When Kael stepped through the door of his childhood home, it was not the same house he remembered. The wooden beams sagged slightly from years of repairs his mother had done with her own hands. The hearth still burned, but faintly, its flame a reflection of a household that had endured too much in his absence.
Reina was sitting at the table, her small hands weaving thin threads into a charm, the way her mother once did to calm her nerves. At sixteen, she had her mother's eyes—bright yet weary—and a maturity that a girl her age should never have carried.
Their mother's face softened when she saw Kael, though the sharp lines of a decade's burden remained etched in her expression.
"You're late," she said, not in anger but in that way mothers scold when they are too relieved to admit it.
Kael gave her a small smile before turning to his sister. He held out two tightly bound scrolls, their seals glowing faintly with runic brilliance.
Reina frowned, hesitant. "Brother, what's this?"
Kael pressed them into her palms. "Your future. Open them, Reina."
The scrolls unfurled on their own, runes spiraling into streams of light that wrapped around her. A warmth filled the room, driving away years of silent cold.
[Reina has acquired Skill: Enchanting Voice (A-Rank)][Reina has acquired Skill: Sacred Attunement (A-Rank)]
Reina staggered, clutching her chest as the essence settled within her. Her eyes went wide, and for the first time in years, true wonder lit her face.
"A-A-rank…?" she whispered, her voice trembling. "Brother… these are A-rank skills…"
Their mother gasped sharply. "Kael! Do you have any idea what this means? If anyone finds out, they'll think you stole them!"
Kael leaned back in his chair, gaze calm but resolute. "They weren't stolen. A friend gave them to me. That's all you need to know."
His mother's voice faltered. "But—"
"I won't have you worry, Mother," Kael interrupted, firm. "Not about this. Not about me. Let the nobles think what they will."
Inside, Kael's thoughts coiled like serpents. Arlen and his prince will not suspect me. They'll look outward—blame rival empires. As long as my mask holds, my family stays untouched.
Reina, still overwhelmed, simply hugged him tightly. "Thank you, brother…"
Far away, Greyspire was in uproar. The destruction of Blackmaw Caves had reached the nobles before the ash had even settled.
"It has the stench of foreign interference," one baron hissed, pacing the council chamber. "The Confederacy, perhaps. Or the Northern Dominion."
"Yes," Arlen agreed smoothly, though his eyes burned with fury. "No lone wanderer could do this. It bears the mark of an organization."
The prince slammed a fist on the table. "Whoever dares undermine my rule will regret it. If they think to weaken us before my ascension, they will soon choke on their arrogance."
In their heated exchange, not once did Kael's name arise.
Meanwhile, Kael sat in the dim glow of his room, hands resting on the black crystal fragments of Maldrake's essence. From the memories ripped from the Blackmaw leader, the truth had surfaced.
The kingdom had entered into a pact. A monster dwelled along the frontier lands—a being older and hungrier than the empire's armies could challenge. To buy peace, the kingdom agreed to a cycle of sacrifices: once every ten years, an innocent child was to be delivered.
This decade's victim had been chosen—a five-year-old orphan girl from a border village.
Kael's jaw clenched, the wood beneath his grip splintering. Arlen's hand is in this. He seeks her, not out of mercy, but to bind her fate to the treaty. And the prince? He would sacrifice children to a beast, just to cling to power.
His reflection in the darkened glass of the window looked back at him, crimson glint burning faintly in his eyes.
"No more," Kael whispered. "I will not let them feed the innocent to their greed."
That night, Reina slept with her new power thrumming in her veins, their mother prayed for the peace she knew was fleeting, and Kael sat silently by the hearth.
His mind was already on the borderlands.On the orphan girl.On the monster that demanded her.And on the kingdom that was rotting from within.
The pieces of the game had shifted. Soon, Kael would no longer play in shadows—he would strike from them.
The council chamber of Greyspire was heavy with the scent of incense and desperation. Nobles lined the long table, their silks masking the sweat of unease. Candles burned low, casting long shadows that danced like whispering conspiracies.
At the head, Prince Dareth leaned back, chin resting on one jeweled hand. His eyes, sharp as a hawk's, scanned the faces of his advisors. Arlen stood at his right side, polished armor gleaming under the lamplight, his presence more confident than ever.
"The destruction of the Blackmaw Caves has disrupted my plans," Dareth said flatly. "Maldrake was… useful. And now he is dust."
Arlen bowed. "If I may, Your Highness. Though Maldrake is gone, opportunity remains. The cycle approaches. The borderlands will demand their tribute soon. This… monster will need its sacrifice."
The prince's gaze hardened. "Yes. The orphan girl."
"Precisely," Arlen said smoothly, lips curling into a cold smile. "If we control the rite, if we ensure the monster bends to our timetable, then every noble house will understand—your will extends even to the abyss itself. No brother or sister could challenge such power. The throne will be yours."
The nobles murmured approval, their earlier unease drowned out by the scent of ambition. A king who commanded monsters—even through blood sacrifice—would be untouchable.
Arlen's eyes glittered as he continued, And when Kael's ghost finally resurfaces, I will bury him again—permanently.
Far away, Kael sat alone in the still night, his thoughts layered like a general's map. The faint pulse of the Dungeon Core in his pocket reminded him of the abyss he had conquered, but his focus was already shifting outward.
He extended his hand, summoning Umbra, the shadowed assassin bound to him. The figure kneeled, a ripple of darkness against the faint glow of the hearth.
"You will go first," Kael ordered. "Scout the border town. I must step on its soil before I can bend space and reach it directly. Mark every path, every patrol, every whisper of this so-called sacrifice. None must escape my sight."
Umbra bowed, dissolving into the night like smoke carried by a cold wind.
Kael exhaled slowly. I cannot afford recklessness. If Arlen is at the heart of this, every move must be precise.
But Kael's mind did not linger on battle alone. For the first time since his return, his gaze shifted to the threads of stability, wealth, and legitimacy.
If I am to face princes and kings, I cannot stand on shadow and steel alone. I need roots that cannot be cut.
He began drafting a plan on parchment—an innocuous front, a trade company, under a false name. It would start small, in Greyspire's markets, moving supplies, ore, and goods discreetly funneled from his dungeon. With time, it would spread like vines into every corner of the empire.
But who would run it? Who could be trusted with numbers, ledgers, negotiations?
Kael thought of the orphans he had seen in Greyspire's slums—the forgotten children of war, wandering with empty eyes, clever fingers, and no future. He would take them in, not as tools, but as seeds of something lasting.
"I'll recruit them," he murmured, eyes narrowing. "Teach them. Arm them with knowledge, not weapons. My village will be their sanctuary, and through them, my reach will extend beyond blades."
The vision unfolded before him: a hidden village growing into a hub of quiet power, his dungeon beneath it thriving with resources, his summons as guardians, and his people—rescued and chosen—woven into the fabric of his rising dominion.
As dawn's first light touched the horizon, Kael rose from his chair. The house was silent, his mother and sister asleep, unaware of the storm gathering just beyond their hills.
The world believed him dead. Arlen thought the throne was his for the taking. The empire whispered of sacrifices to bind monsters.
But Kael was back.And he would build an empire from shadows and ashes.