Chapter 19: The Bleeding Sky.

The Price of Victory

The fires of Varrek still smoldered.

Ash filled the morning air as Kaelen's remaining soldiers buried their dead beneath the cracked stones. No songs were sung. No rites were performed. In this world, the gods were too bitter and bloodthirsty to provide peace. 

Kaelen stood on the highest ruin, looking out over the remnants.

Two thousand marched into Varrek. Barely six hundred made it out alive. 

Of those, half were too broken to fight again.

Lyra joined him, her face pale, her tunic torn and stained with crimson. She didn't speak and only rested her hand against his. 

In that silence, they both understood the true cost of war.

A New Threat

At midday, Anethra arrived. 

The oracle's eyes sparkled with an unnatural light. Her voice was different, older and colder, as if a hundred dead mouths spoke through her.

"The sky bleeds," she said.

Kaelen turned sharply. "What?"

Anethra pointed toward the horizon.

A crimson haze gathered, thick like storm clouds and crackling with pale lightning. The ground trembled beneath it.

"The Veil weakens," Anethra declared. "And from it, the Nameless King rises."

Fear rippled through the camp. Men gripped their swords. Women clutched their children.

Lyra's jaw clenched. "It's too soon."

Kaelen nodded grimly. "We barely survived Varrek."

Anethra's eyes cleared, her voice returning to normal. "There's no time. The final gate opens at dusk. If he crosses, no sword, no bloodline, no star will stop him."

Kaelen stared into the storm.

"Then we meet him there."

The March to the Veil

By nightfall, what was left of Kaelen's army gathered on the plains outside Varrek.

The earth cracked beneath their feet. The sky hung low, heavy with burning clouds. 

The Crimson Veil, the boundary between worlds, shimmered like a wound in the air.

And beyond it, a figure waited.

Tall, cloaked in shifting shadows.

The Nameless King.

His face was a mask of bone and ash. His eyes, two dying suns. 

He raised a hand, and the storm howled.

Kaelen drew the Sword of Lyric.

Lyra unsheathed her blade. 

Darren, bloodied but unbowed, stood beside them.

Anethra stepped forward, her voice shaking.

"We fight, not for gods, not for crowns, but for the chance to be free."

A roar rose behind her.

The last charge began.

The Final War

The Veil tore open.

A tide of horrors spilled forth, wraiths of the old world, beasts born of forgotten gods, spirits of war.

Kaelen's army met them head-on.

Steel clashed against nightmares.

The Earth drank blood.

Kaelen fought like a man possessed, his blade singing with the voices of the dead. Lyra was beside him, her movements graceful and ruthless.

Darren broke enemy lines, cutting a path through the abominations.

Anethra summoned fire and shadow, ancient words burning bright in the night.

They fought as one.

But it wasn't enough.

The Nameless King moved through their ranks like a storm, felling men with a word, turning swords to dust.

Kaelen faced him at last.

Their blades met in a flash of ghostly light.

"You are nothing, mortal," the King hissed. "A broken heir to a shattered line."

Kaelen gritted his teeth. "And you… are alone."

A Betrayal Revealed

From the rear, a figure emerged.

Avelar, Kaelen's once-trusted cousin.

His sword, darkened by forbidden rites, gleamed.

Lyra saw too late.

He struck Kaelen from behind.

A shallow wound, but enough.

The Nameless King's blade pierced Kaelen's side.

The world seemed to stop.

"No!" Lyra screamed, racing toward them.

But Kaelen grinned through the blood.

"I knew you'd try, cousin."

He grabbed Avelar's wrist, twisted it, and drove his sword into Avelar's throat.

The traitor fell.

Kaelen staggered, his eyes burning.

"To hell with fate," he whispered.

With the last of his strength, he threw the Sword of Lyric into the heart of the Veil.

The End of an Age

The world cracked.

Light and shadow split apart. 

The Veil shattered.

The Nameless King screamed, his form unraveling, consumed by the storm.

Kaelen dropped to his knees, the crown slipping from his head.

Lyra reached him, catching him as he fell.

"You stubborn fool," she whispered, tears streaking her face.

He smiled faintly.

"Tell the world… we tried."

And then, the skies burned.

The war was over.

But the cost would echo for ages.