The air in the ruins of the temple crackled with the faintest whisper of power—a tremor that heralded the storm soon to descend. Ancient stones, scorched and fractured from battles long past, hummed beneath Kael's boots as he took another cautious step forward. Each breath felt thick, like inhaling smoke before a fire had even begun. The cursed mark beneath his skin stirred.
Kael's eyes burned, and a familiar heat licked the edges of his fingers. The crimson light that curled and flickered there—like embers born of rage—crept outward. He could feel the curse awakening, the dormant beast just beneath his skin stretching its claws. But he fought it back, grinding his teeth as if clenching his very soul into submission.
His mind raced. Lysaria.
Standing in front of him, the high priestess of the Glass Flame was no longer the woman he remembered. She was a vision of fury made flesh. Her once radiant beauty now shimmered with divine menace. Her hair, like a river of molten fire, whipped around her face as she raised her arms high, summoning the heavens themselves.
With a cry that shattered the silence, divine fire exploded around her, arcing through the temple like a wrathful god's answer. It ignited pillars, turned ancient carvings to ash, and sent shockwaves through the walls.
"Do you fear me, Kael Valen?" Lysaria's voice, once soft and affectionate, now dripped with venom. Her eyes gleamed like embers, full of hurt twisted into wrath. "I could burn you to dust where you stand. You've forsaken everything that once was sacred."
Kael's hands twitched. The curse surged again—hot, hungry, and eager to answer her challenge.
He clenched his fists, pain flaring beneath the skin as the cursed energy bled through him. Veins glowed like rivers of lava running down from his shoulders to his wrists. His hands had changed. They were no longer human in form but twisted with faint scales and glowing seams. His skin burned, not with heat, but with magic—wild and barely contained.
"I haven't forsaken anything," he growled, voice strained under the weight of power pressing against his throat. "I refuse to be your puppet any longer. I won't kill for you. Not again."
The light from his eyes flickered dangerously, a volatile red-gold glow that pulsed with each beat of his heart. For a moment, the curse pushed harder, wanting release—wanting fire, blood, retribution.
Lysaria's laugh echoed through the crumbling structure, mocking and hollow. "You think you can defy me? Walk away from this life? You are the Red Hand, Kael. Bound by your blood, by your curse. You belong to the flames."
The fires surged around her as if answering her fury. The air rippled with heat, and Kael could feel his lungs beginning to burn with each breath. Sweat beaded along his brow, sizzling the moment it touched his skin. The world blurred into a fiery haze, and the stone beneath his feet cracked and groaned as divine fire seared it to ruin.
Aurenya stood beside him, her breath short, silver eyes wide with concern and dread. She reached out, placing a hand on his arm—but even through her touch, she could feel the heat beneath his skin, unnatural and pulsing.
"Kael, we need to leave," she whispered, her voice nearly lost in the roar of the flames.
His entire body trembled. Not from fear—but from the effort of holding the curse back.
"No," he growled, his stare fixed on Lysaria. "I will not run from her again."
The curse didn't like hesitation. The magic within him pushed again, demanding to be unleashed. His fingers cracked, shifting further—bones lengthening, skin glowing, the transformation incomplete but straining to emerge. He could feel the fire inside him scream to be set free.
Lysaria's eyes gleamed with fury. She stepped forward, and the very air seemed to hiss and boil. "Then prepare yourself, Kael. This is the last time you will make a choice. This is where your blood will meet its end."
Kael stepped forward, breathing hard, each inhale sharpening the pain running down his arms. It was as if molten steel ran through his veins, branding him from the inside out. His palms sparked with red flame, then flickered black for a heartbeat—a sign of the curse reaching its threshold.
But before the fire could consume him—before the monster in his blood could rise—a figure emerged from the shadows.
Silas.
Wreathed in his cloak of shadow, with blood-magic tattoos glowing faintly beneath his skin, he was a ghost cutting through the storm. His presence felt like a sudden shift in pressure—cool, calculating, and deliberate.
