The dawn after the ritual broke over Black Hollow in streaks of gold and crimson, painting the village in a light too bright, too harsh for the weight still hanging in the air.The villagers moved through the square with quiet purpose, their voices hushed, their hands trembling not from fear, but from the aftershock of what they’d done.The warding stone at the center of the village pulsed with a faint, golden glow, the Blade of Severing’s runes now carved into its surface, humming like a dormant heartbeat. But the victory felt fragile, like glass waiting to shatter.Dain stood at the edge of the square, his arm wrapped in a clean bandage, the black veins gone, but the skin beneath them ached, a phantom pain that lingered like a warning. He flexed his fingers, watching the villagers as they tended to the aftermath: repairing the walls, reinforcing the traps, whispering prayers over the new wards. Garrick hammered at the forge, the clang of his tool a steady rhythm against the unease i

The village should have celebrated.The wards were whole. The Forgotten King was bound. The black veins had vanished from Dain’s arm, leaving only a faint, silver scar where the King’s name now pulsed beneath his skin. But the village was quiet.The villagers moved through the square with hushed steps, their eyes flicking to Dain’s arm as if it were a wound that might reopen. The fire in the hearth burned low, casting long, wavering shadows across the walls, and the wind carried the scent of rain, heavy, imminent, like a storm waiting to break.Dain sat at the edge of the well, the Blade of Severing resting across his knees, its runes dormant but humming with residual energy. The shard of the King’s name burned beneath his skin, a constant, dull ache that echoed the rhythm of his heart. He flexed his fingers, watching the scar pulse, and felt the King’s presence like a whisper at the edge of his mind, patient, waiting."You look like hell."Dain didn’t glance up as Serra approached, h

The village was quiet the morning after the battle, the air thick with the scent of burnt earth and smoke. The villagers moved slowly, their bodies aching, their faces streaked with soot and dried blood. The warding stone at the center of the square pulsed with a steady, golden light, but the cracks in the ground remained, black vines creeping along their edges like veins.Dain stood at the edge of the square, his arm wrapped in a clean bandage, the scar beneath it pulsing with a dull, persistent ache. The King’s name burned in his flesh, a constant reminder of the bargain he’d made.Serra found him there, her sword sheathed but her stance alert, her eyes scanning the horizon as if expecting the King to reappear at any moment. She didn’t speak at first, just stood beside him, her presence a comfort in the silence."You look like you’ve seen a ghost," she said finally, her voice low.Dain didn’t glance at her. "I feel like one."She exhaled, crossing her arms. "The villagers are callin

The sanctuary was silent, the air thick with the scent of old blood and burnt stone. The standing stones towered over the villagers, their runes pulsing faintly in the torchlight, as if remembering a time long forgotten.Dain stood at the center of the circle, his hand pressed against the blackened altar, the Blade of Severing resting at his side. The scar on his arm burned, the King’s name pulsing like a second heartbeat, syncing with the rhythm of the stones.Serra stood beside him, her sword ignited, its blue flame casting eerie shadows across the clearing. The villagers gathered around the altar, their faces pale in the flickering light, their voices hushed with awe and fear. Garrick clutched his hammer, his knuckles white, while Mira pressed a poultice of herbs to the altar, her lips moving in a silent prayer. Taren hovered at the edge of the group, his dagger unsheathed, his eyes fixed on the runes as if they held the secrets of the world."This place is alive," Taren whispered,

The return to Black Hollow was not a triumph.The villagers moved through the gates like ghosts, their faces streaked with soot and blood, their eyes hollow with exhaustion. The warding stone at the center of the square pulsed with a steady, golden light, but the cracks in the ground remained, black vines creeping along their edges like veins.Dain walked at the front of the group, the Blade of Severing sheathed at his side, its runes dormant but humming with residual energy. The scar on his arm ached, the King’s name pulsing beneath his skin like a dormant ember.Serra stepped beside him as they entered the square, her sword sheathed but her stance alert, her eyes scanning the horizon as if expecting the King to reappear at any moment. "We held him off," she said, her voice low. "But it feels like we lost something anyway."Dain didn’t glance at her. "We did.""The sanctuary?""Our innocence." He flexed his fingers, watching the villagers as they dispersed to their homes, their shoul