Page 169 of Warlord's Plaything

And yet?—

I see it in their eyes.

They fear this.

Not the battle.

Not the bloodshed.

But the thing Kaelith is trying to become.

What we’re facing isn’t a man anymore.

It’s something worse.

Something that should have never been woken.

"He’s gathering power at the altar,"I say, my voice steady despite the weight pressing on my chest.

I keep my gaze on the map spread before us.

A crude thing, drawn in the dirt, marked with the places where shadows have already started to gather unnaturally.

"That place was never meant to be used again. My father ensured it."

Hira watches me, silent. Waiting.

I exhale, jaw tightening.

"That altar is not just a place of power. It’s a wound in the earth itself. A place where necromantic magic bleeds through the fabric of this world. And Kaelith is trying to rip it open."

The fire in the center of our camp crackles, embers spitting like angry spirits.

Menias crosses his arms, his massive form silhouetted against the flames."Then we don’t give him the chance. We gut him before he finishes."

Easy words.

Simple logic.

But I know better.

I know what my father told me when I was young, when he stood over this same map, warning me of what lurked beneath these lands.

"This land is cursed, my son. Our family’s primary duty is not to rule it, but to contain it. If it ever wakes up, the dead will never sleep again."

I drag a hand through my hair, exhaling slow.

"Killing Kaelith won’t be enough."

All eyes turn to me.

"As long as the altar stands, his power will remain."

Hira’s brows draw together, her hazel eyes sharp with something unreadable."Then we destroy the altar."

"It’s not that simple."

"It never fucking is."

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