Deep within the heart of Kael's Dungeon, the cavern around the core pulsed with life. The little girl sat cross-legged, her eyes bright with wonder, as Megalania—once a towering titan—now lay sprawled on her lap, no larger than a common lizard. It playfully flicked its molten tail, chittering with low, volcanic rumbles that only she seemed to understand.
The egg, resting near the Dungeon Core, pulsed in tandem with her laughter. Each time her small hands brushed against Megalania's back, the shell quivered faintly, resonating with the joy spilling through the chamber.
The Water Dragon lay coiled nearby, watching with knowing eyes. Its scales shimmered like living sapphire, though cracks of faint stone still scarred its hide from years of illness. Its gaze lingered not on Kael, but on the girl.
"She is no ordinary summoner," the dragon's voice echoed softly in Kael's mind, its tone a mix of awe and solemnity. "Her essence sings with the power of titans. Among all who bear the summoner's mark, she may be the strongest I have ever witnessed."
Kael remained silent, though his eyes sharpened. He had suspected her gift was far from normal, but to hear a dragon speak such words… the path ahead had grown far more tangled.
Pyraflame, perched upon a ridge of blackened stone, stirred. Its golden eyes burned, and for once, it did not veil its voice in riddles."You should know, Master. The girl was marked from birth. The empire sought to offer her as sacrifice not out of devotion to the beast they worshipped, but out of fear. A titan-class summoner born to a border village is a threat they could never control. Better to cast her into fire than risk her flame rising against them."
The girl, oblivious to the heavy truth, hummed as she petted Megalania, her laughter echoing like silver bells. Kael's hands tightened behind his back. His path of vengeance had never burned brighter.
Far above, the world moved on.
The royal sisters' carriage rolled through Greyspire's gates, banners fluttering, horns sounding. Nobles gathered like vultures, their silks and jewels glittering under the sunlight. Some murmured in awe at the sight of the sisters—others whispered suspicion, jealousy, or schemes yet unborn.
Kael moved unseen, masked and shrouded in living shadow. With a mere thought, two of his abyssal bosses—colossal figures of nightmare flame and bone—slid into existence, fusing with the sisters' shadows. Hidden guardians, or hidden daggers. Neither sister noticed, but their fates were bound tighter to Kael's will than they yet understood.
Within the grand guest chambers of the mayor's manor, the sisters finally turned to him. The older sister sat rigid, her composure regal even in private. The younger leaned forward, curiosity flickering in her eyes.
"What privileges will you grant us," she asked, "besides this… promise of aid in the throne fight?"
Kael's voice was calm, measured. "Your borders will be protected. No raid, no beast, no assassin shall pierce them so long as you hold to your word. In addition, my friend's company will provide the funds necessary for your campaign. You will not want for gold when influence demands it."
The older sister narrowed her eyes. "Protection and gold… powerful incentives. Yet both can be offered by many. Why should we entrust our lives to shadows?"
Kael raised a hand. In his palm, two daggers materialized—sleek, wicked blades glowing faintly with runes no mortal hand could etch. Their handles shimmered with the unmistakable craftsmanship of legendary dwarves.
He handed one to each sister. As their fingers closed around the hilts, the runes flared, and a sharp jolt of warmth ran up their arms. A bond had been sealed.
"These are soul-bound," Kael said. "No hand but yours can wield them. Not even mine. They will answer only to you, and in battle, they will never fail."
The sisters exchanged a look. For the first time, doubt and suspicion were replaced with something else—temptation.
Kael leaned back into the shadows, his mask gleaming faintly in the candlelight. "That is my offer. Think carefully. What I give cannot be undone."
And the silence that followed was the silence of two royals realizing they were now playing a game far larger than the crown.
Greyspire's squares and streets, once haunted by fear, now bustled with renewed energy. Banners hung from balconies, colors of the royal family stitched alongside Greyspire's crest, fluttering in the morning breeze. The royal sisters had wasted no time turning their arrival into spectacle—grand speeches, public meetings, and above all, promises.
Behind them, always half a step in shadow, stood Kael. The Masked Man, as whispers had begun to call him. His presence lent an unspoken gravity to their words, even though no one knew his name.
Crowds gathered in droves to listen. The nobles leaned forward, measuring every syllable. The commoners watched with guarded hope.
"The throne," the elder sister declared atop Greyspire's central dais, "is not meant to hoard the blood of the people, but to return strength to them in their hour of need. Greyspire has suffered—not only from beasts but from corruption, neglect, and betrayal. That ends with us."
The words spread like wildfire. Nobles exchanged tense glances. Commoners whispered prayers.
And in the shadows, the saboteurs moved. Paid hecklers, would-be assassins, agents of rival nobles—slipping daggers beneath cloaks, ready to disrupt the speeches.
None returned.
Kael's resurrected assassins, silent and unseen, struck with precision. One by one, would-be attackers collapsed into alleys or vanished into the crowds, their bodies spirited away into shadow. The public never noticed. To them, the campaign was flawless, unbroken. The sisters' words carried unchallenged.
By the week's end, the sisters declared the first tangible promise:
"Until Greyspire's reconstruction is complete, essential goods will be sold at lowered costs. Bread, cloth, fruit, and tools—all will be within reach of every family. We will not allow Greyspire to bleed further."
The crowd roared, and even skeptical nobles murmured approval. None realized the goods came not from royal coffers but from Kael's careful design.
That very morning, in Greyspire's commoner market, a modest stall opened. Its name was simple: Verdant Dawn Trading. A masked merchant oversaw it, his attendants polite and efficient.
The sisters themselves made the first purchase, walking boldly into the market with guards at their flanks. They chose baskets of glistening fruit, their colors richer and fresher than anything the commoners had seen in years. Before the crowd, the younger sister plucked one and bit into it.
Her eyes widened, a smile breaking across her face."Sweet… fresher than anything I've tasted even in the capital."
She offered one to her elder sister, who nodded in rare approval after tasting.
The market erupted in cheers. Nobles who had followed curiously stepped forward to sample. Merchants began whispering of supply lines. Commoners wept quietly at the thought of affordable food of such quality.
Verdant Dawn's name spread through Greyspire like wildfire. The sisters' public approval surged higher still, and both nobles and peasants alike began to look at the masked figure behind them with a mix of awe and unease.
Kael, hidden beneath his mask, said nothing. He simply inclined his head. Every piece was falling into place.