The city of Dravengard burned with light that night not from war, but from celebration.Thousands filled the rebuilt streets, torches and banners waving, drums beating like the pulse of the empire itself. Fireworks burst above the towers, showering the night with gold and crimson sparks. The scent of roasted meat and incense mixed with the cries of children running through the crowd.Kael Draven stood on the highest balcony of the black palace, the wind whipping his cloak behind him. His armor was polished obsidian, his crown carved from fragments of divine relics he’d taken from the gods themselves.Below, the voice of the herald boomed across the city:“Tonight, by decree of His Majesty, Emperor Kael Draven, the Festival of Chains begins!”The crowd erupted into cheers that shook the very stones.Kael’s gaze drifted over the sea of people, slaves, peasants, former soldiers of fallen kingdoms. For once, their faces weren’t twisted by fear. They were smiling.Aelira stood beside him,

After the duel with Serathiel, the ashes of celebration still clung to Dravengard’s streets. The people called Kael “Godslayer,” sang his name in trembling awe, but beneath the triumph ran a pulse of fear, low, constant, unspoken.Even the banners seemed to watch him now.Kael sat on the obsidian throne at the heart of the shattered palace. His armor, still cracked from battle, caught the dim torchlight. Across his knees rested the Godslayer Blade, veined with faint streaks of gold light, divine essence still trapped within its steel.It should have felt like victory.Instead, it felt like breathing beside a beast that hadn’t yet finished feeding.He stared at the sword in silence, his reflection shifting on its dark surface. For the first time since his rebirth, Kael felt something foreign coil beneath his skin, unease.The door creaked open. Aelira entered, her robes torn, hair bound loosely, eyes rimmed with exhaustion. “You should rest,” she said quietly. “You’ve not slept since

Light slammed into Kael like a tidal wave.One moment he was standing in the collapsing inner world of the Godslayer Blade—the next he was back in the meditation hall, kneeling in the center of the runic circle, drenched in cold sweat.His breath came in ragged bursts.The blade floated before him, suspended in the air, humming low like a beast waiting to see if its new master would dare reach out.Aelira rushed toward him the moment his eyes opened.“Kael! Kael, talk to me!”He didn’t answer.He reached up, slowly, deliberately and wrapped his fingers around the hilt.The hall trembled.A deep crimson glow erupted from the weapon, swirling around his arm, his chest, and then sinking into his body like molten iron being poured into a mold.Aelira gasped, stumbling back as a blast of heat washed over her.“Kael stop! That’s too much power.”He didn’t hear her.Or maybe he simply didn’t care.The Godslayer Blade pulsed, and a voice, cold, ancient, familiar, whispered through the air.“M

The world held its breath when Kael stepped onto the blackened plateau where he and the divine heir agreed to meet. No armies, no spectators, no banners, only wind slicing across stone.A second sun ignited above the horizon.Wings of molten gold unfolded, and the divine heir descended like a falling judgment.The ground cracked beneath their landing.The heir tilted their chin. “You came alone.”Kael rested a hand on the Godslayer Blade. “You said single combat. I intend to make sure your corpse keeps its promise.”The heir gave a small, pitying smile. “Still pretending you choose? Still pretending you are more than a cycle?”Kael rolled his shoulders. “Start the fight. I don’t need sermons.”“Oh, but you do.” The heir lifted their spear, light condensed so densely it hummed like a scream. “History repeats for a reason, Kael Draven. You rise. You slaughter. You rebel. And then..”“I die.” Kael snorted. “Yes, yes. You gods are very proud of that part.”“We’re not proud,” the heir corr

The world felt different.Sharper.Louder.Alive in a way Kael had never sensed before.He stood at the balcony of the obsidian citadel overlooking his empire, his pulse syncing with the heartbeat of the land itself. Every whisper in the wind, every distant footstep, every trembling breath from the citizens below flowed into him.Half-divine.The words still felt unreal.Aelira stood a few steps behind him, arms folded, her wing feathers dim from exhaustion. She watched him like someone watching a blade they weren’t sure they could sheathe again.“How do you feel?” she asked quietly.Kael exhaled, and the air shimmered with heat. “Like the world finally makes sense.”“That’s not comforting,” she muttered.He turned his head slightly. “They’re afraid,” he said, listening to the city below. “Even the ones who worship me.”“They should be,” Aelira replied. “You’re not mortal anymore.”Kael didn’t deny it. He simply stepped forward and placed his hands on the railing, letting the power in