The roots of Cellok sprawled like veins of black iron beneath a poisoned sky. No birds nested in its branches, no wind dared stir the air. At the center of that dead realm stood the black, the cursed tree of the Shadowborn, where the lilies of venom bloomed silver and foul. Its bark pulsed faintly with an inner sickness, and from its hollow core poured the whispers of Evilside, the Tree Goddess, whose will had bound the Liroids for a thousand years.Snake knelt before the roots. His cloak shimmered faintly, its scales visible in the dim glow of the lilies, his raven dark hair falling over his pale, flawless face. Serpents writhed in the shadows at his command, hissing softly as though eager to drink the sap that dripped from the tree's wounds. His gaze was sharp, cruel, and patient, a predator in silence.Beside him bowed Dragon, taller and broader, hair as red as fire spilling like a mane of war. His presence radiated raw power, his shoulders like stone, his grin edged with hunger. I

Kindraloy lay far from the roots of Cellok and the black towers of Doomsany. Its streets were narrow, its homes built of timber and stone, its people humble and cautious. No magic touched this place, for centuries ago, two lovers, King Kindra and Queen Loy, had sacrificed themselves to strip power from its soil. Here, no spell took root, no curse thrived. It was the only place in the world where the Shadowborn, gods, and demigods were made small.Snake walked those streets with his cloak drawn close, a hood shadowing his face. To most, he was only another traveler, though some turned their heads, uneasy without knowing why. His hair, raven-dark, the symbol of his bloodline, caught light even when hidden. He carried silence with him like a second skin, and silence unsettled mortals.He reached a small home near the edge of the town, its garden modest, its windows aglow with faint light. He paused, letting himself breathe. Here, in Kindraloy, the whispers of Evilside fell silent. Her ro

Chapter Five: The Burning CrownThe dawn over Tan was a blaze of fire, the rising sun breaking through storm clouds to gild the crusader king's camp in gold. Banners flapped in the wind, emblazoned with the twin sigils of Ciria's memory and Tan of Tan's flame. Soldiers marched in ordered lines, shields gleaming, spears raised like a forest of iron. Priests stood among them, holding braziers of white fire, their chants weaving strength into the hearts of men.The king himself rode at the front, armor polished like the sun, his golden blade raised high. His voice carried across the fields: "Today, we break the curse of Cellok! Today, we burn the shadows from the earth!"His army roared, faith burning as fiercely as the torches in their hands.And by the gods may Tan keep to his promise, he thought to himself as fear took hold of him, he would not let his men falter, for he would keep a strong face and pray hard that the crane god would show his men mercy. For Tan was a twisted and hard

The plain of Meris was still smoking when Snake and Dragon finally abandoned it. The black earth clung to their boots, the stink of ash clung to their cloaks. The field was quiet now, but it was not victory that filled the silence. It was something heavier, something that made even serpents hiss uneasily in the shadows.Snake walked ahead, his movements slow and deliberate, each step weighed with thought. His cloak dragged across the ruin, dark against darker ground. The venom of his serpents lingered in the corpses, but the taste of triumph had long since faded from his mouth.Behind him came Dragon, broad shoulders hunched, a half-healed burn slicing across his neck. His fiery hair, usually untamed and wild, was streaked with soot. Yet even broken, his stride carried power, and his grin, though weak, refused to die.“Not dead yet,” Dragon rasped, the sound rough with smoke. “That is more than most can say.”Snake did not turn. His voice was flat. “Not dead. Not victorious.”Dragon l

The dawn after Ilaris was not bright. Smoke clung to the sky, dimming the sun, and the bells of the temple rang hollow in the air. Villagers crept into the ruins, whispering prayers to fire that no longer burned. Ash drifted like snow, settling on their hair, their lips, their hope.Snake stood among the bodies, his cloak dark with soot, his daggers heavy with blood. His serpents hissed at the ashes, searching for warmth but finding none. He felt no triumph, only the weight of silence.Dragon strode through the ruins with a grin cracked by pain. His skin blistered where holy flame had bitten him, yet he laughed as though wounds were medals. He raised his blade high, blood dripping down its edge. “Another temple falls! Let Tan choke on the ash of his priests!” His dragon scale began to shield his body.But Snake’s eyes lingered on Passion. She knelt among the priests, her head bowed, her torch still raised as though it had never dimmed. Her lips moved in prayer, soft and steady. To the