Veylan

The air in the grand hall was thick with unspoken tension. Shadows flickered against the high walls as the council convened in secrecy, murmurs of unrest rippling through the chamber. Kaelith's grip tightened around the hilt of his sword as his gaze swept over the gathered figures. He had known betrayal before, but this—this was something far more insidious.

A new enemy had begun to stir.

Seraphine stood beside him, her expression unreadable, yet Kaelith could sense the storm raging beneath the surface. She had uncovered something in the ancient texts, something that hinted at a force long buried beneath the weight of forgotten history. A force that now threatened to rise again.

"The sigil," Seraphine murmured, her fingers tracing the worn parchment. "It wasn't merely a symbol of protection—it was a seal. A prison."

Kaelith's jaw clenched. "And now it's weakening."

A hooded figure stepped forward from the shadows. The informant's voice was hushed, urgent. "There have been whispers, Your Highness. A name spoken in the dark corners of the city. One thought lost to time."

Kaelith's breath came slow and measured. "Speak it."

The figure hesitated for only a moment before answering. "Veylan."

A silence heavier than stone settled over them. The name carried the weight of nightmares, of stories told to frighten children into obedience. But this was no mere myth—this was a warning. A name tied to bloodshed, to a dynasty thought eradicated.

Seraphine met Kaelith's gaze, her voice steady but laced with an undercurrent of fear. "If Veylan is truly alive… we may be facing more than just war."

Kaelith exhaled slowly, his resolve hardening. The battle for the throne had only just begun, but now, a far greater darkness loomed at the horizon.

"We find him first," Kaelith declared. "Before he finds us."