Chapter 2

Kael of Draven watched the flames devour the remains of his men with an expression as cold as the steel he wore. The scent of charred flesh, the acrid smoke, the sight of the lifeless bodies—it all should have filled him with rage, with a burning desire for vengeance. Instead, he felt only a deep, hollow emptiness, the kind that had been gnawing at him for as long as he could remember.

He turned his back on the burning corpses, pushing away the memories that threatened to rise. This was war. Men died. There was no room for sentiment, no time for mourning. The only thing that mattered now was what came next.

"We should go, Your Highness," said Captain Verris, his most trusted officer, and one of the few men left alive from the ambush. His voice was steady, but there was an edge of unease in his tone that Kael didn't miss. "The Verrans might return."

Kael nodded curtly. "Let them come. I'll butcher every last one of them."

Verris hesitated, glancing at the smoldering remains. "And the bodies?"

"Leave them," Kael said, his voice hard. "They're no use to me now."

It was a lie, of course. The men lying dead in the dirt had been some of his best—loyal soldiers who had followed him into the jaws of hell without question. But there was no time for sentimentality, not when the stakes were this high. Not when Seraphina was out there, breathing the same air, plotting her next move.

The thought of her filled Kael with a searing, focused hatred. She was everything he despised—arrogant, self-righteous, blinded by the lies of her ancestors. The Verrans had always painted themselves as victims, martyrs in a war they had provoked. But Kael knew the truth. He had seen it in the eyes of his father, in the bloodstained history of his people.

Draven had been wronged. Betrayed. And he would not rest until the debt was paid in full.

"Have the men ready to move," Kael ordered, his voice like ice. "We'll regroup at the Iron Pass and wait for reinforcements. I want scouts sent out immediately—find out where the Verrans are hiding, and how many of them are left."

Verris saluted and moved to carry out the orders, leaving Kael alone with his thoughts. He took one last look at the burning pyres before turning away. There was no point in dwelling on the past. The future was all that mattered now.

He mounted his horse, a massive black stallion with a temper as fierce as its master's, and spurred it into a gallop. The wind whipped at his cloak, the landscape blurring around him as he rode toward the Iron Pass. He needed to put distance between himself and the battlefield, needed to clear his mind of the ghosts that lingered in the smoke.

As he rode, Kael's thoughts turned to the prophecy that had brought him to this cursed place. The words of the Oracles echoed in his mind, a reminder of the heavy burden he carried:

*The blood of the unforgiven shall unite, or the darkness shall consume all.*

It was a riddle wrapped in an enigma, but Kael had spent enough time with the Oracles to understand their meaning. The Shadowborn were real—ancient creatures of darkness, forgotten by all but the oldest myths. They were rising again, their power seeping into the land like poison. And only a union between the bloodlines of Draven and Verran could stop them.

Kael ground his teeth at the thought. It was an insult, a cosmic joke that the fate of the world should rest on the union of two sworn enemies. Seraphina was the last person he would ever choose to ally with, much less... He shook his head, refusing to finish the thought.

But the Oracles' words were clear. He needed her. And that knowledge gnawed at him like a festering wound.

His horse slowed as they approached the Iron Pass, a narrow gorge carved into the mountains that served as a natural chokepoint between Draven and Verran. It was a strategic location, one that Kael had fought to secure many times over the years. The camp was already bustling with activity as the remnants of his forces regrouped, setting up defensive positions and tending to the wounded.

Verris was waiting for him, his face grim. "We've lost nearly half our men, Your Highness. The Verrans hit us harder than we anticipated."

Kael dismounted, his expression unreadable. "Losses are to be expected. What of the scouts?"

"They've been dispatched, but it'll be some time before we hear back."

"Good," Kael said, his tone clipped. "We'll hold here until we have more information. Make sure the men are ready to move at a moment's notice."

Verris nodded, but there was something in his eyes that gave Kael pause. "Is there something else, Captain?"

Verris hesitated, clearly weighing his words carefully. "It's just... the men are starting to talk, Your Highness. They're uneasy about this mission. The prophecy, the Shadowborn... it's got them on edge."

