The air in Darkwood Forest had grown sick.
A low mist crawled across the forest floor, tinged red like blood diluted in water. Trees that once stood tall and proud now twisted toward the sky, their bark cracked and blackened. The usual songs of birds had vanished, replaced by faint whispers carried by the wind—words no human should understand.
In the center of this cursed forest stood a figure cloaked in shadows. His eyes burned a deep crimson. Veins of dark magic pulsed beneath his pale skin, glowing with the taint of corruption.
Vaeron Solmere had returned.
No longer was he the noble prince of the sun. The Bloodmaris had devoured that part of him. In its place, something else had risen—something darker. Twisted. Hungry.
Behind him knelt dozens of dark beasts—some with the forms of wolves, others like armored wraiths stitched from bone and shadow. At his side, an obsidian blade pulsed, whispering to him. But it wasn't just monsters he controlled now. The ground around him began to tremble.
He raised his hand.
From the earth itself, black claws burst forth. Rotting hands clawed their way out of shallow graves. Skeletal warriors and crimson-eyed corpses pulled themselves from the soil, bound not by life but by Crimson Magic—Vaeron's mutated royal magic.
It was royal magic once, pure and bright. But when touched by Bloodmaris, it had twisted into something unholy. Something unstoppable.
"I am no longer bound by Solmere's laws," Vaeron muttered. "No longer my father's pawn. No longer Kaelith's shadow. I am the Crimson King of the coming night."
He turned to his undead army and pointed north—toward the forest tribes.
"Go. Spread the corruption. Let them feel what it means to be forgotten."
---
Meanwhile, back in Solmere's palace courtyard, the day began like any other.
Kaelith stood shirtless in the training square, sweat dripping from his brow as he sparred against three royal guards at once. Blades clashed. Sparks flew. His movements were swift and precise, his footwork firm and silent. Even while holding back, his strength was overwhelming.
Watching from the edge of the courtyard, Lyriel stood with her arms crossed, bow of starlight hanging behind her back. Her star magic had grown more graceful by the day—her control over it now far beyond what it had been just weeks ago.
Kaelith disarmed the last guard and offered a hand to help him up.
"You three lasted longer this time," he said with a faint smile.
Lyriel stepped forward, but her expression wasn't playful. It was serious.
"Kaelith… there's something I need to ask."
He turned to her, sensing the weight behind her voice.
"What happened to Vaeron? The truth."Lyriel asked.
For a moment, Kaelith didn't answer. He looked toward the horizon—the direction of Darkwood Forest. The sun was still high, but the clouds hung low, casting shadows over the treetops.
Then he spoke.
"It began before either of us were born," Kaelith said quietly as they sat beneath the old moonstone tree in the palace gardens. "Long ago, our ancestors discovered a forbidden form of magic—Bloodmaris. No one knew where it came from. Some say it's the raw energy of another world. Others say it's the manifestation of broken oaths and cursed bloodlines."
Kaelith told her everything about his master Varn, the one who made this curse out of hatred for being betrayed by his own brother for the throne.
"Master made this newly discovered mana form into a curse."Kaelith said.
"Father never spoke of it," Lyriel said.
"Because he couldn't. The royal family made a pact to keep it hidden. But secrets don't stay buried forever. One of our ancestors tried to master it. He nearly destroyed Solmere. That curse… has been in our blood ever since."
Kaelith clenched his fist, and dark energy pulsed faintly along his forearm—magic not golden like sunlight, but deep and shadowy.
"Wait… you have it too?" Lyriel asked.
Kaelith nodded. "My darkness magic… it's not just shadow. It's a refined form of Bloodmaris. I've trained for years with Varn to control it. To not let it consume me."
He paused.
"Vaeron… wasn't so lucky. His obsession with surpassing me pushed him too far. He tried to push past the limits of Solar magic. But in doing so, he awakened Bloodmaris in its raw, unfiltered form. It twisted his royal magic into something new. Something deadly."
Lyriel looked down, heart heavy. "So… is he gone?"
Kaelith's eyes narrowed.
"No. He's still out there. And if I know him, he won't stop until everything we've built is in ruins."
---
The next morning came with grim news.
A royal scout burst into the war chamber, blood on his cloak and panic in his eyes.
"Your Majesty!" he gasped. "The forest tribes… they've been attacked. By creatures we've never seen before."
Kaelith stood from his seat immediately. "How many tribes?"
"Three, sire. All from the eastern regions near the Blackroot Ridge. Survivors say the attackers came from the mist. Some beasts. Some… walking corpses."
The chamber fell into stunned silence.
Lyriel stepped forward. "Undead?"
Kaelith's heart sank. He had no more doubts.
"It's begun," he muttered. "Prepare the relief squads. I'll go personally."
"But Your Majesty—"
"No," Kaelith said firmly. "If this is what I think it is… the tribes need more than soldiers. They need their king."
---
By sunset, Kaelith and a small envoy of elite knights arrived at the outer forest villages.
The damage was worse than expected.
Huts were burned, fields trampled. Strange black stains marked the ground—residue from whatever cursed magic the attackers carried. Survivors huddled under tents, whispering about monsters with glowing red eyes.
Kaelith made his way to the chieftains' tent, where the leaders of the scattered tribes had gathered. Their faces were tired, angry, and confused.
One elder stepped forward. His skin was scarred, but his eyes were sharp.
"King Kaelith. We're honored by your presence. But we don't need words. We need protection."
"I promise you both," Kaelith said calmly. "But first, I need to understand what we're facing."
A younger warrior stepped forward, limping with the help of a staff. His arm was wrapped in thick cloth, soaked in red.
Kaelith approached him.
"What happened to you?"
The man unwrapped the cloth slowly. His skin beneath was turning a sickly crimson color, as if the blood itself had been poisoned. Dark veins spread from the wound like spiderwebs. His breathing was shallow.
"I was scratched by one of those things," he said weakly. "Now… I feel my energy slipping away. It's like… like something inside me is feeding on my soul."
Kaelith froze.
The signs were unmistakable.
Crimson veins. Drained life force. Infection through magic-corrupted wounds.
He had seen this before—on ancient scrolls hidden deep beneath the Solmere library.
"This is the Bloodmaris Curse," Kaelith said at last. "And I know who's behind it."
---
Back at the palace, Kaelith summoned his council.
"There is no time for delays," he declared. "Vaeron has returned, and he's no longer the prince we once knew. His royal magic has mutated into Crimson Magic—deadly, corrupting, and capable of raising an undead army."
Gasps echoed around the room.
"His goal is simple," Kaelith continued. "To spread the curse and plunge Solmere into darkness. He's starting with the isolated regions, but he won't stop there."
Lyriel stepped forward. "Then what's our plan?"
Kaelith's eyes blazed with light.
"We strike back. We fortify every border village and prepare purification teams to handle cursed wounds. I want healers trained in water magic working with light mages immediately. And we form a special unit to track Vaeron's movements."
He looked out the window, toward the distant darkwood forest where his brother hid.
"Vaeron may command chaos. But I carry the light. And this time… I won't hesitate."