Kael trudged through the ashen expanse of the wasteland, his breath forming fleeting clouds in the frigid air. The barren earth stretched endlessly before him, cracked and lifeless, with jagged black spires jutting into the sky like skeletal fingers. Above, a crimson sun hung low on the horizon, shrouded in a haze of smoke and shadow.
The Crown of Shadows pulsed faintly at his side, hovering mere inches from his hip as though tethered to him by an invisible chain. Its tendrils writhed lazily, whispering their ceaseless litany of promises—power, glory, vengeance.
Kael ignored the voices, his jaw set in grim determination. The memory of the throne room still burned in his mind: the flashes of destruction, the weight of the crown on his brow, and the sickening realization of what he had been.
"Keep walking," he muttered under his breath, the sound swallowed by the oppressive silence of the wasteland.
The wind stirred, carrying with it the faint scent of sulfur and decay. It tugged at his cloak, a reminder of the chilling emptiness that surrounded him. Yet, as the minutes dragged on, the wind began to change. It grew sharper, keener, as if alive with purpose.
Kael paused, his instincts prickling. The wind swirled around him, forming eddies of dust and ash that danced in an almost deliberate pattern. And then, out of the stillness, a voice—soft, lilting, and undeniably familiar.
"Kael."
He spun around, his heart lurching. A figure emerged from the swirling ash, her form insubstantial and wavering like a mirage. She was clad in a flowing white gown, her golden hair billowing as though caught in an unseen breeze. Her eyes, bright and piercing, locked onto his with a gaze that was equal parts sorrow and accusation.
"Lyria," Kael whispered, the name escaping his lips unbidden.
Memories surged forth unbidden, sharp and vivid. Lyria had stood beside him in the days of his reign—a beacon of hope and light amidst the darkness he had embraced. She had pleaded with him to abandon the path of conquest, to lay down the Crown of Shadows before it consumed him. But he had not listened.
The vision of Lyria stepped closer, her voice like the distant melody of a forgotten song. "You wear the crown still," she said, her words cutting deeper than any blade. "Its shadow clings to you, Kael. Do you not see it?"
Kael's hand instinctively went to the crown at his side. "I didn't choose this," he said, his voice rough with guilt. "I didn't ask to return."
Lyria's expression softened, though the sadness in her eyes remained. "The wheel of fate does not turn for your desires, Kael. It turns because it must. And now, the crown is yours to bear once more."
He took a step toward her, his voice trembling. "Lyria, I—I can change this. I can undo what I've done. Tell me what I need to do."
She shook her head, her form beginning to waver. "Redemption is a path you must walk alone. The shadows will try to claim you, as they always have. Whether you rise or fall will depend on the choices you make, Kael."
As the vision of Lyria began to fade, the wind howled, carrying her final words like a whisper in his ear. "Beware the city of Altaris. There, your fate shall be tested."
And then she was gone, leaving Kael standing alone in the desolation. The Crown of Shadows pulsed at his side, its whispers growing louder, as though mocking him.
Kael clenched his fists, his resolve hardening. He would find this city of Altaris. He would uncover the truth of his return, and he would face whatever trials lay ahead. The shadows might seek to claim him, but he would not surrender. Not again.
The wind rose once more, carrying with it the distant sound of a horn—a low, mournful note that set Kael's pulse racing. He turned toward the sound, his eyes narrowing as he caught sight of a faint glow on the horizon.
Fires.
Kael's grip tightened on the rusted chain he still carried, his steps quickening as he moved toward the distant light. Whatever lay ahead, he would face it head-on.
For the wheel of fate had turned, and Kael Ardyn would not be its pawn.