CHAPTER 4 – THE PATH OF ASH AND SHADOW

Cassian had spent three years under the relentless training of his master, only for the man to vanish without a trace. No farewell, no warning—only a single letter left behind, its words etched into his mind.

"You are not yet strong enough. The fire within you burns, but it does not yet consume. Grow, sharpen your will, and forge your own path. Only then will you be ready."

He had clenched the parchment so tightly that it nearly tore. He had thought himself prepared—ready to take vengeance upon the empire that had stolen everything from him. But his master had seen the truth. He was still just a shadow of what he needed to become.

So he set out, crossing the borders of Vordania into the unknown lands beyond, seeking knowledge, power, and allies who could help him bring the empire to its knees.

Now, his journey had led him to Ra'Zirah, the burning heart of Zorvahn—the Black Sun Wastes.

Ra'Zirah was not a city in the way that Vordania understood cities. There were no towering palaces, no marble halls built to glorify kings. Here, power did not come from birthright or wealth. It was taken with blood and steel.

At the center of Zorvahn, the Black Sun loomed eternally in the sky, its dim, ember-like glow casting a crimson hue over the land. No one knew whether it was a dying star or a curse left by some forgotten god, but it made the air heavy, thick with heat and power. The warriors of the Wastes did not bow to kings or gods—they forged their own fate in the crucible of war.

Cassian walked through the gates under the name Vael Dorn. The streets pulsed with life, the scent of molten metal and spice filling the air. Merchants shouted over one another, selling weapons forged from the black veins of the Wastes.

"Blades of Ember-Iron! Strong enough to cut through steel!"

"Spices from the deep desert! Tame the heat of the dunes with a single bite!"

But Cassian was not here to admire the city. He was here for a warrior.

A man who had never lost a battle.

At the heart of Ra'Zirah stood the coliseum, an ancient fortress of stone and fire. It was carved into the cliffs, its walls blackened by centuries of bloodshed. Here, warriors clashed not for sport, but for survival. Victory meant wealth, power, and influence. Defeat meant oblivion.

Cassian stood in the shadows, watching the battles unfold. The sand of the arena was darkened with dried blood, and the air trembled with the roar of the crowd.

Then, he saw him.

Darius Valen.

He moved with brutal precision, his greatsword cutting through his opponent's defenses like parchment. His blade, forged from the burning veins of Zorvahn itself, gleamed with heat, as if it thirsted for more blood.

The fight ended in seconds. A single sweeping strike sent his opponent sprawling, the impact sending a cloud of dust into the air. The crowd erupted into cheers, but Darius did not raise his arms in victory. He simply turned, ignoring their praise, and walked away.

Cassian followed.

Beneath the coliseum, in the tunnels carved from stone, Darius leaned against a pillar, wiping his blade with slow, practiced movements. The dim torchlight flickered across his scarred face, his expression unreadable.

Cassian stepped forward. "You fight like a man with nothing to lose."

Darius didn't look up. "And you speak like a man who thinks he knows me."

Cassian smirked beneath his hood. "I know what it means to be cast aside. To be betrayed by the ones who should have stood beside you."

Darius let out a short, humorless laugh. "You think words will sway me? I don't fight for causes, stranger. I fight because I have nothing else left."

"Then fight for something greater." Cassian's voice was quiet but sharp as a blade. "Fight for vengeance. Fight for power. Fight to destroy the very kingdoms that made you a tool and threw you away."

Darius finally met his gaze. His eyes were sharp, calculating—searching for weakness.

"Who are you, really?"

Cassian pulled back his hood just enough for Darius to see the deep scar that ran across his face. "I am Cassian the Veilborn. And I intend to tear Vordania from its throne."

Silence.

Then, for the first time in years, Darius grinned.

"Now that," he said, "is a cause worth fighting for."

With Darius at his side, Cassian's journey through Ra'Zirah had truly begun. But finding a warrior was not the same as commanding one.

Darius was no blind follower. He had agreed to listen, not to serve. Trust was earned in blood, not in words.

Cassian knew what had to be done.

If Darius wouldn't follow him out of belief—he would make him understand through battle.

"Meet me at the training grounds before nightfall," Cassian said. "No crowd. No bets. Just you and me."

Darius raised an eyebrow. "You challenging me, Veilborn?"

Cassian smirked. "You don't fight for causes, right? Then fight for yourself. If I win—you listen."

Darius studied him for a long moment, then let out a low chuckle.

"Fine," he said. "But don't expect mercy."

The fire of the Wastes burned high in the night, casting long shadows over the city. And beneath that crimson sky, two warriors prepared to carve the first step

toward vengeance.

.