The city of Veilrath had once been the capital of mages, glowing with towers of light and floating markets in the sky. Now, it was a gray husk wrapped in fear.
Magic had been outlawed.
Mages were hunted.
Temples were turned into prisons.
And yet, the people cheered as their "king" passed by — a puppet crowned by the Twelve Chains. His name was King Elowen, but the real rulers sat in shadows behind him.
Cael entered the city alone, wearing a worn traveler's cloak and hiding his face beneath a silver mask.
"Twenty years," he whispered as he looked up at the broken mage towers. "And they still pretend this is Arkhadia."
The undead walked with him — hidden in the shadows of alleyways, sleeping beneath the cobblestones, waiting for his call.
At the edge of the city's old mage library stood a woman with silver hair and a sword at her back.
Lady Selara, once Cael's childhood friend, now called "The Thornblade of Chains." She hunted mages… and was loved by the people for it.
She was giving a speech, smiling as she held up a book of old magic.
"This is what poisoned our kingdom," she said, tossing the book into a flame. "We burned the darkness once. And we'll burn it again."
The crowd roared.
Cael stood in the back, silent.
She looked older… colder.
But behind her eyes, he saw pain.
*Did you choose this?* he wondered. *Or did they break you too?*
That night, Cael found the entrance to the Old Ossuary, the underground catacombs where the bones of ancient mage kings were buried — including his own ancestors.
He knelt before the sealed tomb of Queen Eryndra, his grandmother — the last true sorceress of Arkhadia.
He cut his palm.
Blood dripped onto the stone.
The tomb opened.
"Wake," he whispered.
Blue fire burst from the sarcophagus, and a skeletal figure wrapped in royal silk emerged — glowing eyes of magic fire looking down at him.
"Cael… my darling boy. So you did return," the queen said with a soft, echoing voice.
"I need your wisdom," Cael said. "The Twelve Chains grow bolder. And something inside me… something old… stirs when I sleep."
The queen looked at him for a long time.
"You've touched the Gravewake. You've awakened the flame of the First God."
That night, Cael dreamed.
He stood in a black ocean under a bleeding moon.
Chains floated in the sky.
In front of him was a giant figure — tall, blindfolded, with six arms and a mouth stitched shut. Its skin was cracked stone, and from those cracks… fire burned.
The Sealed God of Death.
"You wear my marks," it whispered in his mind. "One day, your name will be forgotten, and only I will speak through you."
Cael stood tall.
"I didn't come to kneel."
"You don't have to," the god said. "You'll fall on your own."
Then the dream shattered.
At sunrise, Selara was alone in the courtyard, training. Her sword danced like wind, fast and sharp. No one dared approach her.
Until now.
A slow clap echoed across the stone.
She turned — sword ready.
A masked man stood in the morning mist.
"You," she said. "You feel like a ghost."
"I am," Cael replied.
He removed the mask.
Her sword fell.
"Cael?"
Her voice cracked. Her eyes widened in disbelief. She took one step forward… then stopped.
"You died."
"I did."
"You were burned."
"I was."
"Then how…?"
He stepped closer.
"They betrayed us. You. Me. All of us. And now I'm going to take it all back."
Tears welled in her eyes — but her hand reached slowly for her sword.
"If the Chains find out… they'll—"
"They already know," Cael said. "I killed another one two nights ago."
"Then they'll send the Herald…"
Silence.
Even the wind stopped.
"Then I'll send him back in pieces."
That night, in the throne room of Veilrath, the puppet king sat slouched on his throne. The Chains whispered behind his back. He was just a mask.
But deep in the shadows, a voice spoke.
"The prince walks. The dead march. The god stirs."
"Shall we kill him now?" one of the Chains asked.
"No," said the Archbishop. "Let him come."
The fire in the brazier turned red.
"The Crown is hollow now. Let him wear it if he dares."