Night stretched long across the frontier roads, where civilization thinned into scattered watchtowers and forgotten shrines. Travelers no longer sang around campfires here. The dark had grown.
And something within it had awakened.
In the ruins of an old border fortress—its banners long devoured by wind and time—a lone figure knelt before a stone altar cracked by ancient wars.
The figure wore no crest, no royal colors, no divine symbols.
Only a cloak stitched from layered shadows.
Across the altar lay weapons carefully arranged: twin curved blades, a chain spear, and a short bow carved from blackened ivory. Each carried faint engravings—names scratched rather than forged.
Names of the dead.
The figure lifted a small metallic compass.
The needle spun wildly… then stopped.
Pointing west.
Pointing toward Auren.
A low voice emerged beneath the hood.
"So the flame walks again."
The words carried neither anger nor reverence—only purpose.
Far beneath the ruins, hidden in chambers swallowed by time, old mechanisms began turning. Stone gears awakened with grinding reluctance, as if resenting the return of duty.
Ancient lanterns ignited one by one.
Blue fire.
Hunter's fire.
On the far wall, a mural flickered into view: a knight surrounded by celestial light, facing countless shadows alone.
The hunter studied it quietly.
Then reached out and dragged a blade across the mural's surface, carving a single line through the glowing knight.
"This time," the hunter whispered, "we finish the story."
Miles away, beneath a sky restless with unseen movement, Auren stopped mid-step.
The karmic sigil burned.
Not painfully.
Warn fully.
Lyra noticed immediately.
"Another vision?"
Auren shook his head slowly.
"No… not a memory."
Kael's expression darkened.
"Then someone's looking for you."
The air shifted. Subtle. Sharp.
Predatory.
Auren's instincts—honed through two lifetimes of war—recognized it instantly.
Not demonic.
Not divine.
Human.
But something far more dangerous than either of them.
"A hunter," Auren said quietly.
Lyra frowned.
"We already have half the world hunting us."
Auren's gaze hardened toward the horizon.
"No. This one is different."
The sigil pulsed again.
Stronger.
Closer.
The wind carried the faint metallic scent of old steel and older oaths.
Kael exhaled slowly.
"You've felt this before, haven't you?"
Auren didn't answer immediately.
Because he had.
Not in this life.
But in the one he barely remembered.
A battlefield without demons.Without gods.Without magic.
Only warriors.
And one man who never missed.
Auren tightened his grip on his sword.
"We keep moving," he said. "But stay sharp."
Lyra adjusted her stance.
Kael's shadow stretched longer than the moon allowed.
And somewhere beyond the hills—
Footsteps began.
Measured. Patient. Certain.
The hunter had started walking.
"Monsters roar, gods proclaim—but the most dangerous enemy is the one who walks quietly toward your name."
~Glowing Sigil