The air grew colder as Kael and his allies approached Grathmoor.
Nestled atop a jagged hill like a vulture on a carcass, the fortress loomed against a blood-red sky. Even from miles away, its walls radiated malice. A black sun emblem pulsed at its center—new, foreign, and unmistakably tied to the Red Creed.
Kael stood on the ridge, eyes locked on the distant citadel. Every heartbeat brought his mind back to one name.
Rath Veylor.
His sword trembled faintly at his hip. Not with fear. But hunger.
---
Gathering the Forgotten
Two days before their march, Calen had summoned survivors—fighters and mages, exiles and rebels—people whose lives the Creed had ruined. They came not for justice, but revenge.
Among them:
Thorn, a berserker with chains fused into his arms, who lost his sons to the Creed's fire.
Vess, a silent archer who communicated only in gestures, her village razed for sheltering a target.
Merek, a priest with a cursed tongue, speaking only when necessary—each word carried divine weight.
They were broken. But willing.
And under Kael's command, they were a blade.
---
The Plan
Around a makeshift campfire, Kael sketched the fortress from memory—its old structure still familiar from his childhood visits with his father.
"We can't take the main gate," Riven said. "It's enchanted, trapped, and heavily patrolled."
"We don't," Kael replied. "We go underground. There's a tunnel. Forgotten by most, sealed with blood rites. But I can open it."
Vess signed something.
Calen translated. "She wants to know if it's safe."
Kael's jaw clenched. "Nothing about this is safe. But it's the only way."
Elira added, "The inner sanctum is where Rath will be. Likely surrounded by his council."
Merek finally spoke.
"Then let death begin from within."
His voice cracked the flames. The fire hissed.
---
March of the Condemned
At dawn, they moved.
Kael led them along a winding path through a blighted forest, the same place where his sister was buried. He stopped briefly to press a hand against a tree marked with her name.
"I'm close now, Lysa," he whispered. "Your name will rest soon."
Then he rejoined the others.
The tunnel entrance was buried beneath a stone shrine of bones.
Kael stepped forward, sliced his palm, and let blood spill onto the altar.
It drank it eagerly.
The earth groaned.
And then—an opening.
A stairway of pitch-black stone spiraled into the depths.
---
Downward, Into the Beast
No torches.
No words.
Just silence and stone.
Each step felt like a descent into memory. Kael's mind flickered with flashes—his home, his mother's scream, his father's broken body, the fire, Rath's sneering smile.
He touched the blade at his side.
He didn't need light.
Only purpose.
They reached a gate of crimson steel.
And beyond it—Grathmoor's heart.
---
To be continue...