Description
The wind howled through the ruins of Vorgath like a dying beast, carrying the scent of old blood and charred bone. Kael the Reaver crouched in the shadows of a shattered column, his hand resting on the worn hilt of his broadsword. The city had been dead for a century, its streets choked with ash and the whispers of the damned. Yet something still lived here—something that had drawn him across three kingdoms with a promise of gold and vengeance. A woman's scream split the night. Kael moved without thought, his boots silent on the cracked stones. He found her in the ruins of an old temple, its blackened pillars clawing at the sky. She was young, dark-haired, bound in chains of cold iron. At her feet lay the corpses of three men—mercenaries, by the look of them, their throats torn open by something with very sharp teeth. The girl's eyes locked onto Kael's. They were green, too green, like poison under moonlight. You're not one of them, she said.
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