Captivity

The one who sat now—alive, triumphant—being worshipped.

Kael'thar's heart pounded, rage crawling like fire beneath his skin. His nails bit into his palms as he clenched his fists.

He didn't bow.

He couldn't.

He wouldn't.

His eyes locked on the man he once called kin, now seated high like a god among insects.

"Bow!" hissed a voice near him.

A soldier—one of the locals—had noticed him standing.

Kael'thar didn't move.

The soldier scowled, stepped forward, and grabbed him by the collar, dragging him down with brute force.

Kael'thar resisted, teeth gritted, but the soldier was stronger than this current frail shell could handle.

"Are you mad?!" the man spat, shoving Kael'thar's face toward the ground. "You want to die? That's the Supreme Overlord you're defying!"

Kael'thar's face scraped the stone. His cheek bruised, but his eyes burned holes through the crowd.

Overlord?

The very title once belonged to him.

Now it was Auron's.

" Overlord my ass." He muttered

The silence thickened as the procession passed by, and Kael'thar was forced to kneel among the rest, cheek pressed to the cold, filthy ground.

But inside, he was not broken.

Not again.

As Auron's platform neared, Kael'thar lifted his gaze slightly.

And for the briefest moment—

Auron looked down… and their eyes met.

Kael'thar didn't break his glare 

 suddenly, the kneeling didn't matter.

Because something had just shifted.

The dead had risen.

And vengeance had found its first crack in the armor.

Kael'thar's body was still trembling as he knelt before the soldiers, forced into a submission he had never known in his past life. The cold stones of the street pressed against his skin, the mud soaking into his shirt, but inside, something far hotter burned.

His eyes never left the platform where Auron sat, his brother, the one who had destroyed everything Kael'thar had built. The weight of those eyes, the truth of his betrayal, was like molten iron sinking deep into his chest.

But the soldiers. The town. The silence.

Kael'thar couldn't shake the feeling that he had been—lied to.

As the procession continued down the street, he fought the urge to break free, to lash out at the world that had forgotten who he truly was. The soldier beside him was still holding him down, eyes wide with fear and suspicion.

"You still don't get it, do you?" the soldier whispered, glancing nervously at the passing procession.

Kael'thar didn't flinch. His voice was low, commanding, even though his form betrayed nothing but the appearance of a meek, filthy teenager. "What happened?"

The soldier hesitated, but only for a moment. His gaze flicked nervously to the front, to the captain of the soldiers who was still bowing deeply. Then, his voice lowered to a near whisper.

" Kael'thar died in battle. His forces fell. The treaty was signed with Auron's enemies. Things have been different ever since… nothing has been the same."

Kael'thar's heart skipped a beat, but he kept his face impassive. "What treaty?"

The soldier glanced around again, leaning closer. "The treaty that Auron struck with the enemy—against Kael'thar will. They said it was for peace, but..." He shook his head, almost as though he couldn't find the words.

 "The people... we lost everything. No more control. No more power. Auron..." His eyes flickered toward Auron procession, dark with disdain, "He was the one who took it all. He's the one the people followed after kael'thar ... left us."

Kael'thar clenched his fists beneath the filthy rags he wore. The traitorous truth clawed at him. His brother had signed away the kingdom he had fought so fiercely to protect, and now.

The streets were alive with whispers of the treaty, but Kael'thar knew nothing of it. He was dead.

Kael'thar's chest tightened as the memories of Auron's leadership—the one true ally he'd had—came rushing back. It wasn't the battle that had destroyed them, it was betrayal, a deal for peace that had poisoned the future.

And his brother had let it happen.

Kael'thar's mind was reeling. His hands shook, but only slightly. He fought to suppress the rage that bubbled up from deep within him, the rage that screamed for vengeance, for power, for his rightful place.

"And the people?" he asked, voice dangerously calm.

"They're... restless." The soldier swallowed hard. "But they don't dare speak out. Not with Auron soldiers watching. The towns... they're divided. Many still remember his . Grace, but they've given up hope."

Kael'thar's heart drummed in his chest. It was the sound of his kingdom, his people, breaking.

He was not dead.

Not anymore.

"What about Kael'thar?" he asked quietly, locking eyes with the soldier. "Do you think I'll sit back and let this happen?"

The soldier's eyes widened as if realizing the mistake he'd made in speaking so freely.

