The mist grew heavier as they climbed.
The path wound through a dead forest, trees gnarled and twisted, their branches like reaching fingers. It was too quiet. No birds. No wind. Even the crunch of their boots felt smothered by the fog.
Kael slowed his pace.
"Something's wrong."
Nerra stopped instantly. Her blades were already in her hands. Sarya paused too, her breath shallow.
"I feel it too," she whispered. "Something old. Familiar."
Then it hit.
The air shattered.
Dozens of black arrows screamed through the fog. Kael threw up a wall of flame—just in time to catch the barrage mid-air, the heat turning steel to steam.
Figures lunged from the trees. Masks. Cloaks. Silent and precise.
Assassins.
"Obsidian Order," Nerra snarled, dancing forward with twin blades spinning. "They've come early."
Kael met them head-on.
His fire pulsed outward, not just as a weapon—but as a warning. The Seal on his chest blazed to life. His enemies recoiled.
But one man didn't.
He stepped calmly through the flame. Tall. Pale. Black armor lined with silver thread. And a face Kael remembered too well.
"Vaelen."
The man smiled beneath his cracked mask. "You still bleed, don't you, Kael?"
Kael's fists tightened. "You were one of mine."
"I still am," Vaelen said. "Just not yours anymore."
Lightning burst from his hand.
Kael threw himself sideways as the blast ripped through a tree. Sarya screamed—she had been separated from them in the chaos.
Nerra was fighting three at once, her movements ruthless and elegant.
Kael launched himself at Vaelen, flames coiling around his arm. They clashed—fire against steel, past against present. Every strike brought memories:
Training together. Bleeding together. Laughing in shadows before the world turned.
Betrayal burned hotter than any flame.
"You helped them kill me," Kael hissed.
"You were getting too strong," Vaelen snapped. "You think we wanted to follow a god? You stopped being a man."
Kael's fire surged, driving Vaelen back. The fog ignited around them, burning a hole into the misty forest.
Then—Sarya screamed.
Kael turned just in time to see two assassins grabbing her. One slashed her arm, drawing blood. But instead of weakening—
She exploded.
Not with fire. With light.
Golden tendrils of energy lashed out, melting her captors in seconds. Her eyes were not hers. Her voice was not hers.
"You dare touch the Marked Host?"
Vaelen froze.
Kael moved.
One punch sent the traitor flying, crashing through a tree. He didn't get back up.
Sarya collapsed again, the glow fading.
Kael caught her before she hit the ground. Her pulse raced, sweat soaking her skin.
Nerra limped over, blood trailing down her side. "We need to leave. Now."
Kael looked back one last time—at Vaelen's unconscious body.
"Not yet," he growled.
He marched over, fire curling around his fingers, and knelt.
"When you wake up, tell your masters: I remember everything. And I'm coming."
Then he slammed his palm into the ground beside Vaelen's head—sending a shockwave that branded the Obsidian Order's own sigil into the dirt, twisted into a symbol of flame.
A declaration of war.