Archmage Reborn: the path of shadows

Kael didn't sleep.

Not even after the last ember of the campfire died, and the night wrapped around the tents like a shroud. He sat there in silence, staring into the cold ash, his thoughts heavier than armor.

Velra's voice still echoed.

"Velron. Your second. Your killer."

No matter how many times he turned it over in his mind, it refused to settle. The name didn't feel wrong—it felt impossible.

Velron had stood beside him when the skies burned. They'd fought back-to-back against creatures born from nightmare, survived the collapse of the Flame Citadel together. In the end, when everything else fell apart, Velron had remained.

Hadn't he?

Kael clenched his jaw, the memory of their shared victories cracking like glass beneath the weight of doubt.

By dawn, his path was clear.

He called Lira, Tyen, and Ezer into the command tent. The war map flickered between them, pulsing faintly with ley-thread and half-burned glyphs, outlining the fractured continent.

"We head east," Kael said, cutting to the chase.

Tyen frowned. "The Eastern Marches? That's still considered Warden territory."

"Not anymore," Kael replied, his voice low. "The Warden's gone."

"Then what are we after?" Lira asked.

Kael's gaze lifted. His eyes weren't angry. They were lit from within—haunted, glowing faint like coals beneath snow.

"A ghost wearing a familiar face."

They marched two days before the land began to change.

The Eastern Marches were nothing like the charred forests behind them. The soil here was cracked and pale, as though the magic had been bled from it centuries ago. No birds, no beasts. Just brittle wind and silence so heavy it pressed on the chest.

Still, Kael felt it.

Somewhere beyond the dry hills, nestled in the fractures of old leyline trails—he sensed it. A signature barely more than a whisper, buried in flickers of twisted glyphs carved into nature itself.

Velron.

Not his body. Not his soul.

But his logic.

Each spike of wild magic carried Velron's touch: a warped elegance, patterns meant to mislead, guide, confuse. Kael had seen this before, back when they crafted battle glyphs together. This wasn't a trap.

It was a trail.

One meant for him.

That night, beneath a sky devoid of stars, Kael stood alone near a dying fire.

"Was it really you?" he murmured into the dark. "Did you trade my life for power? Or was I just another line in a spell you never finished?"

No answer came.

Only the faint throb of his soulcore.

On the fourth night, they reached Skyrest Hold.

The once-proud citadel had been reduced to jagged towers and scorched walls, now occupied by glyph hunters who thrived on chaos and corpses.

Kael didn't ask questions. He didn't negotiate.

"No prisoners," he said, and fire followed.

The battle lasted less than an hour.

Kael moved like memory—fast, unforgiving, precise. His hands carved symbols into the air that bent the world's breath. Stone melted. Air ignited. His flames didn't rage—they executed.

When the smoke settled, Skyrest Hold was nothing but heat and ruin.

At the summit of the last tower, he found the message.

Carved into blackened stone with blood too old to be fresh:

You're late, Kael. The Council says hello.

— V

He stared at the words for a long time, jaw tight.

So Velron was here. And he wanted Kael to know it.

He wants me to follow.

Later, as the camp quieted and the ash cooled, Serana stepped into the clearing.

He hadn't called for her.

She came anyway.

She didn't speak at first, just stood behind him, arms crossed, watching the smoke curl through the ruined night.

"You're chasing shadows again," she said softly.

Kael didn't turn. "No," he murmured. "Not this time."

"Velron?"

He nodded once.

"He betrayed me."

Serana stepped closer. Her expression unreadable. "And now you want revenge?"

"I want the truth."

A pause stretched between them.

Serana's voice was gentler now. "Then tread carefully. Truth doesn't come without a price."

Kael didn't look at her. He didn't have to.

"So did love," he said, the words escaping like smoke from a dying fire.

She flinched—just barely—but didn't pull away.

"And would you pay it again?" she asked, her voice nearly a whisper.

Kael didn't answer.

Not yet.