Kael felt the cold night pressing in around him like an unwanted embrace. The crumbling walls of the temple provided little comfort—a half-fallen parapet here, a shattered column there. Beyond that lay only silence. A single torch flickered in the distance, illuminating the three figures who stood gathered at the temple’s threshold: Kael himself, the hooded woman, and the nameless man who had led him this far.

  They had waited for hours under the waning light. The faint glow of dusk had slipped away, giving birth to a moonless sky. Clouds rolled overhead, thick as slate. Each breath Kael drew tasted stale and metallic, as if the very air resented being disturbed.

  No one spoke. The tension was its own presence, wrapping them in a suffocating stillness. Kael’s thoughts churned, replaying the nameless man’s warning:

  The Sovereign’s Chosen.

  He had heard the stories whispered among soldiers during late-night watches—the elites who served the Eternal Sovereign personally, rumored to possess unholy abilities and unwavering devotion. More phantom than flesh, they appeared when necessary to enforce the Sovereign’s will with brutal efficiency. They were unstoppable. Unfeeling. Unquestionably loyal. And now, they were hunting him.

  A flicker of movement caught Kael’s eye. The woman—still unnamed to him—knelt by the temple’s shattered entrance, pressing her palm against the ancient stone floor. Her eyes, half-hidden by the hood’s shadow, scrutinized the darkness outside.

  “They’re close,” she said softly, voice like a taut bowstring. “We have minutes at best.”

  Kael forced his grip to relax from the hilt of his sword. Fear wouldn’t help here, but it gnawed at him all the same. “Then why are we waiting?” he asked, keeping his voice low. “Shouldn’t we strike first?”

  The nameless man stood with arms folded, his gaze fixed on the swirling darkness beyond the temple’s remains. “Because an open assault would be suicide. You don’t corner a predator without a plan.”

  Kael’s eyes narrowed. “Then tell me the plan.”

  He felt the Mark stir under his skin, a faint warmth spreading along his forearm. It had become more insistent of late, responding to tension and anger with a pulse that made him question who—or what—truly commanded his body. Every day, he reminded himself not to let it take over, but the line blurred each time he used its power.

  “We draw them in,” the nameless man finally said. “They expect to corner us here, to find you weakened. We’ll turn their confidence against them.”

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  “That’s your strategy?” Kael asked. “A trap inside a temple that’s half rubble?”

  The hooded woman’s lips curved into a grim smile. “Sometimes, rubble is all you need—if you understand how it can fall.”

  Before Kael could push for more details, a sudden rush of air swept through the temple. It carried a presence with it—a prickling sensation at the back of Kael’s neck that raised every hair on his arms. His pulse quickened.

  “They’ve arrived,” the nameless man said, sliding one foot back as if bracing for impact.

  Three figures materialized amid the collapsed arches at the edge of the temple ground. At first glance, they looked human—a tall man in dark plate, a lithe woman with silver tattoos curling over her skin, and a third figure lurking behind them, features concealed. Yet Kael could sense the power rolling off them like heat waves. It was a presence that weighed on his lungs, making each breath a conscious effort.

  The man in plate armor stepped forward, and Kael caught sight of an emblem glinting over his breastplate—an embossed golden eye, the unblinking sigil of the Eternal Sovereign. His gauntleted hand rested on a longsword strapped at his hip, but he made no move to draw.

  “Kael Varian,” the man said, voice echoing in the open air. “You will come with us. Surrender the abomination you carry, and the Sovereign may show mercy.”

  “Mercy?” Kael barked out a short, humorless laugh. “I’ve seen how the Imperium treats traitors.”

  The knight’s expression remained impassive. “Then you understand your alternatives.”

  Kael’s heart pounded. Something in the man’s tone held utter certainty, as if the outcome were predetermined. He tried to speak, but the woman with silver tattoos raised her hand, cutting him off. Her eyes blazed with an unsettling light as she focused on Kael’s arm.

  The Mark.

  He felt it react, a wave of heat burning through his veins. The presence within him stirred, hungry and restless. For a heartbeat, he saw the woman’s tattoos shift and shimmer like living serpents, converging at her fingertips.

  A single hiss escaped her lips, carrying the resonance of a spell. The ground trembled beneath Kael’s feet; a jagged line of energy crackled through the air, rushing toward him.

  He moved on instinct. The Mark flared, and a pulse of raw force knocked aside the incoming energy before it could strike. The backlash slammed him against a broken column, sending shards of stone skittering across the floor.

  Darkness flashed in the corner of his vision. He sensed more than saw the third figure—the one who had lingered behind. A silhouette blurred forward, blade gleaming with unnatural brightness, slashing down at the nameless man.

  But the nameless man was already twisting aside, sliding into the gloom. Kael could barely track his movements—he seemed to vanish between shadows and torchlight, forcing the assassin to re-center and strike again.

  The melee ignited instantly. The woman with the silver tattoos advanced on Kael, shadows swirling around her ankles. The plated knight strode forward with chilling calm, sword now drawn, each step measured and deadly.

  Kael pushed himself upright, swallowing the ache in his ribs. The Mark was alive with urgent heat, urging him to unleash more power. He locked eyes with the knight and read only cold finality in that gaze.

  No more running. No more hesitation.

  If he was to survive, he would have to embrace the very force he dreaded. Otherwise, the Sovereign’s Chosen would make an example of him here, amid the temple’s wreckage.

  Kael took one steadying breath, then let the Mark’s power flow.