The storm hadn't left—it lingered, watching.
Kaen and Lira stumbled through the fractured foothills, every step across the steam-veined earth a reminder of what they'd unleashed. The air was dense, metallic. Not air at all—memory, echoing in every breath.
Behind them, the mountain exhaled again. A slow, ancient breath that felt… aware.
Kaen clutched the cracked pendant at his chest. It pulsed faintly.
Not dead. Just different.
Lira's voice cut through the heavy silence. "Where exactly are we going?"
Kaen's eyes scanned the shifting mist. "Anywhere it's not."
"Great strategy," she muttered, hand never leaving her blade. "You going to tell me what it was?"
He hesitated.
Visions still haunted him—the silver-haired woman screaming before a gate not meant for mortals, a voice that had spoken through him, not to him.
"It wasn't a monster," Kaen said at last. "It was a prison."
Lira stopped cold. "You mean the mountain?"
Kaen shook his head slowly. "I mean me."
A beat of silence.
Then came the sound—piercing, unnatural. A sharp keening from the mist.
Figures emerged. Veiled in ash. Wrapped in silence.
The Ash Heralds.
"They followed us," Lira said tightly. "No… they were waiting."
The earth groaned beneath them. Hairline cracks widened underfoot. Molten light seeped from the fractures, casting a sickly red glow across the broken ground.
And then something rose from the largest rupture.
A towering figure, bound in steaming chains. Skin charred like cooled lava, yet alive. Eyes like frozen fire.
Skarn, The Bound Behemoth.
Kaen felt the hatred pouring from it—old, patient, personal.
Skarn didn't see them. Not yet. It seemed… lost.
Then the Ash Heralds began to sing.
A dirge older than breath. A hymn to something beyond time.
The chains on Skarn's body shuddered—then snapped.
Kaen grabbed Lira's wrist. "Run."
They sprinted. Rocks fell. Steam hissed. The ground itself tried to consume them.
Behind them, Skarn roared.
It wasn't a sound—it was an unraveling. The world stuttered, colors shifted, and the sky forgot itself.
"We're not outrunning that!" Lira yelled.
Kaen knew she was right.
He skidded to a halt. Turned to face it.
"Kaen!" she shouted. "What are you doing?!"
He didn't answer. He reached deeper—into blood, into memory, into whatever the pendant had unlocked.
And he commanded—
"By blood, I bind you."
The world held its breath.
A sigil burst to life beneath Kaen, etched in crimson light. Power surged through the air—raw, ancient.
A chain of light snapped into existence, coiling around Skarn's throat. The Behemoth staggered, bellowing—but halted.
Held.
Kaen collapsed to his knees, blood streaming from his nose.
Lira knelt beside him, eyes wide. "What did you do?"
Kaen's voice was barely a whisper.
"I think... I'm the jailer now."
Thunder rolled. Not from the sky—but from beneath it.
Kaen knew the truth then.
This wasn't a victory.
It was an invitation.
The Veilborn would come now.
And they wouldn't come alone.
To be continued…