Rael Veyne's body ached as he awoke in a dimly lit dungeon, his wrists bound by cold iron shackles. The air was thick with dampness, and the only source of light came from a flickering torch mounted on the stone wall. His head pounded as if his very soul was being gnawed at, and his throat burned with an unbearable thirst.
He remembered the battlefield—soldiers in silver armor, the roaring flames, and the woman who had bested him. Lady Selene Drakos.
A set of heavy footsteps echoed through the corridor. Rael looked up, his golden eyes glowing faintly in the darkness. The iron bars creaked open, and Selene stepped inside, her gaze unreadable.
"You should be dead," she said, crossing her arms. "But whatever unholy pact you've made keeps you breathing."
Rael clenched his fists, feeling the unnatural hunger claw at his insides. He could smell her—the scent of her blood was intoxicating. He shut his eyes, fighting against the abyssal whispers slithering through his mind.
Selene studied him. "You're no ordinary outcast, are you?"
He exhaled sharply. "What do you want from me?"
She smirked. "Not me. The king."
Rael's body tensed.
"You have two choices," she continued. "Rot in this cell until your hunger consumes you... or serve King Varian in the coming war."
Rael remained silent. His life had been one of rejection, of exile, of being hunted like an animal. And now, the very kingdom that had condemned him sought to use him.
The abyss whispered in his ear. Power... Blood... Freedom...
He raised his head, meeting Selene's gaze with a smirk of his own.
"I suppose I don't have much of a choice, do I?"
Selene's expression remained cold. "No, you don't."
She turned, walking toward the cell door. "You'll be transported to the capital at dawn. Try not to lose control before then."
As the door slammed shut, Rael exhaled slowly. His fate was now intertwined with the kingdom he despised.
But one thing was certain—he would survive.
And when the time was right, he would carve his own path.