For three years, Kaelen had bled beside Lyra the Shield, laughed with Torvin the Quick, trusted his very soul to Marduk the Wise. They had shared campfires, near-death escapes, and the kind of silence that only comes between people who have fought back-to-back against the dark. He had believed in them with the pure, unthinking faith of a man who has forgotten what loneliness feels like.

Kaelen stumbled through the jagged doorway, one hand clamped over the wound in his side. Warmth bled between his fingers, sticky and relentless. Behind him, the sound of heavy boots echoed off the stone corridor—steady, unhurried. They weren’t chasing anymore. They were savoring.

He turned his back on the three frozen figures, walked to the far wall, and placed his bare hand against the stone. The wall opened onto a sunlit hillside he had never seen before. The air smelled of grass and rain.

It had been Marduk’s idea. A lost vault , he’d said. A gift from the old empire. Power enough to reshape the world. And Kaelen, the fool, had believed. He’d found the key, decoded the path, and led them straight into the heart of Dan John Okuchi. Right into the Vault of Gifts.

“What did you do?” Marduk whispered, his spell unraveling in his fingers.

The “gift” had been a relic—a small, unassuming stone that pulsed like a second heart. When Kaelen touched it, the walls had screamed. Not in alarm. In recognition. The stone had fused to his palm, burning a brand into his skin: .