Kael awoke to the sound of crackling fire. The rebel outpost was quieter now, the chaos from the battle settled into tired murmurs. His body still ached from the fight, but the wound on his side had stopped bleeding, wrapped tightly in clean bandages.
Aria sat nearby, sharpening her dagger, while the rest of the rebels regrouped outside. He could hear Lucian barking orders, preparing for the inevitable retaliation from the Empire.
"You're awake," Tharos' voice rumbled, cutting through the silence.
Kael turned his head to see the shadow beast coiled beside him, its form flickering like smoke in the dim firelight. He hadn't spoken to Tharos since the battle—hadn't asked about the surge of magic that had saved him from death.
"I thought I lost control back there," Kael muttered.
Tharos regarded him with glowing eyes. "You did. But not entirely."
Kael exhaled, shaking his head. "That's not comforting."
The beast shifted. "You are still untrained, but the power inside you is ancient. There is much you do not yet know."
Kael sat up, rubbing his temples. "Then tell me. No more riddles. No more cryptic warnings. I want answers."
Tharos was silent for a moment before finally speaking. "Very well. But understanding comes at a cost."
Before Kael could ask what that meant, the world around him faded.
The Vision
A chilling breeze swept over him as the flickering firelight dissolved into darkness. The ground beneath him was no longer solid but shifting, weightless. He stood in an unfamiliar place—a vast chamber lined with towering stone walls, carvings of forgotten symbols etched across them.
Then, the visions came.
He saw Aldrion before the rise of the Empire—a land ruled by storytellers, those who could bend reality with words and shape the future with ink and parchment. They were revered, their power flowing through the kingdom like lifeblood.
But then, Emperor Valen came.
The image of the ruthless ruler solidified before Kael's eyes—armor gleaming, eyes sharp with calculated cruelty. Valen had feared the power of storytellers, feared the way they could twist the world with mere tales.
So he silenced them.
Kael saw the destruction—libraries burned, scrolls torn, storytellers executed. The art of shaping reality was outlawed, buried beneath centuries of fear. Those who carried the gift were hunted, their voices erased from history.
Yet, the prophecy remained.
It spoke of a time when a Shadow Scribe would rise again, carrying the forgotten magic and wielding it against the empire that had erased its history.
Kael staggered back as the vision faded, his breath shallow.
He wasn't just a magician with illusions. He was the last remnant of a lost era—an era that had been stolen by the Empire.
Tharos' voice returned, steady and knowing. "This is your legacy, Kael. And your burden."
Awakening
Kael gasped as reality returned, the firelight flickering once more. He gripped the ground beneath him, trying to steady himself. The artifact at his side pulsed, as if reacting to the vision.
Aria noticed his expression and frowned. "What just happened?"
Kael looked up, his gaze sharp, his mind racing.
"The Empire isn't just ruling through force," he murmured, his voice thick with realization. "They've rewritten history. They've erased the truth."
Aria's brow furrowed. "And what truth is that?"
Kael straightened, the embers of determination burning in his chest.
"That the Empire was built on the graves of those who could shape the world," he said. "And I'm the last one left."
Outside, Lucian continued preparing for war. But Kael knew now—this battle wasn't just about survival. It was about restoring something lost.
And that changed everything.
Kael sat motionless, his breathing uneven, his fingers still curled around the artifact. The embers in the firepit crackled softly, illuminating the darkened tent with flickering light. Aria watched him carefully, her brows drawn together in silent concern.
"The Empire erased them," Kael murmured again, as if repeating the words would somehow make them easier to comprehend. "The storytellers weren't just outlawed. They were exterminated. Their legacy—everything they built—it's gone."
Aria's fingers tightened around the hilt of her dagger. "If that's true, then the Empire's been rewriting history longer than any of us realized."
Kael let out a slow, unsteady breath. He wanted to deny it, to believe there had been some mistake in the vision Tharos had given him. But it made too much sense.
The Empire ruled through power, through fear, through absolute control. It wasn't just soldiers and conquest—it was information. They controlled what people believed. What they remembered.
Tharos' deep voice rumbled in Kael's mind. "The Shadow Scribe was meant to restore balance. To bring truth back to the world."
Kael looked down at his hands, feeling the weight of expectation pressing against his chest. He had barely survived the last battle. He had pushed his magic too far, had nearly collapsed under its strain. What did this prophecy expect him to do—single-handedly undo the centuries of control the Empire had built?
The thought was suffocating.
Aria leaned back, her eyes unreadable. "You don't seem thrilled about being some legendary savior."
Kael let out a hollow laugh. "You'd think having some grand destiny would come with clearer instructions."
She smirked slightly, shaking her head. "Most people would kill for the chance to wield magic like yours. You? You look like you wish it had never happened."
Kael stared at the fire, watching the flames shift and dance. "That's because I didn't choose it."
Aria was silent for a long moment. Then she sighed, standing and dusting off her coat. "Well, welcome to the rebellion, Shadow Scribe. Nobody here chose their fight either."
She walked toward the entrance, pausing only to glance over her shoulder. "If you want to sit around drowning in philosophy, fine. But the Empire won't wait for you to figure things out."
Kael watched her go, frustration simmering beneath his exhaustion. She wasn't wrong.
But how was he supposed to figure this out? How was he supposed to live up to something he hadn't even known existed until now?
Tharos shifted beside him, the beast's golden eyes glowing faintly. "You do not need to be certain. You only need to move forward."
Kael exhaled sharply, rubbing his forehead. He wished it were that simple.
Still, he knew one thing—if the Empire had been controlling history, then the rebellion's fight wasn't just about survival. It was about truth.
And whether he liked it or not, he was now part of that fight.
The fire crackled softly as Kael sat alone, his fingers lightly brushing the artifact strapped to his belt. Tharos lingered beside him, its golden eyes gleaming, its shadowy form coiling lazily across the dirt. The beast had given him answers—answers Kael had desperately needed. But now that he had them, the weight of understanding pressed against his chest like a stone.
The Empire hadn't just outlawed magic.
They had rewritten history.
They had buried the past so deeply that no one even remembered what was lost—only whispers