Night draped the camp in silence, broken only by the crackle of dying fires and the restless shuffle of soldiers who could not sleep. The shadow of the coming war pressed on every man’s chest like a weight too heavy to bear.Inside the command tent, a single lamp burned low, its flame flickering against maps scattered across the table. Eldrin leaned over them, jaw tight, his scarred hand tracing the red lines drawn toward the capital’s ruins. The Riders were moving faster than expected. Too fast.“They want us exhausted before the true clash,” Eldrin muttered under his breath.Kael stood nearby, arms crossed. The veteran’s good eye gleamed in the dim light, his body rigid like a drawn bowstring. “We hold formation. Panic is the only blade that cuts deeper than steel. If the men break before battle, the warlord has already won.”Eldrin nodded, though his mind was elsewhere. His thoughts lingered on Isolde on the look in her eyes when she swore she would stand by him, no matter the abys

The night settled heavy over the war-camp, thick with smoke and silence. Fires guttered low, their light smothered by the veil of mist that crept down from the jagged peaks. Every soldier felt it the weight of betrayal pressing down on their shoulders. Shade’s escape had not only cost them lives, it had carved suspicion into every heart.Eldrin stood at the edge of the camp, his cloak drawn tight against the chill. The curse stirred faintly under his skin, black lines pulsing like veins of molten coal. He clenched his fist and forced the whispers down. Not now. He could not falter now.Behind him, the camp murmured. Voices carried in sharp bursts: accusations, fears, doubts. He caught the words traitor and cursed more times than he cared to count.“Let them speak,” Kael growled at his side. The old general’s armor was still dented from the last clash, his scarred face twisted with bitterness. “Their tongues wag because their spines are weak. Soldiers who truly believe in victory don’t

The rider’s warning still rang in the air when Kael barked orders, his voice cutting through the rising panic like a whip. “Shields up! Form ranks! Get the wounded moved to the rear, now!”The men moved, though their movements carried hesitation, glances darting not just toward the horizon but toward Eldrin. Every command Kael gave was obeyed, but Eldrin’s silence lingered like a storm waiting to break.Eldrin stood motionless, his hand tightening on his sword. The shadows at his feet curled and twisted, feeding off his turmoil. He could feel the abyss calling, whispering, promising strength enough to crush the Riders before they even reached the camp.But at what cost?He looked toward Isolde. She stood apart, helping the rider to his feet, her face set in grim lines. She did not so much as glance at Eldrin, though once, not long ago, her eyes had sought his in every battle.Kael noticed the distance too. The old general’s gaze lingered between them before he muttered under his breat

The battlefield stank of ash and iron. Smoke rose from the charred remains of war banners that once carried the pride of kingdoms, now reduced to scraps fluttering in the poisoned wind. At the center of it all, Eldrin stood with the Black Spear clutched in his hands.The weapon pulsed with a rhythm that was not his own. Each throb sent tendrils of shadow racing up his arms, curling into his chest, sinking deeper into the veins where the curse already coiled. His fingers trembled around the haft, but he dared not let go—not after what he had seen it do.The spear had cut through the Riders of Ashen Flame like they were made of parchment. It had driven back the warlord himself, forcing the monster to retreat for the first time. The men who still lived whispered in awe, their eyes torn between fear and reverence.But Eldrin knew the truth. The spear wasn’t his ally. It was his devourer.He staggered forward, planting the butt of the weapon against the cracked earth to steady himself. The

The battlefield’s screams faded into silence.When Eldrin opened his eyes, there was no sky, no earth only a void that breathed.He stood upon nothing, yet his boots felt the weight of ground. The air was thick with smoke and whispers, every sound echoing like a chorus from unseen mouths. Around him, chains hung in endless arcs, suspended as though by some invisible will. Some glowed faintly, others were blackened and rusted, dripping with shadow that hissed when it touched the void beneath.Eldrin’s grip on his sword tightened.“This place again…”But no sooner had the thought formed than the chains moved. They writhed like serpents awakened, circling him, clinking together in rhythm like a drumbeat of war. One lashed out, striking sparks as it met his blade.The force of it rattled him to the bone. He staggered but did not fall.Then came the voice deep, layered, and merciless.“You cannot fight what you are. Every chain is your truth.”From the shadows ahead, the warlord emerged. N