Chapter 39: The Chains That Bind Us

A Kingdom in Fear

The city of Vasthral stood silent beneath the twilight sky, its towering spires casting long shadows over empty streets. Lanterns flickered in defiance of the growing darkness, but their light felt fragile, as if the night itself was swallowing them whole.

Fear gripped the city. Not the ordinary kind born from war or political unrest. This was something deeper. Primal. Unspoken.

No one dared to whisper the name of the one who had returned.

No one dared to acknowledge what they had all felt.

The gods had turned their gaze upon Eidryn. The Abyss had stirred. And in the heart of it all…

Thalos Arctur had changed.

The Return of the Forsaken

The grand palace of Vasthral was a fortress carved from black stone, its design a relic of an era long past. Here, the rulers of Eidryn convened in the Council of Sovereigns, where kings, warlords, and archmages once dictated the fate of nations.

Tonight, no arguments filled the chamber. No petty disputes over land or trade.

Because tonight, every throne was occupied.

And every ruler shared the same thought.

What do we do about Thalos Arctur?

A Voice That Shatters Silence

The silence was broken by the only one who had the courage to speak first.

"Are we truly fools enough to believe that we can still call him mortal?"

The speaker was King Darius Vaelstrom, the Warlord of the North. His scarred hands rested against the great stone table, his amber eyes sharp. "You all saw it. You all felt it. And yet you sit here, as if debating what crops to harvest next season."

Across from him, Queen Lysaria Vel'Ethar leaned forward, her silver hair reflecting the dim candlelight. "Then tell me, Darius. What do you propose? Do we kneel?"

The warlord scoffed. "I propose we prepare for war."

A bitter laugh echoed through the chamber.

It came from Elder Varian Mal'thar, the High Arcanist of the Eldren. He was the oldest among them, his long golden robes flowing like liquid starlight. His glowing eyes regarded the warlord with something between pity and amusement.

"War? Against what, exactly?" Varian leaned back in his seat. "A man who made the Forgotten Ones kneel without a single command? A warrior who stood at the Rift's edge and returned untouched?"

His voice lowered.

"A being that even the gods hesitate to name?"

The chamber fell silent again.

Because deep down, they all knew the truth.

Thalos Arctur was no longer bound by their rules.

And that terrified them.

A Love Lost, A Promise Broken

Far from the council chamber, within the palace walls, a lone figure stood at the balcony, overlooking the city below.

Her crimson cloak billowed in the night air, her arms resting against the cold marble railing.

Eryndra.

She had barely spoken since returning from the battlefield.

Her hands still trembled when she thought about what she had seen. About what she had felt when Thalos looked at her.

He was still him.

And yet… he wasn't.

A part of her screamed to run, to put as much distance between herself and the thing he had become.

But another part—**the part that had fought beside him, bled beside him, trusted him with her life—**refused to let go.

"Eryndra."

She turned sharply at the voice.

Jorath stood in the doorway, his usual carefree expression nowhere to be seen. He studied her carefully, as if trying to piece together the thoughts she refused to voice.

"You haven't been sleeping."

She exhaled sharply. "Neither have you."

He chuckled dryly. "Fair enough."

Silence stretched between them before he spoke again. "You still believe in him?"

The question was simple.

But the weight behind it was not.

Eryndra closed her eyes.

"I don't know."

Jorath leaned against the railing beside her. "Then what do you feel?"

She hesitated.

And then, whispered the truth that had been haunting her since the moment she saw him step out of the Rift.

"I feel like I lost him before I even knew I had him."

The Chains of Fate

Miles away, far beyond the palace walls, deep in the abandoned ruins of an old citadel, Thalos Arctur stood alone.

He had not returned to Vasthral. He had not answered the calls of the council.

Because none of it mattered anymore.

Not in the face of what he had seen.

Not in the face of what he had become.

The chains around his wrists had shattered. The weight he had carried for so long, the limitations placed upon his soul, the invisible walls that had caged his power—all of it was gone.

And in its place…

A throne of silence awaited.

Thalos ran a hand through his hair, exhaling.

He should have felt triumphant. Should have felt free.

Instead, he felt nothing.

Or rather—he felt everything at once.

The whispers of the Abyss. The call of the gods. The fragmented echoes of past lives that did not belong to him.

And the one voice that haunted him the most.

Eryndra.

He knew she was afraid.

Knew that something inside her had shifted when she saw him standing at the Rift's edge.

And it killed him more than he was willing to admit.

But there was no going back now.

No path that led to the life he once knew.

Only the unknown stretched before him.

And something in the darkness was waiting.

The Beginning of the End

Back in Vasthral, the council chamber erupted into arguments once more.

Some still believed war was the answer. Others wanted to bend the knee before it was too late.

But all of them were too blind to see what was truly coming.

Because the return of Thalos Arctur was not the greatest threat they would face.

No.

He was only the first piece of the puzzle.

And soon—

The true war would begin.