The air smelled of blood and burning wood.

Vael stood frozen, his legs trembling, as he watched the flames devour Black Hollow. Screams rang in his ears—some distant, some too close. The small village, his only home, was collapsing under the weight of something far beyond human.

The warlord stood at the center of it all.

A hulking figure clad in black armor, its surface cracked like charred stone. His blade, jagged and rusted, dripped with fresh blood. But it was his eyes that unsettled Vael the most—empty, hollow, like a man long devoured by something else.

Vael knew what it was.

A Relic Wielder.

The cursed Echo Relics were whispered about in drunken tales. Artifacts of the old gods, capable of bending the world itself. But they came at a cost. Some said they stole your soul. Others claimed they turned you into something worse.

Tonight, Vael saw the truth.

He gritted his teeth, forcing his feet to move. He had to run. He had to survive.

But then he heard her scream.

His chest tightened as he turned toward the burning house at the edge of the village. A familiar figure lay in the dirt, blood pooling beneath her. Reya.

His only family.

She reached out to him, her face twisted in pain. “Vael… run…”

But he couldn’t. His body moved on its own, dragging him forward. He grabbed her arm, trying to pull her up, but she was too weak. The warlord had left her to die—slowly, painfully.

The warlord turned, his hollow gaze falling upon Vael.

“Another rat,” he muttered, his voice like grinding stone. “You want to die with the rest?”

Vael’s breath hitched. He had no weapon. No power. Just the cold weight of fear pressing against his ribs.

Then, something called to him.

A whisper. Low. Crawling. Ancient.

His head snapped toward the ruins of the elder’s house. Amid the wreckage, something glowed—a faint silver light beneath the rubble. A Relic.

He didn’t think. He just ran.

The warlord chuckled. “Fool.”

Vael fell to his knees, hands digging through the ash and stone. His fingers brushed against something cold. A crown. Black as the void, its surface twisted like living shadow. The moment he touched it, the world shifted.

The whispers grew louder.

A voice slithered into his mind. Wear me. Let me show you the truth.

His hands shook. He knew what would happen. He had seen the warlord—the price of power.

But he had no choice.

With one last glance at Reya’s still body, he placed the crown upon his head.

Darkness swallowed him whole.