The chain of light trembled, quivering under the weight of an ancient force barely contained.
Kaen clenched his jaw, sweat dripping from his brow as the Behemoth strained against the bond. Every second it held drained him further—his strength, his will, even his breath felt borrowed.
"Kaen!" Lira's voice cut through the haze. She gripped his shoulder, trying to ground him. "You can't hold it much longer!"
Her voice was distant, drowned beneath the thunder of his heartbeat. His veins burned. The power he'd called on clawed at his insides, demanding more.
The Behemoth roared, shaking the cracked ground. Kaen met its burning gaze—and froze.
There was something behind the fury. Something older than hatred.
Recognition.
Not of him. Of the blood.
A flood of memory not his own surged through him—visions of a battlefield drowning in ash and flame, of titanic beasts falling before warriors clad in silver. At the center of the chaos, a woman stood defiant. Silver-haired. Radiant. Her blade sang with light as she commanded creatures the size of mountains.
His mother.
The vision shattered like glass.
Kaen gasped. The sigil beneath his feet dimmed.
I'm not ready, he thought. I'm not strong enough.
The Behemoth sensed it—lunging, yanking against the chain. The ground spiderwebbed with cracks. The air screamed.
Lira stepped forward without hesitation. She drew a dagger, sliced her palm, and slammed the bleeding hand against Kaen's back.
"Take mine," she whispered.
The surge of power was instant and wild—coarse and unrefined, but strong. Kaen's body jolted as their blood mingled. The chain blazed anew, infused with a second heartbeat.
Together, they stood.
Together, they held.
With a final pulse of light, the chain constricted. Skarn let out a roar that shook the heavens—then crashed to his knees, bound by crimson fire.
The earth stilled.
Ash fell like snow.
Kaen stepped forward, barely standing. He raised a hand, trembling but resolute.
"Sleep," he commanded.
The Behemoth's eyes faded from flame to embers.
And slowly, it obeyed—sinking into the scorched ground, the chains pulling tighter until it vanished beneath the stone, sealed once more.
Silence returned.
Kaen collapsed. Lira caught him before he hit the ground fully, kneeling beside him.
"You stupid, stubborn idiot," she muttered, voice thick with relief. "You could've died."
Kaen managed a breathless laugh. "Maybe. But it listened."
He began to fade—body too weak to resist the pull of unconsciousness. But just before the dark claimed him, he heard it.
Not a whisper.
A voice.
> "Kaen… find me… before they do."
Elsewhere…
Beneath a shattered citadel buried in the heart of a blackened forest, shadows stirred.
Seven figures stood in silence before a burning mirror, cloaked in robes stitched from void and silence. Their faces were hidden behind ancient masks.
The Veiled Seven.
In the mirror, the image of Kaen and the Behemoth flickered, then vanished.
A voice, smooth and cruel, broke the stillness.
"The bloodline awakens."
Another followed—sharp, hungry. "The Hollow Crown will not tolerate this."
A third, low and cold. "He must not reach the Gate."
The tallest among them stepped forward, their mask carved into the face of a weeping woman.
They raised a hand. Black energy rippled outward.
> "Unleash the Blood Warden. Send Mireya."
Another voice added, almost gleeful:
> "And send Sarkon. Let him sing his song of endings."
The chamber filled with quiet hisses of agreement.
The hunt had begun.
To be continued…