Echoes of the Past

The cold air clung to Kael’s skin as he left The Broken Crown, the wind carrying whispers of a warning he chose to ignore. The ruins of Veldrath—shrouded in fear and mystery—were his next destination. His instincts told him that whatever lay buried within those ruins held the key to his past.

The village had fallen into silence, save for the occasional rustling of trees. Kael’s breath formed clouds in the night air as he walked toward the outskirts. He found a stable, its doors slightly ajar, revealing a few resting horses. A stable hand dozed against a wooden post, his snores lost in the wind. Kael approached quietly, slipping a few coins into the boy’s coat before untying a black stallion.

The horse snorted but did not resist as Kael mounted. He steered it north, toward the mountains where the ruins lay forgotten beneath the weight of time.

The journey was treacherous. Snow-covered paths twisted through the jagged cliffs, and the howling wind carried an eerie presence. Hours passed, yet Kael pressed on, an unshakable force drawing him forward. Then, as dawn threatened to break the horizon, he saw them—crumbling stone spires jutting from the earth like the ribs of a long-dead beast.

Veldrath.

Dismounting, Kael approached with cautious steps. The air grew thick, charged with an unseen force. The ruins pulsed with an energy that made the hair on his arms rise. Symbols, ancient and forgotten, adorned the worn stone. He reached out, tracing a marking with his fingers—

A sudden surge of energy shot through him. His vision blurred. The ground beneath him twisted, the world spinning into chaos.

Then, silence.

Kael gasped as he found himself standing in a different time. The ruins were no longer in decay; they stood tall, proud, untouched by centuries. The air was warm, filled with the distant hum of voices. He turned sharply—he was no longer alone.

A figure approached, draped in dark robes. Their face was hidden beneath a hood, but their presence was suffocating. “You should not be here,” the voice rasped.

Kael reached for his dagger, but before he could draw it, pain lanced through his skull. Memories—not his own—flooded his mind. A war. Betrayal. A man, his face eerily familiar, wielding a blade of blackened steel. Kael saw himself falling, a life stolen before it could fulfill its purpose.

He stumbled, breath ragged. “Who… am I?” he whispered.

The figure took a step closer, the world around them beginning to blur once more. “You are reborn from vengeance, Kael Draven. And your past is not as dead as you think.”

Then, darkness swallowed him whole.

Kael awoke, gasping for breath, back in the ruins. The dawn had broken, but the warmth of morning did nothing to ease the chill in his bones. He clutched his chest—his heart thundered against his ribs, not from fear, but from the undeniable truth.

He had lived before.

And someone had stolen everything from him.

Now, it was time to take it back.

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