Shree Heng stood before the massive iron gates of the Iron Citadel, the dark clouds swirling above, as if mirroring the turmoil within his mind. The Citadel, once a symbol of the Heng Clan's unparalleled might, now felt like a prison—a place where survival meant more than family, where betrayal was the only currency that mattered. The reality of immortality—of his goal—seemed ever more distant, slipping between his fingers as if the world itself were conspiring against him.
The gates creaked open, a heavy, metallic groan that resonated deep within the still air. Two of his clan's guards, dressed in black armor with the serpent-and-dagger insignia etched upon their chests, gave him a quick glance, their faces unreadable. Shree's eyes shifted toward the towering spires of the Citadel, the walls that had once been an impenetrable fortress now seeming cold, alien, as if the place had grown tired of housing their ambitions.
His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden voice, smooth, cold, yet familiar.
"You're late," said Heng Morai, her voice dripping with a subtle venom, though her face betrayed none of it. Her eyes were locked on Shree, calculating, always calculating. She stood with her back to the wind, the hem of her dark cloak fluttering slightly.
"Did you think I wouldn't return?" Shree replied, stepping forward. His tone was colder than the mountain winds that swept through the Citadel's cracked stone. "I had matters to attend to."
Heng Morai narrowed her eyes, lips twitching with something between a sneer and a smile. "Matters?" she echoed, her gaze flicking to the black serpent emblem on his chest, a reminder of the legacy they both carried. "You waste time with trivialities while the world shifts beneath our feet. The Kingdoms grow restless. The Circle of Sorrow grows louder in their whispers. Even the Ashen Brotherhood seems to be making a move."
Shree's eyes narrowed as well, though for a different reason. His mother was right—there were signs of unrest. The very nature of the world around them was changing. The game had grown more unpredictable. The Eternal Flame was becoming more violent. The Black Hand had been seen making strange moves in the shadows. And now, even the whispers of the Ashen Brotherhood's relentless pursuit of destruction seemed to be inching closer to a breaking point.
"What of Kaelen?" Shree asked, his voice a little more clipped now, the tension tightening around his chest like an invisible chain. His elder brother had been absent for too long. Kaelen's ambitions burned as fiercely as his own, and his unpredictability had always been a source of concern. The last time Shree had seen him, he had been scouring the northern territories for… something. It had been left unsaid, but Shree knew Kaelen's hunger for power would lead him to something dangerous.
"Kaelen?" Heng Morai repeated, as though the word was an afterthought. "He still roams the northern regions, searching for answers in that desolate wasteland. If you ask me, it's nothing more than a distraction."
"You're wrong," Shree said, his voice low but fierce. "He's not merely distracted. He's plotting something. I can feel it."
Heng Morai regarded her son for a long moment, her gaze unwavering. "You're far too obsessed with what lies beyond the horizon, Shree. You think immortality is the only thing that matters. You think that by climbing to the top of this mountain, you'll be untouchable, above it all. But remember, the higher you rise, the more you will fall. The Heng Clan's legacy has always been a foundation built on blood. That's the only truth that remains. Do not forget it."
Shree's hands tightened at his sides. His mother, always the pragmatist, had no understanding of the depth of his quest. No one did.
"I'm not here to discuss the past, Mother," he said, cutting through the tension. "I'm here because we need to move. Every moment we waste brings us closer to our enemies. They are closing in."
She studied him for a long while, her eyes gleaming with a mixture of concern and calculation. "Then you will have to be the one to lead us through it. As always."
Shree inclined his head. There was no other choice. He would lead. His path had already been set in stone, even if it meant stepping over the bodies of those who would stand in his way.
"Where is Myrra?" he asked abruptly, his eyes narrowing. His younger sister, always so silent, so cold, was a wild card in the game of survival. She had grown increasingly distant, brooding, and far more dangerous than anyone gave her credit for.
"She's in the Citadel," Morai replied, her lips curling into something that wasn't quite a smile. "But I wouldn't seek her out if I were you. She's… changing."
The warning in her voice wasn't lost on Shree, but his mind was already elsewhere. He knew what had to be done. He knew what he was willing to sacrifice. And he would stop at nothing until the game was won.
"Then I will speak to her soon enough," Shree said, turning away. "But first, we need to prepare. If we are to survive what comes next, we must act now. The Kingdoms are ripe for conquest. And Varema will belong to the Heng Clan."
His mother watched him leave, her expression unreadable. But as he walked deeper into the Citadel, the haunting sound of her words echoed in his mind:
"The higher you rise, the more you will fall."
It was a warning. And one Shree Heng had no intention of heeding.