Kael's expression darkened. "They're soldiers. Their job is to follow orders, not question them."

"Of course, but... you know how rumors spread. Some of them are saying that this alliance with Verran is cursed, that we're doomed before we even start."

Kael's jaw clenched. He knew the rumors. Knew that fear had a way of spreading like wildfire, especially when the enemy was something as abstract and terrifying as the Shadowborn. But he couldn't afford to let that fear take root among his men.

"Let them talk," Kael said, his voice cold. "But make sure they understand that disobedience will be met with swift punishment. I won't tolerate dissent."

Verris nodded, but there was still a flicker of doubt in his eyes. "And what about the princess? She's out there, somewhere. Do you really think we can trust her?"

Kael's lips curled into a mirthless smile. "Trust? No. But we don't have a choice, do we?"

Verris didn't respond, and Kael turned his attention to the camp. The men were moving efficiently, setting up barricades and sharpening weapons. They were disciplined, battle-hardened, but even Kael could see the tension in their movements, the way they glanced nervously at the darkening horizon.

He couldn't blame them. The Shadowborn were a threat unlike any they had faced before, and the thought of allying with the Verrans was enough to unsettle even the most seasoned soldiers. But Kael knew that fear was a weapon, one that could be turned against them if they weren't careful.

He needed to act, to assert control before the unease turned into something more dangerous.

"Verris," Kael said, his voice firm, "gather the men. I want to address them."

The captain nodded and moved to carry out the order. Within minutes, the soldiers were assembled before him, their faces a mix of wariness and expectation. Kael stood before them, his presence commanding, a figure carved from ice and steel.

"I won't waste words," Kael began, his voice carrying over the crowd. "You all know what we're facing. The Shadowborn are real, and they are coming for us. But let me make one thing clear: we will not be defeated. Not by the darkness, and not by the Verrans."

His words were met with a murmur of agreement, but Kael wasn't finished.

"You've heard the rumors," he continued, his tone hardening. "Whispers of curses, of doomed alliances. Let me tell you something: those are the words of cowards. We are Draven, the blood of conquerors runs through our veins. We do not bow to fear. We do not kneel before our enemies."

The murmurs grew louder, a wave of approval that surged through the ranks. Kael could see the fire returning to their eyes, the resolve that had been shaken by the day's losses.

"We will fight," Kael said, his voice rising. "We will march into the heart of the darkness and we will tear it apart, piece by piece. And when this is over, when the Shadowborn are nothing but ash and memory, the world will remember that it was Draven who stood unbroken."

The roar of approval that followed was like thunder, reverberating through the camp. Kael felt a flicker of satisfaction, knowing he had regained their loyalty, at least for now. But beneath the surface, the cold emptiness remained, a reminder that this victory was only temporary.

As the soldiers dispersed to their tasks, Kael's thoughts returned to Seraphina. She was out there, somewhere, plotting her next move. And despite the words he had spoken to his men, he knew the truth: this alliance was a fragile thing, built on a foundation of blood and lies.

But it was all they had.

"Keep an eye on the men, Verris," Kael said quietly as the captain returned to his side. "And make sure the scouts report back as soon as they find anything."

Verris nodded, his expression serious. "And what about the princess?"

Kael's eyes narrowed. "She's a means to an end, nothing more. But we can't afford to underestimate her."

"And if she betrays us?"

Kael's smile was cold, devoid of humor.  "Then I'll make sure she regrets it."

As the darkness closed in around them, Kael couldn't shake the feeling that they were standing on the edge of something terrible, something that would change everything. The Shadowborn were rising, and the world was teetering on the brink of oblivion.

But as he gazed out into the night, Kael made a silent vow: he would not let Draven fall. Not to the darkness, and not to the Verrans. He would do whatever it took, make whatever sacrifices were necessary, to ensure that his kingdom emerged victorious.

Even if it meant allying with the enemy. Even if it meant walking into the jaws of hell itself.