The air grew colder as Kael followed Lirae through the stone tunnels below Khorath.
Dripping ceilings. Cracked torches. Forgotten bones. The deeper they went, the more the city above faded into myth—and the more the cursed blade at Kael's side began to hum.
"I can feel it," Kael muttered.
Lirae didn't slow her pace. "Good. That means we're close."
"Close to what?"
She glanced back, her violet eyes catching what little light the torches offered. "Answers. Or madness. Possibly both."
They passed a rusted gate sealed by old Arkanis runes. Lirae pressed her palm against the symbols—light flared blue, then green, then vanished. The gate creaked open, revealing a long, circular chamber lined with broken statues and obsidian pillars.
"This is where the blade was made," she said softly. "This is where it was bound."
Kael stepped forward. The sword at his side pulled him toward the center of the room like a leash tightening. The walls pulsed faintly. Whispers danced on the edge of his mind—words in a tongue he didn't know, but somehow understood.
"Vareth... vael k'torr... blood must bind..."
He dropped to one knee, sweat beading on his forehead.
The blade was glowing now—dim but unmistakable.
Lirae knelt beside him, one hand on his shoulder. "You're not just carrying the curse, Kael. You're connected to it. Your family's blood—your blood—was used in the forging."
His breathing turned ragged. "What do you mean?"
"The Order didn't just kill your family to silence them. They needed them. To awaken you."
Suddenly, the ground trembled.
From the shadows at the edge of the chamber, robed figures began to emerge—hooded, faces obscured, chanting low and steady.
Lirae's eyes widened. "They followed us—"
Kael stood. His blade slid from its sheath with a hiss like a scream.
"Let them come."
The cultists charged, blades drawn, chants rising to a fever pitch. Kael moved first—steel flashing, cutting down the closest one with a single stroke. Another lunged at Lirae, but she raised her hands—sigils blazing as she shouted a spell.
The air cracked.
Fire spiraled from her fingertips, igniting half the chamber.
More came. Too many.
Kael's vision blurred. His muscles burned. But the blade guided him now—faster, stronger, more brutal with every kill. His mind dimmed, drowned beneath a rising tide of rage and bloodlust.
He didn't just fight.
He devoured.
When the last cultist fell, silence returned.
Kael stood in the center of the room, surrounded by corpses and flame. Lirae staggered to him, eyes wide.
"You were... different. You didn't even blink."
Kael's voice was hollow. "I wasn't in control."
She looked at the blade. Then at him.
"Then we have a bigger problem than I thought."
Above them, far above the catacombs, a bell tolled in the heart of the city.
Chancellor Durn Halvek had summoned the Black Guard.
Kael was no longer a ghost.
He was a target.
And Khorath was about to bleed.