The grand hall of Valthorne Keep whispered of conquest.
Torchlight licked the towering marble pillars, casting shadows like stretched limbs clawing at the ceiling. At the chamber's end, Kael Ardyn sat upon an ebony throne—not yet a king, but a predator already feeding on the bones of empires.
Before him, Commander Edris Valmere knelt—once the Hero's unshakable right hand. His bloodied armor creaked under the weight of shame, of failure.
Kael leaned forward, his voice a velvet blade.
"Tell me, Edris… how does it feel to kneel before the man you once vowed to destroy?"
Edris didn't respond immediately. His silence wasn't submission—it was restraint. He was a warrior still gripping the last thread of pride.
"You've won a fortress," he growled, eyes blazing. "But the Hero will come. And when he does—"
Kael rose, cutting through the air like a guillotine.
"He will come," he said, descending the steps, his boots thundering like judgment. "But he will come broken. Hollow. Alone."
He stopped inches from Edris and knelt beside him, lifting his chin with gloved fingers.
"His greatest strength was never his sword. It was what he believed he was fighting for."
Kael smiled, slow and cruel.
"And I will take that from him… piece by piece."
In a high chamber, where moonlight bathed cold stone in silver, Selene Everhart gripped the balcony rail as if the wind could carry her away.
She had not fallen—but she was teetering.
Kael's words haunted her, curling like smoke in her lungs. He never touched her without permission. He never commanded her. And that—that was the most dangerous part.
He didn't need to.
Behind her, the door creaked.
"Enter," she said softly.
The presence that filled the room was a quiet storm. Kael, wrapped in shadow and gold, moved like someone who owned everything he saw.
Selene turned, every muscle taut.
"You shouldn't be here," she breathed.
"And yet," Kael replied, "you haven't asked me to leave."
He stepped forward, slow and deliberate. His gaze didn't devour—it unraveled.
"Tell me, Selene. Does he ever ask you what you want?"
Her lips parted, but no sound came. He waited. Not demanding. Daring.
"He loves me," she whispered.
"Love," Kael echoed, voice like a blade hidden in silk. "A noble cage."
He closed the space between them, brushing a strand of her silver hair behind her ear. His touch didn't linger. It didn't need to.
"When was the last time someone saw you… not as a symbol, or a soldier—but as a woman?"
Her breath hitched.
"You're trying to break me," she said.
Kael leaned closer.
"No, Selene. I'm showing you… you've already begun to break."
And then he turned, leaving her trembling in the moonlight.
He didn't have to stay.
He had already won the night.
Far to the east, in the marble war room of Everwyn Citadel, Lucian Dorne stared at the strategy table with bloodshot eyes.
Valthorne: Lost.
Edris: Captured.
Selene: Silent.
The room was heavy with silence. His generals waited. But their prince was elsewhere—buried in a storm of doubt and fury.
He clenched the table's edge until his knuckles cracked.
"He has her," he whispered. "He's trying to corrupt her."
His gaze lifted—wild, burning.
"Kael Ardyn will die. Even if I burn the world to reach him."
One general flinched. Another looked away.
Lucian didn't see them. He saw Selene's face. Her smile. Her last kiss.
And now... her silence.
"Prepare the army," he ordered. "We march at dawn."
But even as he spoke, he wasn't leading as a Hero.
He was chasing as a man scorned.
And Kael knew it.
The Weaver Smiles
Back in Valthorne, Kael reclined in his private chamber, swirling dark wine as if savoring the blood of prophecy.
The fire crackled.
The pieces moved.
Selene was drifting. Lucian was unraveling. Edris was bound.
And the noose tightened.
Kael lifted his glass to the shadows.
"He thinks this is war," he murmured, smiling to himself.
"But this is a lesson."
The lesson was simple:
Love was weakness.
And Kael was the cure.
To be continued...