Just as the Demon Lord Kael'Ryn raised the dark, glowing blade high, its purple light splitting the sky and its hum shaking every stone in Dawnhold, it happened.
A sudden howl, not of wind nor beast, echoed from nowhere and everywhere. Time itself seemed to lurch.
Then came the chains.
Thick, ethereal bindings burst from a rift in the air, barbed and ancient, glowing with runes no one in the town could read. They pierced through Kael'Ryn's arms and legs in a violent blur. For a brief moment, his expression faltered not from pain, but recognition.
A storm of shadows twisted open behind him a dimensional portal, screaming with wind and pressure. Before the sword could ever fall, the chains yanked him backward into the dark void.
Then there was stillness. The cursed light was gone. The wind slowed. The village of Dawnhold was left breathless and broken in the unexpected silence as the strange heat that had boiled the air subsided.
Villagers cautiously stepped out from behind doorways, barrels, and carts around the plaza. Smoke curled lazily into the twilight air. Ash clung to overturned decorations from the festival. A single cough shattered the silence, causing the audience to stir.
"W-what was that…?" whispered a baker's wife, eyes wide.
"It was him… Wasn't it?" another muttered. "The Demon Lord…"
A child wept quietly nearby, clutching a charred wooden toy. Then someone spoke again, this time in awe.
"The one who saved the girl... did you see him move?"
Heads turned to the figure who now stood near the fountain, cloaked in black, face hidden. The Wanderer of Dusk.
"He vanished again," a young man said. "One blink, and he was gone."
Far from the crowd now, footsteps echoing in an empty alley, the Wanderer pressed a trembling hand to his temple. His breath came unevenly.
"That sword… that light… no. No, it can't be. That can't be the same blade. No one ever saw it before… But why does it feel so familiar?"
A sharp throb pulsed behind his eyes. He winced. Just a glimpse of the sword's glow had made his head ache as if something buried was clawing to the surface.
"How did Kael'Ryn return? The Veilfire War ended over two decades ago… he should be—"
He cut off the thought. There was no time for confusion. Information like this needed to reach Elarion. The capital city is the beating heart of Elvashir. Maybe only the council there could begin to understand what this meant.
He pulled his cloak tighter and turned toward the road east.
"I need to speak to them. If the chains failed to hold him long… then the world is not ready for what comes next."
The journey eastward was long, and shadows clung to him even beneath the sun. With each mile, the weight of what he had seen grew heavier. When Elarion's spires finally broke the horizon, he knew this was only the beginning.
Elarion, the Heart of the Kingdom
Elarion was illuminated by silver light as dawn broke.
Elvashir's capital glistened like a gem encased in order and magic. The sun shone on tall spires, and regions of esoteric study and knightly discipline were crisscrossed by marble streets. Subtle enchantments floated over gardens and plazas, while glass bridges connected towering halls.
The air here felt different—heavier with history, lighter with power. But the Wanderer of Dusk had no time for admiration. He passed the arcane wards at the city's edge without challenge. No guard questioned him. No gate barred his path. His steps carried him straight to the heart of Elarion, to the Tower of the Council of Virelon.
The Council Chamber of Elarion resided within the grand Virelon Spire, which pierced the sky at the city's center.
The room was tall and cold, its walls etched with forgotten inscriptions and stored magic. A black stone table in the shape of a crescent, sharp as a sword and smooth as water, stood in the middle.
The Head of the Council sat in the middle of the table, his identity obscured by the light and shade. As the Wanderer walked in, he remained silent, but his presence filled the room. The assisting head was standing next to him, always alert and silent.
Four robed elders with faces hidden by thick, hooded shadows flanked them. They didn't speak, yet their strength permeated the atmosphere like a pressure.
Known only as Elder One, Elder Two, Elder Three, and Elder Four, advisors to the head, unseen and largely unknown beyond this chamber.The Wanderer stood still, cloaked and veiled, before them.
"I bring urgent warning. The Demon Lord Kael'Ryn… has returned."
The Head of Council leaned forward, voice calm but firm.
"Peace is our kingdom's last treasure," he murmured, "and the most fragile." Then louder, "Are you certain?"
"I saw him. He wielded a blade unlike any I've known. It was powerful. Living."
Elder Three's voice broke the silence, soft as falling leaves.
"A cursed sword?"
The Wanderer did not answer directly. Instead, he shifted his gaze away for a moment before responding carefully, "Before he could strike, something else intervened; chains pulled him back into a dimensional void."
Whispers passed between the elders, soft and low. Finally, the Head of Council resumed his speech. We have taken note of your warning. But for the time being, your name, your presence, and what happened at Dawnhold will all remain hidden. The kingdom must believe the peace holds. The Wanderer took a step back, his chest tensing up.
"Then I hope that we are not all doomed by your silence."
The sound of his footsteps was quickly drowned out by stillness as he turned and walked out of the room.
Within the Council Tower (After the Wanderer's Exit)
The chamber remained still for a long moment. Then Elder Two shifted, voice low and edged with sharp intent.
"We should not wait. If Kael'Ryn truly draws breath, we need eyes on Dawnhold. Eyes we trust."
"You mean to act without informing the head?" Elder Four asked, wary.
Elder Two's gaze was steady, voice quiet but resolute.
"Some truths are too dangerous. I will act in silence. No one else must know."
His eyes closed briefly.
In the quiet depths of his mind, he reached out not in words, but in command.
Far away, in a hidden stronghold, one of the council's most elite warriors stiffened, suddenly aware of a silent order etched into his soul.
Go to Dawnhold. Observe. Report only to me. Trust no one else.
The warrior rose without hesitation, shadows clinging as he melted from sight. Elder Two's lips curled in a faint, secretive smile.
"Let the council watch the stars. I will prepare for the storm."
The Head of Council remained silent, but his fingers tapped once on the black stone table, measured and calculating.