Kael's vision twisted as the world dissolved around him. The moment the hooded figure's power touched him, the ruins of Varethis warped—stone melted into shadow, the sky bled into a deep abyss, and the scent of charred flesh filled the air.
Then, silence.
Kael staggered, bracing himself against the unseen force gripping his body. His cursed eye burned as he looked around. He was no longer in the ruined library—he stood in a throne room of the past.
The walls were lined with banners of the First Empire, embroidered with the sigil of a twin-headed serpent. Chandeliers, long rusted in his time, blazed with golden light. At the center of the room, atop a dais of obsidian, sat a throne of blackened bones—twisted remnants of those who had once defied the empire's will.
And upon that throne sat a man wrapped in chains, his skin ashen, his eyes burning like dying embers.
Kael knew this place.
"The Hall of the Undying."
He had read of it in forbidden tomes. This was where the last emperor of the First Empire, Vaelith the Hollow, had made his final stand before the gods cursed his bloodline.
The chained man lifted his head. His voice echoed like a death rattle.
"You are not meant to walk this path."
Kael stepped forward, his fingers tightening around the hilt of his shattered sword.
"Who are you?"
The air grew heavier, pressing against his chest. The torches dimmed, their flames flickering as if recoiling from something unseen.
"I am the one who came before. The one who fell to the same curse that now stains your soul."
Kael's cursed eye pulsed. He gritted his teeth as flashes of memory invaded his mind—a war fought in the dark, a crown melting into shadow, a name whispered in fear.
"I do not seek a throne." Kael said, his voice steady.
The chained emperor chuckled—a sound like cracking bone.
"And yet, it seeks you."
The world shattered again.
Kael gasped as he was pulled back into reality, stumbling onto the cold stone of the ruined library. The hooded figure still stood before him, its skeletal hand withdrawing as if it had just cast some ancient spell.
"Now you remember," the figure whispered.
Kael's breath was ragged. His hand trembled. He had seen something he was never meant to see.
"What… was that?"
The hooded figure tilted its head.
"A warning… or a prophecy. The curse you bear is not yours alone. You are merely the next in line."
Kael clenched his fists. The curse that haunted him… had claimed others before.
And if the visions were true—if the throne of blackened bones still held power—then his fate was already written in blood.
But Kael was no puppet of fate.
"Tell me how to break it."
The figure chuckled, stepping deeper into the shadows.
"First, you must survive it."
The library trembled. From the darkness, something stirred.
And then, the dead began to rise.
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End of Chapter 3