. Even hardened warriors trembled at the thought.
The world itself seemed to shudder. Across the forests, vampires feasted beneath a blood-red moon, their fangs dripping with stolen life. Wolves howled in unison as they marched with burning eyes, their alpha Ragnor leading them with pride. Elves watched from treetops, hidden, calculating. Giants stood unmoving in the mountains, their ancient gaze fixed on horizons. Humanity clung to the Holy Land, surviving day by day.
The world was alive, fractured, trembling on the edge of war.
Deep within his fortress, Malakar descended to the altar chamber. Black chains covered the walls, glowing faintly as mist coiled across the floor. He knelt, lowering his horned head.
"My master," Malakar intoned. "The time draws near. The boy's bloodline will open the way."
A voice deeper than darkness itself answered, shaking the chamber. The shadow of the Demon-King spread across the altar, his massive silhouette chained yet seething.
"Bring me the boy's blood," the Demon-King whispered. "And I will rise again. This world will burn."
Seloria, Ragnor, and Ilyra bowed low, trembling before the voice. Malakar raised his head, crimson eyes gleaming. "It will be done."
In the lowest dungeon of Malakar's fortress, two figures stirred. Chains rattled as Elira and Sora, Kael's sisters, huddled together. Their faces were pale, their magic suppressed by runes carved into their skin.
"Hold on," Elira whispered, clutching her sister's hand. "Kael will come. He must."
Footsteps echoed in the darkness. A figure emerged, cloaked in holy robes. His staff bore the crest of the Holy Land. The sisters gasped in horror.
The man smirked, pulling back his hood to reveal the face of a human sorcerer. His eyes glowed with treacherous light.
"Yes," he said softly. "Kael will come indeed. And when he does… I will deliver him myself."
The sisters' screams echoed through the dungeon as chains tightened around them.