The blood-red eclipse still hung low over the mountains, casting long shadows across the jagged cliffs. The man known only as Kael Dravolian moved silently through the twisted forest, each step precise, measured. The whispers of the trees seemed alive, warning him of unseen eyes, but he paid no heed. He had a mission—and nothing would deter him.
Behind him, faint sparks of dark magic lingered, the remnants of the ritual he had performed the night before. His mind was a storm of cold calculation, haunted by memories of betrayal and a vow that burned brighter than the eclipse itself: all witches must be eradicated.
A sudden rustle in the underbrush made him halt. His ice-blue eyes glinted as he drew the jagged greatsword from his back, the runes along its blade glowing softly. From the shadows, a figure emerged—one of the Witchbound Sentinels, an enemy Kael had faced before.
"You tread dangerously, Dravolian," the Sentinel hissed, its voice like broken glass.
Kael's lips curled into a faint, chilling smile. "I tread where destiny commands. Step aside, or be destroyed."
The Sentinel lunged. The clash of steel rang through the forest, echoing like a death knell. Kael's movements were a blend of lethal grace and calculated power; each strike precise, each parry exact. Within moments, the Sentinel lay defeated, its body dissolving into shadow and smoke.
Kael paused, listening to the wind. From the distance, he could hear the faint hum of a greater force approaching—something far older and far more dangerous than any witch he had faced. His jaw tightened. The Dravolian Eclipse had only begun, and the shadows it cast were darker than anyone could imagine.
He sheathed his sword, eyes lifted toward the blood-red sky. "Let them come," he muttered. "I am ready."