"Please," the soldier stammered, lowering his gaze. "You need to understand. It's dangerous. His dead, not many knows the real truth, rumours says he died in battle."

Kael'thar stood, forcing the soldier to release him. 

The soldier looked at him." Kid know your place."

But before the soldier could say another word, Kael'thar was already walking away, stepping over the cobblestone streets with purpose, his thoughts sharp as daggers.

Kael'thar would be the one to return it to the light—even if he had to burn everything down to do it.

The sun dipped low behind the cracked rooftops, casting jagged shadows across the city.

Kael'thar—once a name that commanded armies, turned storms with a gesture, brought entire nations to their knees—was now nothing more than a boy with dirty feet and torn clothes, slipping between alleys like a ghost no one wanted.

He wandered.

Not like a king.

But like a beast.

Everywhere he went, eyes followed—not in awe, but suspicion.

Doors slammed shut as he passed.

Whispers swirled like dust in the wind:

"That's the runaway."

"The cursed boy."

"Filthy mutt."

Children pointed. Vendors drove him off with broomsticks. Dogs were treated kinder than he was. Kael'thar had faced demon kings and eldritch gods… but now? He couldn't even beg for bread without someone throwing stones.

And yet—he endured.

He walked.

Step by step.

Until he found himself outside a bakery, the warm scent of spiced bread punching him in the gut like a cruel memory. His stomach growled, twisting with pain. He stepped forward, eyes locked on the crusts in a garbage bin—

"Hey! Thief!"

The baker had seen him.

A shout rose.

Then another.

And then came the chase.

Kael'thar darted down the streets like a hunted animal, past jeering faces, stumbling over barrels and loose stone. Boots thundered behind him. He crashed into a fence, scrambled over it, only to be met by another crowd—more furious voices, angry fists.

Someone threw a bottle. It smashed against the wall behind him. Someone else kicked him in the ribs as he tried to slip between two wagons.

"Stay down, you filthy rat!"

Blood slicked his mouth.

His vision blurred.

But still… he ran.

He didn't understand it.

This city once bowed to me.

He tripped into an alley and curled against the wall, heart pounding. His breathing was ragged. His body—a weak shell of the teen he now inhabited—wasn't built for this.

Yet he smiled bitterly, wiping blood from his lip.

"A king… treated like a dog."

He wasn't sure whether to laugh or scream.

He was alone. No throne. No name. No power.

But not without will.

Kael'thar looked up at the cracked sky above.

"Let them chase. Let them spit. Let them forget."

His voice was a whisper, low and cold.

"When I rise, they will remember."

Scene Title: A Flicker in the Dark

The alley was quiet again.

The echo of chasing feet had faded into the city's restless murmur. Rain had started to drizzle, soft but cold, seeping into Kael'thar's bones as he crouched beneath a crumbling overhang, arms wrapped around his knees, blood drying on his temple.

He listened.

And then—he heard it.

Footsteps.

Soft. Quick. Hesitant.

He stiffened, raising his head like a hunted wolf.

Was it the soldiers again? Another mob?

He shifted his weight, ready to fight or flee, but the steps stopped just short of the alley's mouth. A familiar silhouette stood against the shimmer of gaslight reflected off puddles.

Her.

The girl from the collapsing house—the one who had tried to help him, pushed him inside, argued with her own fear to protect him. Her braid was damp, clinging to her shoulder. Her eyes searched the shadows, uncertain.

"Zayn…?"

He flinched at the name. It didn't belong to him. Not really.

She took a step forward.

He said nothing.

"I thought I saw you. People were shouting…" she trailed off when she saw his face—bloodied, dirt-smeared, one eye slightly swollen. "You look like hell," she muttered, half shocked, half scolding.

Kael'thar sneered, voice low. "Why? You expecting someone prettier?"

The girl didn't laugh. She stepped closer instead, kneeling beside him. She pulled a cloth from her pocket and reached for his face.

He jerked away.

"Don't."

"Zayn, just let me—"

"I said don't touch me!" His voice cracked like a whip.

Silence.

She dropped the cloth slowly, meeting his eyes. There was no fear in hers. Just… concern.

"Why are you acting strange" she said quietly "You don't ta

lk like yourself. You don't move like Zayn. Zayn would've cried when they chased him. You—" she shook her head, eyes narrowing. "You looked like you were going to bite someone's throat open."

Kael'thar said nothing.

She leaned in slightly. "Who are you?"