Lord of Deception

The torches lining the grand corridor flickered as Kael walked with measured steps, his golden eyes reflecting the dim light. Outside, the night was alive with whispers of war—the distant echoes of marching boots, the scent of steel and sweat lingering in the air. The Empire was shifting, and Kael was at the heart of it.

Inside the war chamber, his most trusted allies waited. General Cassius leaned against the far wall, his broad arms crossed, his expression unreadable. Lady Ravyn sat at the edge of the table, a dagger twirling between her fingers. Captain Sylas stood at attention, his presence sharp as a blade.

Kael took his seat, resting his hands on the polished surface. "The Prophet has begun to react," he said, his voice calm. "Our chaos has forced his hand. He no longer sees the clear path ahead, and that means he will make mistakes."

Cassius smirked. "Good. When do we strike?"

Kael glanced at Sylas. "What have our spies uncovered?"

Sylas bowed slightly. "Their forces are pulling back toward Velthar's Ridge. They believe we are planning a full-frontal assault on the eastern front." His smirk grew. "They have no idea we are already behind them."

Kael nodded. "That means we have two advantages. First, they will overcommit their forces where we want them to. Second, their leader, The Prophet, will be vulnerable."

Ravyn's dagger stopped twirling. "You want us to go after The Prophet directly."

Kael met her gaze. "Yes. The war will not be won by numbers alone. We strike at the heart. Without The Prophet, their forces will fracture."

Cassius grinned. "A decapitation strike. I like it."

Nightfall blanketed the land as Kael and his elite squad moved through the dense forests leading to Velthar's Ridge. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and pine, the only sounds their controlled breaths and the occasional rustle of leaves underfoot.

Kael led the way, his instincts razor-sharp. This was not a battlefield of grand armies—this was a hunt.

Beside him, Ravyn moved like a phantom, her presence barely noticeable. Cassius, though built for open war, was a silent predator in the dark. Sylas took the rear, his eyes constantly scanning for unseen dangers.

Ahead, Velthar's Ridge loomed—a jagged rise of stone where the Prophet's personal stronghold lay hidden. The shadows stretched long in the moonlight, masking their approach.

Kael signaled for a stop. "We move in groups," he whispered. "Cassius, create a disturbance on the eastern entrance. Make them think a larger force is coming. Ravyn, take the west and clear any scouts. Sylas and I will move directly inside."

Ravyn smirked. "You're taking the direct approach? Bold."

Kael's expression was unreadable. "We don't have time for subtlety."

Cassius chuckled. "Then let's make some noise."

The stronghold was eerily silent. Kael and Sylas slipped through the stone halls like shadows, avoiding the few guards patrolling the corridors. The deeper they went, the colder the air became.

Kael could feel it—a presence, something unseen yet undeniable.

At the end of the corridor stood a massive iron door, etched with ancient symbols. A barrier, meant to keep outsiders away. But Kael was no ordinary outsider.

Placing his hand against the metal, he focused. A pulse of energy radiated from his palm, an unseen force unraveling the hidden mechanisms within the door. The locks clicked open.

Inside, the chamber was lit by a single brazier, its flames casting eerie shadows along the walls. And there, standing at the far end, was The Prophet.

Draped in dark robes, the figure turned slowly, their face hidden beneath a deep hood. "So," the Prophet said, their voice smooth and knowing. "You finally come."

Kael stepped forward, unfazed. "The game is over."

The Prophet chuckled. "No, Lord Kael. It is only beginning."

In an instant, the air shifted—a wave of unseen force exploded outward, sending Sylas crashing against the wall. Kael barely dodged, sliding to the side as the Prophet raised a single hand.

And then, the world shattered.

Reality twisted. Kael found himself standing in an endless void, the walls of the chamber now gone, replaced by a swirling abyss of shifting colors and whispers.

The Prophet stood across from him, unmoved. "Do you understand now? The battlefield is not just land and steel. It is perception. It is the mind itself."

Kael narrowed his eyes. "Illusions won't save you."

The Prophet smiled. "Illusions? No, Lord Kael. This is something far more dangerous."

With a flick of his hand, shadows coiled around Kael's legs, dragging him downward. He could feel them—not mere tricks of light, but something alive.

Something ancient.

But Kael was not so easily bound.

Closing his eyes, he reached within—deep into the core of his own being, where his strength lay coiled like a sleeping beast. When he opened them again, his golden irises burned.

He moved, faster than thought, breaking free from the shadows as a pulse of raw power rippled outward, shattering the illusion.

The void cracked, reality snapping back into place. The chamber returned, the cold stone under his feet reassuringly real.

The Prophet took a single step back, his first sign of hesitation.

Kael smirked. "Your tricks won't work on me."

The Prophet exhaled, his voice calm but measured. "Then let us see what happens when the real war begins."

With a final whisper, he vanished, fading into the air like smoke.

Sylas groaned from the ground. "That... was not normal."

Kael clenched his fists. No, it wasn't.

And that meant the real battle was just beginning.

To be continued...