The northern city of Aetherhold had once been a stronghold of unity between humans and monsters. It now stood in ruin—walls scorched black, skies darkened by summoned clouds, and its central tower crowned with a new banner: a crimson claw.
As Takeshi and his party approached the city gates, survivors fled past them with stories of horror: beastkind being forcibly fused, citizens branded with the same red glyphs seen in Rindlebrook.
They entered cautiously. Mochi shrank to travel size and rode on Takeshi's shoulder. Elira had her bow notched, and Fyria's hands glowed with fire. Sir Haiku drew his blade with solemn grace.
In the town square, a speech blared from a floating projection: a tall figure cloaked in a regal crimson coat, silver hair tied back, a mask shaped like a beast's jaw obscuring his face.
"The age of chaos was born of weak tamers," he declared. "Now, I bring order through dominion. The will of the False King shall unify us all."
Takeshi stepped forward. "Unify? You're enslaving them. Monsters aren't tools. They're—"
"Broken creatures waiting for purpose," the man replied, materializing before them through a shimmer of magic. "You are the Bondforger. I've been waiting."
Their eyes locked. The False King extended his hand, and a corrupted dragon-beast—twisted and rotting, with bone wings—descended with a roar.
"You tamed the weak. Let's see you tame this."