The air smelled of ash and wet stone. Smoke drifted lazily across broken rooftops, curling into the hollow sky. Kael crouched on the edge of a crumbled balcony, surveying the city below. The capital, once proud and golden, now lay in twisted ruins. Streets were cracked, towers collapsed, and shadows moved in the alleys like living predators.
The Guardian's mark burned faintly on his arm. It throbbed in rhythm with his heartbeat, a reminder that the throne's power was awakening—not just in him, but everywhere. He could feel it: the pulse of ancient magic, faint and broken, hidden in the ruins beneath the city.
His mission was simple—retrieve the Veil of Eternity, a relic said to hold fragments of the Broken Throne's memory. But nothing in this world was ever simple.
Kael descended silently, blending with the shadows. The streets were alive. Corrupted soldiers patrolled every corner, their red eyes cutting through the darkness. Mechanized sentinels—leftover war relics fused with ancient magic—stood guard over crumbled plazas, their massive forms casting long shadows.
He reached a narrow alley, and the first wave of enemies appeared. They moved like a synchronized army, but Kael was faster. Time bent slightly at his command. He slipped past, sticking to walls, sliding along ledges. One guard turned abruptly, sensing something, but Kael had already vanished into the darkness above. The city's ruins became his playground, every rooftop, every fallen beam, every shadow a path.
The Veil lay in the old Temple of Whispers, at the center of the city. Its spires had collapsed centuries ago, but its core remained intact—a floating sanctum suspended by magic that defied reason. Kael's path was clear, yet treacherous. Every step could trigger traps, awaken guardians, or alert the hordes below.
He approached the temple's outer gates. The runes carved into the stone walls glowed faintly, resonating with the Guardian's mark on his arm. Kael touched one. The air vibrated, whispering words of power he could almost understand, fragments of a language older than kingdoms. He pulled his hand back. Knowledge burned, seared itself into his mind. It was dangerous—too much, and he could lose himself to the throne's echo.
Kael climbed the wall of the temple. Crumbling stones shifted beneath his weight. He felt the pulse of magic—the heartbeat of a civilization long dead—and a whisper in the shadows: "He walks the path of blood, yet he carries light."
The first trap activated. Spear shafts shot out from hidden holes in the walls, designed to pierce even seasoned warriors. Kael jumped, rolled, slid, and caught himself on a broken pillar. His heartbeat raced. Every motion precise, every breath controlled. Time bent just enough for him to calculate distance, speed, and trajectory. He landed on the next ledge, unscathed.
Inside the temple, the air was thick with power. Floating shards of broken glass reflected dim light, casting eerie shadows. Kael moved silently, every step measured. The Veil of Eternity rested on a stone dais, surrounded by glowing runes that pulsed like trapped hearts. But the temple had not been abandoned. From the darkness, figures emerged—silent assassins of the Veiled Creed, bound by ancient oaths. Their eyes glowed faintly blue. They were not hostile yet, but Kael knew one misstep could ignite the battle.
He studied them. Every movement, every shift in their stance. They were skilled, centuries trained, waiting for intruders. Kael remembered his training—observe, anticipate, strike only when necessary. He tapped into the Guardian's gift—time bending slightly around him. He slipped past their sight, crouched low, and in a single fluid motion, grabbed the Veil.
The moment his fingers touched it, the temple reacted. Runes flared, shards of light floating into the air. The Creed assassins turned, their swords drawn, but Kael was gone. The city outside seemed to slow, giving him a path to escape. He ran, leapt from rooftop to rooftop, the Veil in hand. But knowledge came at a price. Visions filled his mind—flashes of the Broken Throne, emperors kneeling, gods screaming, cities burning. The relic was alive, feeding him fragments of the past.
Kael paused on a high balcony, catching his breath. The Veil pulsed in his hand. He could feel the memories of rulers long dead, secrets that were never meant to be unearthed. One vision struck deeper than the rest: a masked figure, almost identical to the one he had seen in the Echo, guiding a young child into fire. A prophecy? A warning? Kael did not know. But he understood one thing—the path ahead was far more dangerous than he imagined.
He needed allies. He needed knowledge. He needed control.
And he needed to survive the city itself.
Because somewhere below, the shadows were already moving, hunting him.