The glow on the horizon grew brighter as Kael pressed forward, his boots crunching against the cracked, desolate ground. The low, mournful sound of the horn echoed again, this time closer, reverberating through the air like a warning. Kael's heartbeat quickened, though his expression remained stoic. He had been a king once—a tyrant, perhaps—but fear had never been a companion of his.
Now, with the Crown of Shadows pulsing faintly at his side, he pushed forward, driven by a strange mix of purpose and unease. The fiery light ahead flickered like a beacon, illuminating the jagged spires of the wasteland and casting grotesque shadows across the landscape.
As he drew nearer, the acrid scent of burning wood and charred flesh filled the air, stinging his nostrils. Kael slowed, his instincts on high alert. He crouched low behind a jagged rock, peering over its edge. The scene before him was both horrifying and familiar.
A small settlement, its wooden huts ablaze, was under siege. Figures clad in dark, jagged armor moved through the village like wraiths, their weapons glinting in the firelight. They struck down anyone in their path—men, women, even children—without hesitation or mercy.
Kael's grip on the rusted chain tightened, his knuckles turning white. The sight of the attackers stirred something within him, an emotion he couldn't quite place. It wasn't anger, though the carnage before him warranted it. It was something deeper, something colder.
Guilt.
He clenched his jaw, forcing the feeling aside. This wasn't his fight. He had no allegiance to these villagers, no reason to risk his life for strangers. And yet, as he watched a young woman dragged from her burning home, her screams piercing the night, he felt the weight of the crown at his side grow heavier.
"Fight, Kael," the whispers hissed, their tone almost taunting. "Show them your strength. Take the power that is yours by right."
Kael ignored the voices, though his fingers itched to wield a weapon. The attackers—whoever they were—moved with precision, their every strike calculated. They weren't mere brigands or raiders. This was something far more deliberate.
A sharp cry cut through the air, drawing Kael's attention. A child, no older than ten, stumbled out of a collapsing hut, his face streaked with soot and tears. One of the armored figures advanced on him, sword raised high.
Kael didn't think. He moved.
The rusted chain in his hand lashed out, snapping through the air with a whip-like crack. It struck the attacker's arm, knocking the blade aside just as it descended toward the boy. The armored figure turned, his glowing red eyes locking onto Kael.
"Well," Kael muttered, rising to his full height, "guess I've made my choice."
The other attackers took notice, their movements pausing as they turned to face him. Kael let the chain dangle loosely in his hand, his other hand hovering near the Crown of Shadows. He could feel its power, a storm of potential just waiting to be unleashed.
"You've picked the wrong village," Kael said, his voice low but steady.
The armored figure who had attacked the boy stepped forward, his jagged sword gleaming in the firelight. His voice, distorted and hollow, echoed from within his helm.
"Who are you to interfere, outsider?"
Kael smirked, though there was no humor in it. "Someone you'll regret crossing."
The attacker lunged, his blade slicing through the air with deadly precision. Kael sidestepped, his movements fluid despite the weight of his cloak. The chain in his hand snapped out again, wrapping around the attacker's arm and pulling him off balance.
Kael didn't wait for the attacker to recover. He stepped in close, driving his knee into the armored figure's stomach. The blow sent the man sprawling, his sword clattering to the ground.
The other attackers advanced, their weapons drawn. Kael gritted his teeth, his grip on the chain tightening. He couldn't take them all, not like this. Not without...
The Crown of Shadows pulsed. Its whispers grew louder, more insistent.
"Use it, Kael. Let the shadows guide you."
He hesitated, the weight of the crown at his side a physical and mental burden. He knew what would happen if he gave in, if he let the crown's power take hold. But as the attackers closed in, their weapons glinting in the firelight, he realized he had no other choice.
Reaching for the crown, Kael felt a surge of cold energy course through him the moment his fingers brushed its surface. Shadows erupted around him, coiling like living tendrils as they lashed out at the attackers. The closest one was thrown back, his armor dented and smoking.
The others faltered, their confidence wavering as the shadows moved with a will of their own. Kael stood at the center of the chaos, his eyes glowing faintly with an unnatural light. The crown hovered just above his head now, its power fully unleashed.
He didn't speak, didn't think. He let the shadows do their work, striking down the attackers with ruthless efficiency. In moments, the battle was over, the village eerily silent save for the crackling of flames.
Kael exhaled, the crown's weight pressing down on him as the shadows receded. The survivors of the village—what few remained—emerged from their hiding places, their expressions a mixture of awe and fear.
The child he had saved stepped forward hesitantly, his wide eyes fixed on Kael. "Are you... a hero?"
Kael looked down at the boy, his expression unreadable. "No," he said quietly. "I'm not."
He turned away, the crown settling back at his side. The whispers began again, soft and mocking. Kael ignored them, his gaze fixed on the horizon.
The road to Altaris awaited, and with it, the answers he sought.
But as Kael walked away from the burning village, he couldn't shake the feeling that he had already crossed a line he could never uncross.