In the far horizon, ash drifted across the plains like the dust of a cemetery that had just exploded.
The wind, usually cold in this region, had become warm, suffocating, and heavy with the metallic smell every warrior who has seen battle knows:
the smell of blood when it rots.
Korval, the king who only smiles when a massacre is near, walked ahead of his army with steady steps.
He wore no helmet, and he did not cover his head. He let his long white hair float slowly, as if challenging the air to touch him without his permission.
Behind him, an entire army moved in an unsettling silence.
A silence created not only by fear, but by something else…
something watching them from afar.
One soldier whispered, staring at the red mist covering the abandoned city ahead:
"My lord… is that smoke?"
Korval did not answer.
His eyes were fixed on the city…
a city once prosperous, now looking like a massive corpse beginning to decay.
When they got close enough, the truth appeared:
the red mist was not mist.
It was made of tiny particles—
microscopic specks moving like swarms of invisible insects.
But their dark red color and their smell were clear to anyone who breathed the air:
blood.
Broken-down blood, floating in the air.
Some soldiers covered their noses, others tried to hold their breath, but the taste reached them first:
the taste of iron…
the taste of decay…
the taste of something that lived, then died, but still refused to rest.
A young officer, pale and shaking, said:
"My lord… I think this place is alive."
The word fell on the army like a strike of lightning.
But Korval stayed silent.
He raised his hand and touched the drifting blood particles.
A thin red line marked his skin.
"Korval… Korval… Korval…"
A voice echoed inside his mind like a bell.
"Ah, you're awake… what made you wake up, old man? Shouldn't you save your spiritual energy?"
Korval spoke in his thoughts, and a bright red sigil on his chest glowed.
"The thing in front of you is dangerous… be careful… don't act rashly."
Korval asked:
"What exactly do you mean?"
The voice said:
"It is intent… the place… the whole place is full of intent… and it's not normal… it is dangerous."
Korval said:
"You mean that massive power you told me about? But didn't you say even the strongest in the world can't trigger such a force?"
The voice replied:
"There are… always… exceptions… be careful… the situation is dangerous… even though the enemy is not very strong… his intent changes reality around him… the highest level… impossible…"
The voice went silent, as if drained of all energy.
Korval smiled.
It was not a human smile.
When they stepped into the boundary of the city, something happened that made even the toughest warriors grip their swords:
the first outer wall… moved.
Not like stone breaking…
not like a building collapsing…
but like a living creature breathing.
Tiny cracks widened slowly…
opening and closing…
like the gills of a giant waking from sleep.
A soldier shouted:
"The wall… it's breathing! For the curses' sake, it's breathing!"
Korval was not disturbed.
He walked forward and touched the surface.
The wall trembled under his hand—
a living tremble…
as if the thing forming it felt an unwanted touch.
Korval whispered with a cold smile:
"The souls of the dead did not rest here… good."
He looked at the dried blood covering the ground.
It should have been hard and solid…
but it began to slide…
slowly…
crawling inward toward the narrow streets.
Some soldiers stepped back, but Korval raised his hand without looking at them.
"A place like this does not welcome the weak.
Whoever cannot endure… go back."
No one left.
With every step inside the city, the air grew heavier.
Not from humidity…
not from smoke…
but from will.
The will of a beast that no longer thinks like a human.
At first, the soldiers felt discomfort in their chests…
then pain…
then suffocation.
One soldier suddenly fell to his knees, clutching his throat, trying to breathe.
Then he began to vomit.
But it was not normal vomit—
it was thin, half-frozen blood, spilling from his mouth like a living thread trying to return to the city.
A commander shouted:
"My lord! The pressure is—"
Korval cut him off with a short laugh.
A cold laugh filled with pleasure.
"This feeling… I missed it."
He spread his arms slightly, as if welcoming the toxic air.
"This is not the power of blood sorcerers…
this is intent.
The intent of a killer who has a beast inside him."
The soldiers did not understand.
But something else was happening…
From the narrow alleys, faint distorted voices began to echo.
Not the voices of ghosts—
they were like memories.
Memories of flesh that died…
but kept complaining.
"Ah…"
"Go… back…"
"Le… ave…"
The words were barely understandable, but enough to fill the soldiers with real fear.
Only Korval was still smiling.
They reached a wide street lined with buildings that looked like they were melting from the inside.
The dried blood on the ground began to gather in thin lines, crawling like small worms toward the center of the city.
Suddenly, the ground shook.
For a moment, everyone thought something was moving beneath them.
Then the impossible happened:
the entire street began to breathe.
The ground rose slightly… then sank.
Rose… then sank.
A steady rhythm, as if the city had two gigantic lungs.
A soldier screamed:
"This is not land… this is not natural!!"
In the distance, a massive inner gate—probably the palace gate—began to open.
But there was no wind.
No one touched it.
It opened because something behind it was pulling it.
The royal guard captain shouted in fear:
"My lord… this is not human magic!"
Korval answered with cold calm:
"It is beyond magic."
He paused.
"This is the work of will."
Even nature was reacting.
In the forest around the city, small animals crawled out of their burrows—
rabbits, rodents, tiny foxes—
all moving toward the city as if something was calling them.
But when they reached the edge, they stopped…
trembled…
then ran away in panic.
The birds circling above the city were silent, without a single sound.
But the closer they flew to the red mist, the more their bodies twisted—
feathers falling, eyes widening, wings shaking violently.
One bird got too close.
It entered the layer of red mist…
and vanished.
No cry.
No trace.
No wing.
As if it had melted.