An enemy had infiltrated Velarion.
Hidden behind the falls, the sacred village had remained untouched for centuries. But now—violated.
He learned of Karnithetic abilities. He understood them.
He took forbidden knowledge—the kind never meant for twisted minds.
And with it… the soldiers of Velmont awakened.
Mystic abilities now surged through those who only knew conquest.
The lower villages never stood a chance.
Fire. Screams. Ash.
Velarion, once a sanctuary of wisdom and children's laughter, was overrun.
Its temples crumbled. Its guardians slain.
Castiel, held back by dark restraints, could only watch as the children he'd saved screamed in agony, their tiny bodies engulfed in flame.
He roared. He wept. He failed to save any.
Then came Greed—in the flesh.
With talons of shadow,he grinned as he reached inside Castiel's chest, tearing free the crystal of light buried within his heart.
And as Castiel died, so too did hope.
From the smoldering ashes of Velarion, an ancient force awoke. Something darker than Hell itself, sealed for eons.
Now it reigned.
The vision struck like lightning.
Castiel, mid-flight over the trees of Oakreach Woods, let out a choking gasp—then plummeted.
He hit the earth with a crack. Motionless. The sun at its zenith. Vultures circled in silence above.
Hours passed.
The Durnium Retrieval Squad, slow but steady, trampled toward Oakreach.
Anderson halted the column when he spotted something in the dirt.
"He's still breathing."
The others froze.
"Take him back to base," Anderson ordered. "Thank whoever knocked his lights out for making our job easier."
They bound his limbs and hoisted him over their shoulders
Night fell.
The moon hung heavy in the sky, ghostly and pale. A cold wind whispered through the trees.
In the distance, the corrupted lights of Velmont shimmered.
As Anderson and his men approached the barracks, the gates opened to greet them.
The soldiers, armored and ready for war, surged forward. But the ruckus died the moment they saw who Anderson brought back.
Castiel.
Unconscious. Defeated.
His coat tattered. His face bruised. Stripped of his three swords and chained in iron.
Anderson stood tall.
"Mission complete," he spat.
Inside, Morel awaited.
He approached the restrained Castiel like a greedy child eying a prize.
"Is the Durnium on him?" he hissed.
They searched him—nothing.
"No matter. We'll find it. What matters is... you've saved me."
Morel grinned and looked down at the sleeping warrior—his would-be executioner—now at his mercy.
"Time to wake up, hero," Morel whispered mockingly in Castiel's ear.
The snake on his arm hissed in anticipation.