The dungeon corridor was quieter than a tomb, but Kael knew silence was a lie here.
Down in the depths of the Ember Fang Sect, even shadows listened.
He moved swiftly, retracing the steps he took to find Alira—this time with sharper eyes and a heavier heart. The knowledge she'd given him stirred old instincts. Familiar. Dangerous. The betrayal hadn't been a mistake. It had been a calculated purge.
And they'd nearly succeeded.
Kael's footfalls made no sound as he approached the final bend in the corridor. Just as he reached the arch leading to the stairwell—
A voice barked:
"Stop right there!"
Kael cursed inwardly.
A lone Ember Sentinel, one of the sect's elite internal guards, stepped from the shadows. His armor was fused from obsidian and flame-etched steel, and a long glaive shimmered in his hands, its blade dripping with heat.
"You're not on the duty roster," the guard growled. "Identify yourself."
Kael straightened. He wore the stolen uniform, but the rank sigils were off. Too old. Too low.
No bluff would work.
No escape route behind him.
He'd been caught.
The Sentinel took a step forward. "I said, name your—"
Kael raised a hand slowly… and let the shadows rise.
Not as tendrils.
Not as blades.
But as a dome of pure stillness.
In a heartbeat, the air between them grew thick—like liquid ink flowing across the stone. The torches in the hallway flickered and dimmed, not extinguished, but deafened.
The Sentinel froze, eyes narrowing. "What the—"
"Shadow Domain: Mute Hollow."
The words whispered across the space, though no sound escaped.
It wasn't silence.
It was the absence of acknowledgment. A space cut off from reality's awareness. A small pocket where sound, energy, even spiritual signature—ceased to exist beyond its boundary.
The Sentinel lunged, glaive spinning into a downward arc. But Kael was already in motion.
He ducked beneath the swing, sliding across the smooth floor and rising with a twisting kick that cracked into the guard's ribs. The armor dented—but not enough. The glaive came sweeping back, grazing Kael's side and searing his robe with molten edge.
He grunted, pain blooming across his ribs—but didn't stop. He surged forward, shadows anchoring his feet as he stepped into the Sentinel's guard, driving his elbow into the man's throat.
The glaive clattered to the floor.
Still, the Sentinel moved—staggering back, throwing a fist that sparked with elemental flame.
Kael slipped beneath it, shadows folding around his body like an echo, and brought his palm up sharply against the man's jaw.
A hollow crack.
The guard dropped, unconscious before he hit the ground.
No witnesses.
No sounds.
No alert raised.
Kael stood over him, breathing heavily.
The Mute Hollow faded slowly, the torches returning to full flame, and with it—the normal hum of the dungeon.
Kael crouched and quickly dragged the guard into an empty side chamber, binding him with shadows threaded like silk wire.
He didn't kill him.
Not yet.
There was no satisfaction in murdering the blind.
He took one last look at the fallen Sentinel, then turned and vanished into the stairwell.
The night air hit him like a promise. Cold. Wet. Honest.
Kael stood at the edge of the fortress once more, the volcanic winds stirring the scorched ridges. Emberlight glowed behind him like a dying star.
His ribs ached. His body burned. But his mind was focused.
Alira was alive.
His clan had been erased.
And the shadows were no longer just tools—they were a throne waiting to be claimed.
Kael looked down at his hand. The black mist that clung to his skin shimmered with silent authority.
Mute Hollow.
A suppression domain.
Not for killing. Not for glory.
But for those who rule from the silence behind power.
He whispered to the wind, "The next time they hear me… it'll be too late."
And he stepped into the darkness, leaving only shadows behind.