The Void You Left

Vael woke to silence.

The bed was warm on his side. Empty on the other.

He sat up slowly, blinking against the dim amber light that filtered through the cracks in the obsidian walls. For a moment, he thought perhaps Lioren had risen early—gone to the balcony, the training circle, or the tower's upper floors.

But something was wrong.

Very wrong.

The air was wrong.

Vael stood swiftly, his runes reacting before his thoughts had fully formed. They flickered along his arms in jagged pulses of red and violet. His aura twisted with the instinctual warning only his kind could feel.

Magic.

And not the kind he wove.

Not the Abyssal currents he knew like the lines of his own body.

This was different—foreign. Subtle. Wrong.

"Lioren?" he called out, voice low but commanding, as he scanned the shadows of the room. "Lio?"

Nothing.

He stepped out of the bed and crossed the chamber, checking the upper balcony first. Empty. The corridors were quiet. Still.

He moved faster.

"Lioren!"

Nothing echoed back.

He ran down the spiral staircase, his bare feet heavy on the stone. Each turn of the tower was a new knife in his gut—no sign of movement, no trace of his golden-haired angel.

The kitchen was untouched.

The training circle was cold.

And now his heart thundered in his chest.

Then he felt it.

A flicker of energy, vanishing quickly—but unmistakable. An aura, once vibrant, now dimmed. Covered. Silenced.

The chain.

His breath caught.

Vael's runes ignited.

He didn't wait. He didn't think. He didn't breathe.

He let the rage take over.

The entire eastern wall exploded as Vael tore through it, his body erupting in a cyclone of demonic force. His aura surged in all directions, waves of violent red and black energy flooding the valley beneath the tower. Windows shattered. Stone cracked. The tower groaned in protest under the weight of his wrath.

The skies of Kur'thaal trembled.

He bolted through the stone paths, shadows exploding behind him as he ripped through them in his panic. Obsidian pillars cracked. Demonic wards shattered as he passed. Entire cliffside formations began to fracture under the weight of his fury.

"Where is he?!"

He screamed it into the wind, but Kur'thaal gave him nothing in return.

His aura surged outward in violent bursts, sending shockwaves of heat and violet light across the ridges. Lower demons scattered like insects. Some cowered. Others fled outright, vanishing into smoke to avoid the storm building around him.

He didn't care.

He would burn this entire realm down if it meant getting Lioren back.

He searched every outpost, every cave entrance, every rune-guarded path that he could reach. Each time he called Lioren's name, he expected to hear it in return.

But only silence answered.

He's gone.

The thought choked him.

He slammed his fist into the side of a rock face and reduced the wall to dust. His breath was ragged. His vision blurred.

Vael didn't call out this time.

He didn't plead.

He hunted.

Wherever he passed, flames followed. The earth split under his feet. Massive chunks of stone rose and fell like paper beneath his power. He moved like a god of ruin, wild and merciless, destroying anything that dared stand in his way.

"LIOR—!"

He stopped himself.

His fists clenched so tightly that his claws tore into his own palms. Blood dripped. His runes seethed.

If Lioren had been taken…

If anyone had laid a hand on him…

The air around Vael distorted. Heatwaves pulsed out from his form. The ground beneath him glowed. The hills nearest the tower collapsed in thunderous landslides as Vael's fury spiraled out in all directions.

And then—he saw him.

Just ahead, at the edge of the scorched hilltop.

Lioren.

His back was turned, white hair stirring in the wind.

Vael's aura stilled.

He floated forward slowly, breath catching.

"Lioren," he exhaled, reaching out.

The figure didn't turn.

Vael's boots touched the cracked earth.

He reached out a hand—and touched his shoulder.

Warm.

Real.

Alive.

And then—wrong.

The body shimmered. A ripple of illusion washed over the figure.

And standing before him, grinning, was Varasha.

Vael's entire body went still.

His eyes burned crimson, and his aura snapped back into a violent spiral.

"You—"

"Easy now," she said, stepping back with a laugh. "Would you rather I let you tear Kur'thaal in half?"

He didn't answer.

Instead, he roared—a furious, wordless sound that cracked the air. A jagged bolt of red energy slammed into the cliffs behind Varasha, detonating them into dust.

She didn't flinch.

"I did it to stop you," she said, brushing hair from her face. "You were about to bring down the tower—and probably kill every demon within a mile radius."

Vael's chest heaved.

"You thought it was funny?" he hissed. "To wear his face? To trick me into thinking he was safe?"

"I thought it was necessary," she snapped, stepping forward. "Because you weren't listening to anything—not reason, not logic, not even your own instincts. You were spiraling."

He stared at her, trembling with rage.

"Where is he?" His voice dropped. Low. Deadly.

"I don't know," Varasha answered, more serious now. "But I know someone who might."

Vael didn't speak.

He stared into the dark hills, flames still burning across the land.

Varasha walked to his side, slowly now.

"You trust Yzaroth, don't you?" she asked. "If there's someone who's heard whispers—anything—it's him."

Vael said nothing.

But his breathing slowed.

The storm inside him hadn't passed. It simmered now, just beneath his skin, aching for release. But he knew she was right.

There was no time for madness.

Only vengeance.

Only action.

Finally, he gave a single nod.

Varasha's smirk returned—less cruel now, more like the old Varasha.

"Good," she said. "Let's find your angel."

And behind them, Kur'thaal slowly began to burn.