The fire crackled low, its embers barely holding on to the last remnants of warmth as the night stretched its cold fingers across the ruined landscape. Kiran sat on the edge of a broken stone pillar, sharpening his blade with slow, deliberate strokes. The rhythmic scrape of metal against whetstone was a steady sound, a small anchor in the storm of his thoughts.
Something was coming.
He had felt it for days—a shift in the air, a disturbance at the edges of his senses, as if the world itself was holding its breath.
The Hollow Mark still burned faintly against his chest, a reminder of the battle with the Night Reapers. But it had not consumed him.
Not yet.
Whatever had tried to take root inside him had been pushed back.
By his will. By his training. By something deeper inside him, something he still did not fully understand.
He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. The Void Shard.
That was the next step. The only way to truly stop what was coming.
But he didn't have time.
Because tonight, the storm arrived.
A Blood-Stained Messenger
The camp was quiet. Too quiet.
It had taken weeks to rebuild after the last ambush, and yet something about this silence was wrong.
Then he heard the shouting.
Kiran stood in an instant, his blade already in his hand as he strode toward the commotion at the camp's entrance.
As he approached, his stomach twisted at the sight before him.
A man stumbled forward, barely able to stand, covered in blood.
His cloak was torn, his breathing ragged. Deep slashes marked his arms and chest, but his eyes—his eyes were full of terror.
"Kiran…" The man gasped, reaching for him.
Kiran caught him before he collapsed. "What happened?"
The man clutched at his cloak, fumbling with something hidden beneath the fabric. Kiran helped him pull it free—a torn scrap of parchment.
He unfolded it.
The words were written in deep, black ink, but the edges of the parchment were stained red.
"Run faster. It will not be enough."
Kiran's jaw tightened.
Lyssara.
The Weight of Shadows
Kiran lowered the man gently onto the ground as healers rushed forward. His mind was already racing.
Lyssara had found them.
No—she had done more than that. She had sent a message.
Not just with words. With blood. With fear.
He closed his eyes briefly. The camp was supposed to be safe, a place for those who had nowhere else to go. Now, they were being hunted again.
He could feel the warriors around him waiting, watching for his reaction. They needed a leader now.
Kiran stood slowly, folding the parchment.
He turned to his second-in-command, Ashvar.
"Get everyone moving. Now."
Ashvar hesitated. "But—"
"Now," Kiran repeated, his voice like iron. "We are not waiting for them to finish what they started."
Because he knew how Lyssara worked.
This was not an attack.
It was the warning before the storm.
A Decision Made
As the camp prepared to move, Kiran slipped away into the shadows, his thoughts churning.
The Void Shard.
He was running out of time.
Malrik was not just trying to kill him—he was trying to break him.
Kiran would not let that happen.
He looked at the sky, at the distant, pulsing darkness beyond the mountains.
It was time to stop running.
It was time to go into the Void.
To Be Continued…