ASHIX-THE LOST GUARDIAN

"There is no peace in the heart of a man who has tasted power and found it sweeter than blood."

The moon cast no light over the Blackened Vale.

It wasn't night, not exactly. It was always like this where Kael Thorne now dwelled—within the cursed remnants of the ancient city of Vel'dakar, a place swallowed by the void eons ago. The stones here whispered, the wind didn't howl but spoke. Shadows crawled even when there was no source to cast them. It was where forgotten things stirred and where Kael had made his throne.

He stood before a wide, cracked mirror — obsidian forged by magic and madness — watching the faint afterglow of flames that danced from far away.

"The embers still cling to him," he muttered, voice like dry leaves crushed underfoot. "But not for long."

The image shifted. Ashix. Still alive. Still growing. That should've pleased him — but Kael's smile was a curve of contempt. His left hand — the cursed one, the Void Whisperer — pulsed under the black wrappings. Faint tendrils of purple mist leaked between his fingers like smoke from a dying star.

A low growl echoed in the chamber behind him.

Kael turned. His pet — or rather, his experiment — lurked in the corner. A beast once called human, now molded by void energy and dark enchantments. It had no face, only an armor of twisted bone and a mass of black veins glowing faintly with violet energy.

Kael walked slowly to a stone altar and dipped his right hand into a basin of crimson liquid. Not blood. Something worse. Memories dissolved in rage — the essence of his failed subjects.

"Time is no longer your ally, Ashix," Kael said, lifting his dripping hand to his lips. "The stars will align soon. I will find her first. And when I do... you will know true pain ."

He stared into the mirror again.

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In a chamber deeper beneath the Blackened Vale, two hooded figures knelt before a great seal — a round plate embedded in the stone floor, etched with runes that burned a sickly green. They spoke in the Lost Tongue, chanting a ritual Kael had forced into their minds through months of torment.

"Bring her to me," Kael said, approaching them from the shadows. "The Seer. The last of the Emberblood line."

"But... master, she's protected—"

Kael's cursed hand gripped the speaker's head. With a whisper, the hooded figure turned to ash.

"No more excuses."

The second figure trembled, bowing lower. "Yes, master."

Kael moved back to his throne, carved from the ribcage of a mountain beast, and traced the air with his hand. A map ignited before him, drawn in red flame and void trails. Tiny dots marked Ashix's location, but Kael wasn't only watching him — he was watching Marini.

"She's gotten close, too quickly," he murmured. "How interesting…"

He was watching Marini with smiles, he had no doubt she about her loyalty to him. In fact, he had planted the first seed of doubt in her soul for the carrier of pure light — long ago, when she was only a child.

"Should the time come, strike when the flame is brightest. That's when it is most fragile."

She had remembered.

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That night, Kael stood atop the highest peak of the Vale, cloak snapping in the wind, eyes glowing from beneath his hood. He raised his arms, calling forth the Black Sky — a shroud of swirling clouds and darkness that hadn't been summoned in decades.

"Awaken... ancient watchers," he called, voice amplified by the Void Whisperer. "Send my message across the Realms."

He released a burst of shadow energy so massive it cracked the stones beneath his feet. The pulse spread through the land, invisible to most eyes, but every creature born of shadow, of curse, of void — they felt it.

All would now know:

Kael Thorne had begun his march.

And war would follow.