The great hall of Lorian's Keep thrummed with unspoken conflict, the air tight with anticipation. Enchanted lanterns hung from obsidian arches, casting warm golden hues that failed to dispel the chill creeping through the room.
Two men stood alone at its heart.
Kael Ardyn, draped in his signature robes of midnight and shadow, cradled a goblet of vintage wine in one hand. His stance was casual—too casual—like a spider resting at the center of its web. The firelight caught the gleam in his crimson eyes, painting him more devil than man.
Opposite him stood Valen Stormhart, a living statue of restrained fury. His armor bore the marks of countless battles, but none of them had tested him like this. His sapphire eyes, normally so clear with conviction, were now storm-clouded with doubt.
Elyndra's departure just moments before still echoed in the silence between them.
Kael raised his glass slowly. "Stormhart," he said, the name sliding off his tongue like a blade's edge. "To what do I owe this dramatic visit?"
Valen took a step forward, steel in his voice. "You know damn well why I'm here."
Kael's lips curved into a knowing smile. "Do I?"
The hero's fists clenched. "Stay away from Elyndra."
Kael chuckled—low, amused, effortless. "Ah, so we've arrived at the heart of it." He stepped forward slightly, wine swirling like liquid gold. "You're here because she came to me."
Valen's jaw tightened. "You manipulated her. Twisted her thoughts. You preyed on her weakness."
Kael's head tilted with mock curiosity. "Is that what you tell yourself to sleep at night?"
The tension spiked. Kael circled slowly, measuring Valen with every step.
"You paint me as the serpent, Valen—but what does it say about you that she listened? That she stayed? That when given the choice… she came back, again and again?"
The hero flinched—not visibly, not to the untrained eye—but Kael saw it. Felt it. The fracture had begun.
"She is loyal," Valen hissed.
"She is human," Kael corrected, eyes gleaming. "And humans change. Especially when they begin to see the cracks in their perfect heroes."
Valen surged forward. "You think this is a game?"
Kael didn't move. "No," he whispered. "I think it's a revelation."
He stepped closer, voice dropping to something darker, more intimate.
"She came to me not because I offered her lies… but because I saw her. Not the symbol, not the lady of light—but the woman beneath. The one who doubts. The one who dreams. The one you've never bothered to truly understand."
Valen's silence was the loudest sound in the room.
Kael smiled, every inch the victor. "Tell me, Valen—if she truly belongs at your side, why is she standing at a crossroads… instead of beside you?"
The words cut deeper than any blade.
And Kael could see it: the hesitation, the second-guessing, the storm of pride and pain behind the hero's eyes. Doubt was an infection. And it had taken hold.
A soft knock shattered the moment.
A servant entered, head bowed. "My lord… the Council awaits."
Kael nodded absently, then turned back to Valen with a final, razor-edged grin.
"Do give Elyndra my regards," he said smoothly. "And when you see her… don't ask where she stands. Ask why she's wavering."
Then he swept from the room, robes trailing like smoke—leaving behind a hero trapped in his own silence.
To be continued…