Lord of Deception

The night was heavy with the weight of an approaching storm. Dark clouds veiled the moon, casting the capital in an eerie gloom. A flickering candle burned in the vast war chamber of Kael's estate, its dim glow stretching long shadows across the polished mahogany table. The chamber was a place of calculated decisions and unseen battles, where wars were won long before swords were drawn.

Kael sat at the head of the table, golden eyes sharp as he studied the intricate Imperial map spread before him. His fingers tapped lightly against the wood, a measured rhythm of thought. Around him, his closest allies waited, their presence a silent testament to the gravity of the moment.

To his right, Ilyssia stood with her arms crossed, her silver eyes unreadable. The elven beauty had always been a pillar of restraint, but tonight, there was a rare tension in her posture. To his left, Darius Vale, the ever-watchful spymaster, emerged from the shadows like a wraith, his dark cloak whispering against the stone floor.

"My lord," Darius said, his voice low and deliberate. "The Emperor has played his first hand."

Kael did not shift his gaze from the map. "Speak."

Darius stepped forward and placed a sealed Imperial missive upon the table. The wax bore the unmistakable sigil of Emperor Castiel—a golden phoenix rising from an abyss of fire.

"Lucian Vancrest has returned."

Silence.

The name hung in the air, thick and suffocating, like the promise of an impending storm.

Ilyssia's usually composed expression flickered with disbelief. "That's not possible. He was broken. A shattered man with nothing left."

Darius nodded grimly. "And yet, he was seen."

Kael exhaled slowly, his gloved fingers tracing the wax Imperial seal before he effortlessly broke it open. The parchment unfolded beneath his hands, and his gaze moved across the Emperor's words. A warning. A challenge. A declaration.

Then—a smirk.

Ilyssia's brows furrowed. "You find this amusing?"

Kael leaned back, his lips curling into something between amusement and calculation. "Expected."

Darius studied him carefully. "Expected?"

Kael's eyes glinted like molten gold in the candlelight. "The Emperor needed a weapon. And Lucian, after his failure, was desperate to be one." He set the letter aside, his smirk deepening. "He drank it, didn't he?"

Darius's expression darkened. "Demon's Blood."

Ilyssia inhaled sharply. "Then he is no longer human."

Kael chuckled, a low and knowing sound. "No, he is not." He tapped the war table, gaze distant but sharp. "The question isn't whether he has power—it's whether he is a sword… or merely a broken man grasping at borrowed strength."

The candlelight flickered violently as if the very air in the room had thickened.

Darius finally spoke. "Your orders, my lord?"

Kael's smirk didn't fade.

"Let him come."

The ruined city of Ylthar stretched endlessly beneath a crimson sky, the bones of a once-mighty civilization now reduced to shattered stone and creeping shadows. The winds howled, carrying the whispers of a forgotten age, lamenting the ghosts that still lingered in the broken towers.

At the heart of this forsaken ruin, Lucian Vancrest knelt, his fingers tightening around the Sword of Annihilation.

The blade pulsed with a dark, insidious energy, black flames licking at its edges. It whispered to him, in a voice older than time, speaking in a language he did not know but understood nonetheless.

Power. Vengeance. The right to rule.

Lucian's silver hair, once pristine, was now streaked with black. His once-bright cerulean eyes burned with a deep crimson, the veins beneath his skin pulsing with an unnatural glow. His breathing was slow, measured—but beneath it lurked something vast, something bottomless.

Something hungry.

Kael Arden.

The name burned in his mind like a curse.

You stole my life. My honor. My purpose.

The memories came unbidden. The humiliation. The downfall. The way Kael had twisted fate itself until Lucian—once a hero, once a champion—had become nothing but a shattered remnant of his former self.

His grip on the sword tightened.

But now…

Now, I am reborn.

He raised the blade, watching as the black flames coiled around his arm, searing into his very soul. He could feel it, the power the Emperor had promised. It ran through his veins, twisting, reshaping, devouring.

He exhaled.

And then—he was gone.

A shadow in the wind.

A specter of vengeance.

The hunt had begun.

Deep within the towering halls of the Imperial Palace, beneath the golden chandeliers and marble floors, Emperor Castiel stood at the highest balcony, his piercing gaze cast over his empire.

A servant kneeled before him, awaiting orders. But Castiel did not speak. He was listening.

He could feel the shift in the air.

Far away, beyond the city, beyond the ruins, a new power had awakened.

He smiled.

"Now, let us see if Kael Arden is truly prepared for what comes next."

To Be Continued…