The sky was red when Kael climbed back from the Soul-Well.It wasn’t the crimson of a simple sunset. It was deeper, heavier—like blood spilled across the horizon. Every step he took out of the chasm felt watched, as if the broken sigil scorched into the stone below still had eyes and breath. His body ached, not from the descent, but from the chant that still echoed in his bones.Blood becomes bond. Bond becomes blade.When he reached the surface, the others were waiting.Seris’s hand was already on her sword, her jaw tight. Thorne stood behind her, staff drawn and trembling faintly, as if he had known this moment would come. Mira—the youngest of them, barely more than a scribe in training—was staring wide-eyed at Kael, her lips moving in silent prayer.“You were gone too long,” Seris said coldly. “The Vanguard sent us warnings. The wards around the Soul-Well flared black. Tell me, Kael—what did you bring back with you?”Kael froze. The truth hovered at the edge of his lips. But when h

The shard would not stay quiet.Even sealed beneath seven wards in the heart of the Vanguard’s stronghold, its pulse bled through walls and stone, rattling chains and igniting whispers in Kael’s dreams. When he closed his eyes, he saw it: a jagged crown fragment, molten veins weaving through its black surface, calling him by the name he hated—Vaeren.It had been three nights since the emissary escaped in smoke and ash. Three nights since Kael had refused the shard, only to find it had not refused him. Wherever he walked in the camp, he felt the pull. Like a tether hooked through his ribs. Like a voice that was not quite sound, urging him to finish what others had begun.The Council kept him close. Guards shadowed his steps, though none dared walk too near. To most, he was no longer Kael Ardyn, comrade or protector. He was a question wrapped in fire. A burden. A threat.By the fourth dawn, rumors spread that the Fang were marching openly. Not in shadows, not through infiltrators, but w