The journey south took longer than Kael had anticipated. He had left the Northern Wastes behind early in spring-or at least what passed for spring in those frozen lands. The snow thinned into desolate tundra interspersed with stubborn patches of gray moss. Rivers began to crack and flow with their waters black and icy; the air warmed just enough that his breath didn't freeze instantly on his beard.
Kael walked steadily, averaging perhaps twenty or thirty miles a day. He avoided the few trade roads that skirted the wilds and pursued ridges and valleys with scant patrol. His reawakened Storm bloodline was harnessed to his use-this time, a brief burst of speed when called upon, a faint warmth against the impending cold.
He hunted while on the move: ice hares, lone wolves, the occasional frost elk. Meat was cooked over small fires, skins added to the weight of his pack.
By now, there were hardly any memories that surfaced during the day, having been pushed back by the cadences of the walk, while at night under the open sky, they flooded back.
Meanwhile, far behind him in Eldren Citadel...
Elara Voss was sitting alone in her quarters after a long day of training recruits. The room was small and plain, as was the standard for a captain. It had one window through which the view spilled out onto the city walls.
She was clutching a worn-out letter, one so old she had herself written it years ago but never sent. The faint ink was slightly chipped.
"Kael," it started. "If you ever read this, know that I never blamed you. Not truly. The world needed a hero, and you tried to be everything it asked. I just wish you'd let us carry some of the weight."
She folded the letter once again and placed it inside a drawer. Outside, spring rain drizzled down against the glass.
" Still alive," she murmured, the same small hope she afforded herself each night. "That's enough for now."
Further north than she could imagine...
He crested one final ridge and saw it.
The Void Scar.
Across the horizon it stretched like a wound that had never healed. A gigantic crater windswept with jagged black edges, miles wide. No snow had dared enter this chasm; the ground was composed of the blackened soil and twisted stone. Above, purple-black vapour lazily floated, intercepting what little light made it this far north. From a distance already, the air felt heavy, pressing against the skin with an almost able hand.
It was here where Vorath had burst open: where thousands had died, where his old life had ended.
For a long time, Kael stood at the lip staring down. That old ache rose once more to the fore of his mind, sharp and familiar.
He remembered that day crawling in the dust, blood in his eyes, searching for the warmth of Elara's hand only to find it cold. To murmur a thousand apologies that came late.
He had not come back here in five years. Part of him had really never wanted to.
But the Void bloodline still slept within him, scarred and silent. If the North had returned his Storm bloodline, perhaps this place would return or remake his Void bloodline.
He began the descent.
The crater walls were steep but claimable. Loose rocks shifted files to side under his boots. The mist thickened downward with faint smells of ozone and decay. His past wounds throbbed dully like memories.
Halfway down, Kael found his first test.
An ice wyrm burst through a crack in the rockface—a huge serpent whose pale blue scales lay interspersed with crystalline spines. Thirty feet long. Jaws wide enough to swallow a horse. It had sensed his approach, drawn by the faint portents of Storm energy he carried.
Without hesitation, Kael drew his iron sword.
The short-lived, terribly bloody fight ensued.
The wyrm struck first, lancing with blinding speed. Kael had pulled down from the sky a bolt—with the power so much higher than in the early days. It struck the beast's head, momentarily stunning it. He dodged the whipping tail, rolled under the jaws, and lodged his blade into the soft underside.
Black ichor sprayed; the wyrm thrashed, smashing stone. One spine grazed his shoulder, ripping flesh; the pain flared but he hung on.
He then channeled all the current that lay within him, wrapping his sword in crackling blue might. One last leap—he landed on the wyrm's back and drove in the blade deep behind its skull.
The creature convulsed once and slumped down to death.
Kael slid down to the ground, panting. Blood flowed along his arm, warm against the chill that was steadily spreading from the Scar. He hastily bound the wound with strips of cloth.
Exposed was the wyrm's core—a fist-sized crystal pulsating faint blue light. Kael pried it out and held it up. Warmth spread through his body as he absorbed its essence, strengthening his muscles and bones.
Good. He would need every edge here.
As he began to descend, the night turned, the mist glowing with faint purple hues. Strange figures lurked in his peripheral vision: echoes of void energy, or perhaps mere memories.
He set up camp on a flat ledge and did not light a fire. Flame was hated in the Void Scar.
The language of uneasy sleep swept over him, feeling alive with dreams.
He was eighteen years old, standing in the Legion armory with Elara on the day he had the handover of Tempest Reaver.
The master smith had presented the sword with great ceremony. "Forged from storm steel and void iron," the old man had said, "a blade worthy of the Tempest Blade."
Kael took it with reverence, feeling the hum of power through his hands. Lightning flickered along the edge. Shadows coiled around the hilt.
Elara watched from the side, arms folded, a proud smile on her face. "It suits you," she said that night alone with him. "Beautiful and dangerous."
He teased her by swinging it playfully, small arcs of lightning sparking from the blade that made her laugh. "One day," he promised, "I'll forge a matching blade for you."
She had only shaken her head. "I'll stick to my own style. Just promise you'll wield that one wisely."
He had promised.
Kael woke before dawn, the dream fading like mist.
Black and silent lay the floor of the crater below.
He rose, shouldered his pack, and continued his descent.
The Void was calling.
And this time, he would answer.
Far away, Elara woke from a restless sleep. For the first time in years, she had dreamed of lightning on a clear day.
She sat up, heart beating faster than it should.
Something had changed.
She didn't know what. But she felt it.