The wind whispered softly through the trees, carrying with it the faint scent of pine and earth. The fog, dense and unyielding, curled around the base of the towering mountain, where Kael's castle lay hidden. Deep within the mist, the stone walls of his domain were nearly invisible, as if the fortress itself were born from the ethereal gloom.
Kael had lived in this solitude for a thousand years, ever since the great battle against the Demon Kings. The world had forgotten him, and he had long since embraced his anonymity. No one knew where he was, or even if he still lived. To the outside world, Kael had become little more than a legend—a shadow in the annals of history.
The castle, now silent and still, had once been full of life—clashes of swords, the echo of laughter, the murmur of ancient magics. But those days had passed. The halls, once gleaming with the light of power, now felt damp with the weight of time. The portraits of fallen heroes lined the stone walls, their faces blurred and faded, but still haunting the empty halls.
Kael sat by a grand fireplace in a room that overlooked the mist-covered valley below. The hearth crackled with life, casting flickering shadows across the ancient stone walls. A large table, covered with maps and arcane texts, lay before him. Kael's sharp eyes traced the lines of the map with practiced ease, his fingers barely touching the edges of the parchment as he examined the movements of the world beyond his castle's walls.
His gaze flickered to the corner of the room, where the sword of his former self hung, a relic of the battle a thousand years ago. The weight of it was no longer a burden on his shoulder—it was a weight that belonged to the past. He could remember wielding it with purpose and pride, but now, it was nothing more than a symbol of what had been lost.
"Master, the report from the eastern territories is here," came a voice from the doorway, breaking his reverie.
Kael glanced up to see one of his undead servants enter the room. This one, a tall figure with tattered armor and a face obscured by the remnants of a once-proud warrior's helm, was named Arlen. He had been a knight in life, a valiant protector of his people, but death had claimed him, binding him to Kael's service.
"Place it on the table, Arlen," Kael replied, his voice soft but commanding. "Let's see what has changed in the world."
Arlen, his movements stiff and mechanical, placed a rolled parchment on the table in front of Kael. The servant's hollow eyes studied his master, ever watchful, but never questioning. It was a bond forged in the fires of time and death—one that Kael had long since come to rely on.
With a practiced hand, Kael unrolled the scroll and scanned the report. It detailed unrest in several human kingdoms: border skirmishes, the rise of new powers, and strange reports from the farthest reaches of the continent. But what caught Kael's attention was the mention of the Demon Kings—figures that should have remained dormant for centuries. The seals that had once held them back were weakening. His heart, long hardened by solitude, skipped a beat.
"Are they truly waking?" Kael muttered under his breath.
Arlen did not respond. His role was not to question, only to serve. Instead, he stood silently, his presence ever looming, as Kael's mind drifted back to the distant past.
Flashback: A Thousand Years Ago
The battlefield was a place of chaos. The ground trembled under the force of the Demon Kings' arrival, their monstrous figures darkening the sky. The sun had barely risen, and already the world was bathed in the blood-red hue of impending destruction. Kael had stood with his companions—the great paladins, the elven rangers, and the ancient dragons who had sworn to protect the land. Together, they had forged an alliance like no other, the last line of defense against the encroaching darkness.
Among them was the dragon-folk warrior Aeryn, his scales glimmering like molten gold, and Sylene, an elven ranger whose arrows flew faster than the eye could follow. They fought side by side, an unbreakable unit. But despite their strength, the battle was too great. For every demon they slew, two more took their place.
Kael had called upon the greatest of magics to turn the tide, summoning a power so ancient that it had nearly consumed him. The ground had cracked open beneath his feet, and the skies had darkened as the last seal was forged—locking away the Demon Kings for another millennium.
But that victory had come at a heavy price. His companions had fallen in the battle, each one sacrificing their life to seal the demons away. Even the dragons had perished, their great forms crumbling to dust as the last of their life forces were spent in the battle. Kael had barely survived, but the pain of their loss had shattered something deep inside him. It was this pain that had driven him into seclusion.
Back to Present
Kael set the scroll down, his eyes clouded with the memories of that fateful day. He hadn't fought for power, or glory, or even for the survival of humanity. No, Kael had fought to protect those he loved. And yet, in the end, it had all been in vain. The world had forgotten them. Forgotten him.
A soft voice interrupted his thoughts.
"Master, there are reports of a disturbance near the western border," came another voice, more timid than Arlen's. It was a young undead servant named Leira, a former mage who had been claimed by death too soon. Her appearance was delicate, her robes tattered but still carrying a faint glow of magical essence. She had been a brilliant sorceress in life, but now, her magic was more a distant echo, barely able to be wielded.
Kael sighed deeply and turned toward her. "What kind of disturbance?"
Leira stepped forward, holding a scroll with a trembling hand. "The Demon Kings… They have begun to stir. Reports are coming from the southern lands. Strange sightings. The air is thick with dark magic."
Kael's eyes darkened. "The seals are weakening," he murmured.
He stood up from his chair, his mind racing. The world outside his castle walls was teetering on the edge of chaos. Yet, as always, Kael had chosen to remain hidden. He had no desire to interfere. Let the kingdoms fight. Let the heroes rise and fall. It was not his battle anymore.
But as the shadows of the past crept ever closer, something deep within him stirred. His old companions had fought for this world. They had given everything, and now it seemed that their sacrifices might be in vain. A new generation was about to face the horrors he had fought so hard to banish.
"Prepare the servants," Kael said softly. "I will go to the southern lands. I must see this for myself."
Leira nodded and immediately left, hurrying to gather the others. Kael, meanwhile, walked to the window, looking out at the mist-covered valley. His thoughts were a tangled mess of memories and regrets. He could feel the pull of the past, the weight of the promises he had made to those he had lost.
But he had made his choice. He would not interfere—at least not yet. He would watch from the shadows, as he always had.
His gaze lingered on the horizon for a long moment before he turned back to the room. He moved toward a shelf filled with ancient tomes, his fingers brushing the spines of forgotten knowledge. His mind wandered to his old comrades, the ones who had once stood by his side. What would they have done? What would Aeryn, Sylene, or the dragons do now?
For the first time in years, Kael felt a stirring of something—something almost like hope, but it was quickly extinguished. He would not let himself be caught in the affairs of mortals again. The world could burn if it must.
The castle was silent once more, save for the sound of the servants' distant footsteps as they prepared for his journey. Kael stood by the fire, his hand resting on the hilt of his blade. He had lived a thousand years in isolation, but now, the world was calling him again.
The winds outside howled as if in warning, and the mist seemed to grow thicker,heavier.