By dusk, Kael reached the crossroads of Vareth.
The old road was littered with broken carts and burned sigils of faith. Once, pilgrims had traveled here to reach the Monastery of Light. Now, only vultures remained.
Kael stopped to rest beneath a dead oak. His cloak hung heavy with blood and rain — not all of it his own. The curse was quiet for now, sleeping beneath his skin, but its silence was not mercy. It was hunger waiting to wake.
He was sharpening his blade when the wind shifted.
Bootsteps.
Heavy. Disciplined. Metal against stone.
Kael didn't move, but his hand slid toward his sword.
From the fog came a man in silver armor engraved with scripture. His tabard bore the emblem of the Sanctum Order — the empire's holy executioners. Behind him, three knights followed, their armor glinting faintly in the dying light.
The lead knight stopped several paces away. His voice was calm, composed, but cold as a blade.
"Name yourself."
Kael looked up. "Does it matter?"
"It does to the dead," the knight replied.
Kael studied him. The man was tall, broad-shouldered, his hair snow-white though his face was young. His eyes were a strange, radiant gold — eyes that had seen monsters and learned to love killing them.
"I am Ser Aldric Thorne, Inquisitor of the Sanctum," the knight declared. "By decree of His Holiness, all cursed vessels are to be purged."
Kael's lips twitched into a faint, humorless smile. "Then you've found one."
The knights behind Aldric raised their weapons instantly. Sigils flared on their swords — light-magic, bright and pure.
Kael rose slowly, his own shadow stretching long across the road.
"Feed…"
The whisper was awake again.
Kael's eyes darkened. The sigil on his chest began to glow through his armor, faint but alive — a pulse of black against the world's light.
Aldric's gaze sharpened. "You've already bonded with it," he said. "Then I offer you mercy. Die now, and your soul may yet find rest."
Kael drew his sword, black veins crawling along his arm. "Mercy doesn't interest me."
The first knight charged.
Kael moved like lightning. His blade met steel — and the curse responded. Black tendrils erupted from the impact, swallowing light whole. The knight screamed as his armor melted like wax. Kael twisted, tore through the man's chest, and turned as another attacked from behind.
For every strike, the curse grew hungrier. For every kill, the whisper grew louder.
"More. More. More!"
Aldric watched, unmoving, his expression unreadable. When the last of his men fell, he stepped forward, drawing a longsword wreathed in holy fire.
"Impressive," he said quietly. "But that power isn't yours. It's eating you alive."
Kael wiped blood from his cheek. "Then I'll make sure it chokes."
The ground split between them as their blades met — darkness against light, sin against sanctity. The clash sent shockwaves rippling through the air, extinguishing the firelight, bending the trees.
When it ended, Kael was on one knee, his chest burning. The sigil flickered — unstable. Aldric stood above him, his sword raised.
"You're strong," Aldric said. "But you're already dead."
Kael looked up, eyes glowing faintly.
"No," he whispered, voice cold and certain.
"I'm what comes after."
The curse exploded outward, and the forest was swallowed by black light.