The wind cut hard against Kael's face as he rode from the forest, pushing his horse to its limits. The symbol burned into the dirt still haunted his mind. A circle split by a jagged line—the mark of Erynthos. The mark of doom.
If the god-king truly knew about him, then Kael's life had just shortened to a handful of hours.
He didn't slow down until the outline of Outpost Varron rose on the horizon. A ring of wooden walls circled a cluster of stone buildings. Smoke drifted from chimneys. Soldiers marched along the ramparts, crossbows in hand. The curse made night unpredictable; the outposts never slept.
Kael galloped toward the gate. The guards recognized him instantly.
"Sir Kael!" one shouted. "You look like hell."
"I'll take the compliment later," Kael muttered. "Open the gate."
The heavy timber doors groaned apart. Kael rode inside and dismounted before his horse even stopped. He tossed the reins to a stable boy and strode toward the war hall.
The moment he entered, the noise hit him—soldiers arguing, maps slamming on tables, captains barking orders. The curse had intensified across the kingdom; no outpost was calm anymore.
Commander Rhyla stood at the center, tall and sharp-eyed. Her armor was scratched from years of fighting creatures that shouldn't exist. When she saw Kael, she frowned.
"You're late."
"I know," he said. "And I have something worse than bad news."
"Then speak quickly."
Kael leaned in. "Time shifted again."
Rhyla's jaw clenched. "How far?"
"Hours. Maybe more. The forest behind me was whole again—like before the curse."
Rhyla swore under her breath. "These jumps are getting dangerous. If the king finds out—"
"He already has."
Silence crushed the room. Even the soldiers who weren't listening stopped moving.
Rhyla narrowed her eyes. "Explain."
Kael told her everything—the cloaked figure, the distorted voice, the claim that another imprisoned god was watching him. And the symbol left on the road.
Rhyla's face was drained of color. "You saw the mark of Erynthos? Yourself?"
Kael nodded grimly.
The commander didn't rage or panic. She did something far worse—she looked afraid.
"That means," she whispered, "that the king rewound his attention. He is scanning time for you."
"Why? I'm no threat to him."
Rhyla's stare was sharp enough to cut steel. "Kael. You've been slipping through time without dying, without losing your mind. You think he'll let that exist?"
Kael didn't answer.
Rhyla stepped closer. "Listen to me. If Erynthos marks you, he will send his hunters. You need to leave the outpost immediately."
"I'm not running."
"You're not running," she agreed. "You're going to someone who can help you control this."
Kael blinked. "Who?"
Rhyla grabbed a parchment from the table and unrolled a map. She pointed to a region far east—where no roads went, where the land was swallowed by mist.
"The ruins of Draymir," she said. "A city erased from time. Not destroyed—erased. The oldest legends say that the god Erynthos was imprisoned and kept a shrine there. If any clue exists about your power, it's there."
Kael frowned. "You want me to ride into a dead city no one remembers?"
"It's not dead," Rhyla said. "Just… misplaced. Like you."
Before Kael could argue, the ground trembled.
Everyone froze.
The candles flickered. The maps fluttered. A low vibration rippled through the floorboards, like a heartbeat in the earth.
Then—
A horn sounded from the ramparts.
A second horn.
A third.
The signal for one thing only.
Whisperers.
Rhyla's expression hardened. "They're here. Already?!"
Kael grabbed his sword. "I'll hold them off so you can secure the civilians."
Rhyla shook her head. "No. They're not here for the outpost."
Her gaze locked on Kael.
"They're here for you."
The war hall exploded into motion. Soldiers sprinted to defensive positions. Arrows were passed down the line. The air grew heavy, as if time itself was thickening.
Kael ran to the rampart stairs and charged up. When he reached the top, the breath left his lungs.
The Whisperers were coming out of the horizon like a wave of shadows.
Tall, thin figures—faces blank, bodies flickering in and out of existence. Their steps made no sound, but every time they moved, the world around them shuddered, as if rejecting their presence.
There were dozens of them.
No—hundreds.
"Archers!" Rhyla shouted from below. "Loose!"
Arrows soared through the air, raining down on the approaching creatures. But just before they landed, time warped around the Whisperers. The arrows froze mid-air, then disintegrated into dust.
The soldiers cursed in terror.
Kael gripped the rampart stone so hard his knuckles went white.
"What do they want with me?" he whispered.
As if answering, one Whisperer stepped ahead of the others.
Its blank face tilted upward.
Straight at him.
Kael felt something claw at his mind—like fingers scraping memories, shredding through thoughts.
He stumbled back.
Voices slammed into his skull.
**Found him. The fracture. The anomaly. Bring him. Bring him to the king.**
Kael shouted and dropped to one knee, clutching his head.
Rhyla rushed up behind him. "Kael! Fight it!"
"I—I can't—!"
The Whisperer raised its hand. The air bent. Time warped. The world flickered.
And Kael felt himself tearing out of the present.
No—no—he couldn't shift now—
He tried to hold on. He tried to stay anchored. But the Whisperer's power merged with the curse, dragging him like a hook in his soul.
Rhyla grabbed his arm. "Kael! Stay with me!"
The rampart blurred.
The sky stretched like liquid.
The Whisperers' voices grew louder.
**Bring him through. Erase the path. Deliver him to the throne.**
Kael let out a raw cry—
And then the world vanished.
He landed hard on a stone.
The air was cold. Silent. Empty.
Kael forced himself up, heart pounding.
He wasn't at the outpost anymore.
He wasn't anywhere he recognized.
He stood in a massive hall of black marble. Candles burned with blue flames. The walls were carved with shifting symbols that moved when he looked away.
A throne sat at the far end.
Tall. Gold. And alive—pulsing with veins of dark light.
Kael's breath caught.
Someone sat on it.
A figure draped in a cloak of shimmering black and gold. His silver eyes burned like stars collapsing in on themselves.
A voice echoed across the hall—smooth, ancient, and deadly:
"Knight of the North," Erynthos said. "At last, I have found you."
Kael's blood turned to ice.
The god-king rose from his throne.
"And time," Erynthos whispered, "belongs to me."