"Enough, Lysaria," Silas's voice was sharp, calm, but absolute.
He raised his hand, and the air shimmered with bloodied intent. Crimson tendrils burst from the ground, serpentine and slick, wrapping around Lysaria like living chains.
Lysaria shrieked, a sound filled with fire and fury. Her arms were pulled down by the magic, her flames sputtering as the blood-binding cut into her control.
"You haven't changed, Silas," she spat, eyes blazing as she struggled against the bonds. "Still the manipulator. Still the coward hiding behind his magic."
Silas's lips curved into a grim smile. "Better a coward than a killer with no conscience."
Kael didn't wait. The pressure inside him had built to a breaking point. The curse was clawing to be released—but he drew on it, tempered it. He let it surge just enough.
His hands ignited.
Fire erupted from his palms, swirling outward in a wave that countered Lysaria's divine inferno. It wasn't clean, sacred fire—it was dark, burning with ancient wrath. The cursed flame devoured oxygen, choked light, and crackled with black-red tendrils.
He stepped forward, a silhouette in the blaze. The temple groaned, walls shedding burning stone.
Standing between Silas and Lysaria, Kael's eyes were two suns—furious and unyielding. His hands, no longer entirely human, dripped with flame and power. He was barely holding back the full transformation.
"Let her go, Silas," Kael said, voice low but thunderous. "We're done here."
Silas narrowed his eyes, but before he could speak, Lysaria hissed between gasps. "Kael, you fool. You can't walk away from this. You think this ends with me?"
Silas spoke quickly, his voice hard. "Kael, you have to listen. She's not just a high priestess anymore. She's the only thing standing between you and the Hollow King."
At the name, everything seemed to still.
Lysaria's body trembled in the blood-binding. Her voice dropped low, full of dread and bitterness. "The Hollow King… He's moving. He's already seeking her. He won't stop until he has her—until he has what she is. What she was meant to be."
Kael's blood ran cold. The cursed energy responded to his fear, intensifying, spiraling inside him like a storm. His hands pulsed with fresh heat.
But he shook his head slowly. "I don't care about the Hollow King. Or what she was meant to be. I care about what she is now."
Lysaria's bitter laugh cut through the smoke. "You are a fool, Kael. You always were. This isn't just about love. This is prophecy. This is war. She's the fulcrum—the key—and you've tied yourself to her without even understanding what you've done."
Behind him, Aurenya's voice cracked with unease. "He's right, Kael. I've never belonged to you. Not truly. I'm not… like you think I am."
Kael turned to her, the cursed fire in his hands dimming with the weight of her words. "What do you mean by that?"
Before she could answer, Silas stepped in, urgency threading his tone. "Enough. Lysaria's not going to listen to reason. We need to go. We need a plan."
Lysaria's gaze darkened, lips curling into a final threat. "You'll regret this, Kael. The Hollow King will claim you both. Mark my words."
Silas didn't wait. With a swift gesture, the blood-binding snapped, magic dissipating like mist. Lysaria dropped to her knees, her divine fire flickering and finally dying, like a star snuffed out.
Kael turned his back on her, shoulders heavy. The curse still burned, still begged for release—but he forced it down, inch by agonizing inch.
"Let her go," he said.
She didn't follow.
Smoke drifted around them, and Lysaria's figure disappeared into it, leaving only the echo of her final words to haunt the air.
Kael stood in the silence, his body aching from the strain of keeping the curse at bay. Behind him, Aurenya didn't speak. But he felt the change in her—some veil had been lifted.
"We need to leave. Now," he said hoarsely.
They moved quickly, gathering what they could, Silas leading the way.
But as they slipped into the night, Kael's hands still glowed faintly with cursed magic. The fire hadn't left him. And neither had Lysaria's warning.
The Hollow King was coming.
And Aurenya was part of the reason.