The storm had followed them.
Kaen and Lira stumbled through the ravaged foothills, the ground beneath their feet cracked and bleeding steam. The air itself felt wrong—thicker, heavier—as if breathing in memory, not air.
Behind them, the mountain shuddered again. Another deep, hollow exhale from something that had been sleeping far too long.
Kaen clutched the broken pendant at his chest, feeling it pulse faintly. Not dead. Just... changed.
Lira glanced sideways at him, her knuckles white against the hilt of her short sword. "Where are we even going?"
Kaen grimaced. "Anywhere but here."
"Solid plan," she muttered. "Any chance you know what that thing was?"
Kaen hesitated. Images from the vision flashed behind his eyes—the silver-haired woman, the gate, the scream that tore through dimensions.
"It wasn't just a monster," he said. "It was a prison."
Lira stopped walking. "You mean the mountain?"
"No," Kaen said quietly. "Me."
Before she could respond, a sharp, keening sound split the air. They turned just in time to see shapes moving through the mist—skeletal figures, robed in black ash, their faces hidden behind veils of shadow.
The Ash Heralds.
Kaen staggered back. "They're already here."
"They must have been waiting," Lira said, voice tight. "Waiting for the seal to break."
The ground shook harder now. Cracks spiderwebbed across the plain. Fissures opened, spilling molten light into the dusk.
From the largest fracture, a figure rose—taller than any man, wrapped in chains that steamed and hissed against his charred skin. His eyes burned with cold fire.
Skarn, The Bound Behemoth.
Kaen could feel the ancient hatred pouring off the creature like heatwaves. It didn't look at them. Not yet. It seemed... lost.
Then the Ash Heralds began to sing.
A low, discordant hymn, words in a tongue older than stone, older than breath.
The Behemoth stirred. Its chains snapped one by one.
Kaen grabbed Lira's hand. "Run."
They didn't argue. They sprinted across the fractured landscape, dodging falling rocks and sprays of molten earth.
Behind them, Skarn roared—a sound that rattled Kaen's bones and made the sky flicker as if reality itself was shaking apart.
"We can't outrun that thing!" Lira shouted.
Kaen's mind raced. The pendant. The vision. His blood.
If the Ash Heralds served the Veilborn… if they were tied to his bloodline...
Maybe so was Skarn.
Kaen slowed down. Turned.
"Kaen, what the hell are you doing?!" Lira screamed.
Kaen faced the oncoming Behemoth, heart hammering, and he commanded — not with words, but with the force buried deep in his veins:
> "By blood, I bind you."
For a split second, nothing happened.
Then the world cracked.
A crimson sigil bloomed beneath Kaen's feet, pulsing once—twice—and a chain of pure light shot out, wrapping Skarn's throat, forcing the Behemoth to halt mid-stride.
It struggled, snarling, but the light held.
Kaen fell to his knees, panting. Blood dripped from his nose.
Lira rushed to him, half in awe, half in terror. "What did you just do?"
Kaen wiped the blood away, his vision swimming. "I think... I'm the jailer now."
Thunder rumbled overhead, not natural, but heavy with some darker intent.
Kaen knew this wasn't over. Not even close.
The Veilborn would come for
him now—all of them.
And the world would burn if he failed.
To be continued...