The northern wind carved through the valley like a scythe, sharp and cruel. It sliced over frozen rivers and across dead forests, howling through the jagged bones of what once had been proud mountains. Snow drifted like ash, whispering secrets meant only for the dead.
Nestled deep within the spine of the continent stood the last stronghold of the Eternal Empire: Sanctum Virelith. Carved into the face of an ancient glacier, the fortress shimmered under the dying light, unbroken, unmoved, untouched for centuries. The walls were ashen black, veined with glowing sigils pulsing faintly beneath the ice. It was a monument to silence, and to fear.
Here, the Empire's truest strength lingered in shadow.
Inside its grand obsidian hall, blue flames danced along iron sconces, casting warped reflections on polished stone. The air was thick with ancient power, and silence ruled like a tyrant. Crimson banners bearing the sigil of the Eternal Empire, a crown of broken thorns, hung motionless between towering pillars.
At the far end of the hall, seated atop a throne carved from petrified bone, was Commander Malchior, the 8th of the Ten. His face was hidden behind a silver mask, cold and ornate, sculpted into an expressionless sneer. Robes woven with threadlike shadows cloaked his tall form, and his gloved fingers tapped slowly on the armrests, measured, controlled.
Standing a few paces away, unwavering, was Commander Veyla, the 9th. Her crimson armor was charred and battle-worn, the pauldrons scratched and her breastplate scorched black near the center. Her helmet, tucked under one arm, bore a deep claw mark. Her pale face was taut, lips pressed into a thin line, eyes burning with tightly held fury.
"It's confirmed," she said, voice low. "Kel is dead. No, worse. He's been taken."
Malchior's tapping ceased.
"You mean to say he serves Ashbourne now."
Veyla nodded once. "A shadow bound to him. Stripped of will. We recovered the residual echo left in the snow, Kel's mark faded the moment Ashbourne crossed into the ruins of Terresh. The seal is broken."
A long silence followed. The flames dimmed slightly, responding to the gravity in the air.
"So," Malchior murmured. "The exiled wolf found his way back through the dark."
"He's reclaimed a ruin and raised it into a fortress," Veyla continued. "His aura reaches beyond the city now. He's not hiding."
"Good," Malchior said, almost gently. "Let the others see what we buried."
Veyla took a step closer. "He should have been dead. Kel was not the strongest, but he was loyal."
Malchior tilted his head. "Loyalty is meaningless to the dead. And Kel, for all his loyalty, lacked vision. That is why he fell."
"He didn't fall," she snapped. "He was taken. Turned. Ashbourne made him his."
"And that is precisely why we must act," Malchior replied. He rose, the motion slow and fluid, shadows stretching from beneath his robes. "This is not the return of a man. This is the awakening of the thing we left buried. We exiled him thinking the abyss would consume him."
He turned toward the long war table at the center of the hall. Dozens of maps, blood-bound scrolls, and sealed reports lay sprawled across it, arranged like forgotten corpses.
"It did not consume him," he whispered. "It forged him."
Veyla stood beside him, silent.
"He is not alone, is he?" Malchior asked, though it wasn't a question.
"No," she said. "The aura reads multiple distortions. He walks with shadows now. At least three, possibly more. We don't yet know how many he commands."
"Then we must learn," Malchior said. "Not with guesses. Not with pawns."
He reached beneath the table and withdrew a sealed scroll, bound with obsidian thread and marked with a brand older than the Empire itself. The glyph burned faintly as he lifted it.
"You would really summon them?" Veyla asked, her voice hushed now. "After what happened the last time?"
Malchior looked at her from behind the mask.
"This is not a rebellion. This is not a war. This is a reckoning. And when reckoning comes, we do not hesitate."
He placed the scroll in her hand. "Send the order. Tell the Black Sigil to awaken. Let them test his strength. If Ashbourne has become a myth, we must meet him with monsters."
The flames flared, blue light illuminating the runes etched into the walls. Deep beneath the hall, an ancient hum stirred to life, forgotten warnings buried under centuries of silence.
"This time," Malchior whispered, "we bury him in fire."
Elsewhere…
Snow fell lightly upon the edges of a dead forest.
Leon Ashbourne stood beneath a crooked pine, the frozen earth crunching beneath his boots. A mist curled around him like breath given shape. His cloak billowed slightly in the wind, shadows clinging to his shoulders like armor.
Behind him, Kaelis Dray kept silent watch, leaning against a fallen trunk with his blade resting across his knees. His eyes scanned the treeline. They were deep within hostile territory now, old lands once ruled by the Empire.
Leon knelt and pressed his hand to the snow.
"They felt it," he said.
Kaelis nodded. "The moment Kel fell to you, they felt it."
"They'll send something," Leon murmured. "They won't come themselves. Not yet."
"No. They'll test you first."
Leon stood slowly, and three figures emerged behind him, moving without sound. Shadows bound to his will, Kel among them, his once-golden armor now a dull gray, eyes vacant but aware.
Kaelis looked at them with wary respect. "You think they'll send the Black Sigil?"
Leon's expression darkened. "If Malchior still commands from Sanctum Virelith… yes. He won't waste soldiers. He'll send monsters."
Kaelis turned his gaze to the horizon. "Then we'll answer with silence."
Leon's voice dropped into a cold whisper. "No. We answer with fear."
He looked down the path winding through the dead forest.
"Let them come."