The village woke to a thin, cold rain, the drops hissing as they struck the warding stones.Dain stood at the edge of the square, watching the villagers move through their morning routines with a quiet purpose. The fear in their eyes had diminished, replaced by something harder, resolve. They knew the truth now. They knew the risk. And they had chosen to stand with him anyway.Serra found him near the well, her sword sheathed but her stance alert. "You sleep?" she asked, her voice low."Enough," Dain replied, though the darkness under his eyes betrayed him.She studied him, then pulled a small, wrapped bundle from her cloak. "Eat. You’ll need it."He unwrapped it, a hunk of dark bread, thick with nuts and dried fruit, still warm from the hearth. The scent of cinnamon and honey cut through the chill in the air. "Mira’s work?"Serra nodded. "She thinks you’re wasting away."Dain took a bite, the flavors rich and earthy on his tongue. For a moment, the weight in his chest lifted. "Tell h

The morning dawned clear and cold, the mist of the previous days burned away by a wind that howled down from the mountains.Dain stood at the village’s northern edge, where the land sloped sharply into the ravine, his boots sinking into the damp earth. The Blade of Severing rested against his shoulder, its runes pulsing faintly, as if sensing the shift in the air. The black veins on his arm had stilled, frozen in place by the last of the stone’s fading power, but the cold in his bones told him the respite was temporary.A rustle of leaves announced Serra’s approach. She moved silently, her sword sheathed but her stance alert, her eyes scanning the tree line with the intensity of a hunter."The wind’s changed," she said, her voice low. "It carries something."Dain didn’t need to ask what. He felt it too, the weight in the air, the charge of something coming. "The gods?""Or their scouts." She pulled a small, worn dagger from her boot and tossed it to him. "You’ll need this."He caught

The dawn light revealed what the darkness had hidden: bodies strewn across the ravine’s edge, black blood seeping into the earth, the air thick with the scent of burnt metal and ozone.The villagers moved slowly among the wreckage, their faces pale, their hands trembling not from fear, but from the aftershock of battle. Dain stood at the center of the square, the Blade of Severing sheathed at his side, its runes dormant but humming with residual energy. His arm ached where the black veins had spread, the gauntlet’s runes flickering weakly.Mira approached, her apron stained with blood, some hers, some not. She pressed a warm, damp cloth into his hand. "For your arm," she said, her voice raw. "It’s bleeding again."Dain looked down. A long, thin cut ran from his wrist to his elbow, the black veins pulsing around it like roots drinking ink. He pressed the cloth to the wound, hissing as the pain flared. "I didn’t notice.""You never do," Mira muttered, grabbing his wrist to inspect the d

The light that erupted from the darkness was not the dawn. It was cold, unnatural, a pale, sickly glow that painted the village in shades of ash and bone.Dain shielded his eyes, the Blade of Severing flaring in his grip, its runes burning golden against the unholy light. The villagers stumbled from their homes, their faces pale, their hands clutching weapons they barely remembered grabbing.At the center of the square, the air shimmered, distorting like heat over desert sand. Then, step by step, the Forgotten King emerged, not as a shadow, but as a man, cloaked in armor of blackened silver, his crown a twist of thorns and bone. His eyes were voids, swirling with galaxies of darkness, and his voice, when he spoke, was the sound of a thousand whispers layered into one."You stand, Heir," the King said, his gaze sweeping over the villagers. "But for how long?"Dain didn’t lower the Blade of Severing. "Long enough."The King smiled, a slow, cruel thing. "Your people are weak. Your walls

he fire in the hearth had burned down to embers, casting long, flickering shadows across the walls of Dain’s hut. He sat at the rough-hewn table, the Blade of Severing laid before him, its runes pulsing with a slow, unsettling rhythm, like a heartbeat counting down to something inevitable.The obsidian token the stranger had given him rested beside the blade, its surface etched with runes that glowed faintly in the dim light. The black veins on his arm had stilled, but the skin beneath them itched, as if the Forgotten King’s presence lingered just beneath the surface.A knock at the door shattered the silence.Serra stepped inside, her cloak damp from the evening mist, her sword sheathed but her stance alert. "You called?" Her voice was low, her eyes sharp as they flicked to the Blade and the token.Dain didn’t look up. "I didn’t."She shut the door behind her, the latch clicking into place. "Then why do I feel like you need me here?"He exhaled, rubbing the gauntlet on his arm. The r