Book One: Rise of the Demonborn
Chapter 17: The Broken Oath
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Rain pounded the stained-glass windows of the *Sanctum of Heroes*.
Inside, voices clashed like blades.
"The Forged were sealed for a reason!" roared *Lady Vara*, slamming her crystal staff onto the floor. "They're *not human*. They were created from the remains of the fallen gods!"
"We're not dealing with a mortal enemy!" *General Torvald* shouted back. "You saw Therrow! You saw what that *thing* did!"
At the head of the long stone table, *King Alric* sat silent, crown beside him.
He looked older than ever.
Across the chamber, *Mirion the Mirrorblade* leaned against a pillar, arms crossed.
"We broke the oath the moment we used cursed mages," he said softly. "The moment we sacrificed villages to stall his magic spread."
Lady Vara rounded on him. "You'd prefer we *negotiate* with the Demonborn?"
"I'd prefer we survive with our souls intact."
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At the far end of the hall, *Seren* and *Aren* stood side by side, watching the council unravel.
Aren muttered, "We're going to lose this war from the *inside*."
Seren glanced at him. "Maybe we already have."
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Later that night, deep beneath the royal archives, Seren walked alone, her boots echoing on cold marble. She carried a sealed scroll—one she'd found after the Therrow battle, buried beneath an altar.
It was old. Written in celestial script.
She unfurled it slowly, heart thudding.
*"When the child of silence and shadow rises,*
*And the dead walk with willing steps,*
*When wings tear heaven and mercy dies,*
*The Forged shall awaken...*
*Or all shall fall."*
She looked up, face pale.
This wasn't just prophecy.
It was *instruction*.
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Meanwhile, in a hidden monastery far beyond Solmar's reach, an old man sat in a dark chamber. He wore no armor, no crown. Only scars.
*He was the last surviving member of the Forged.*
Until now.
The runes on his arms began to glow for the first time in centuries.
He looked up at the moonlight filtering through broken stone.
"So," he whispered. "It begins again."
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Back in the capital, in a dreamless sleep, *Aren* saw a vision.
He stood at the edge of a burning world. And across the flames was *Kael*, silent, calm, with one hand stretched forward.
Aren screamed. Charged.
Kael didn't move.
When Aren's blade touched him, he *woke up screaming.*
But not because of fear.
Because the feeling in the dream wasn't rage.
It was *recognition.*
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