The night sky above the Imperial Citadel boiled with storm clouds, black and roiling, though no rain fell. Only the occasional crackle of silent lightning illuminated the heavens, casting stark, alien shadows across the city below.
Kael stood atop the highest tower of the citadel — the Spire of the Sovereign — his cloak snapping like a wounded banner in the unnatural winds.
Around him, the air vibrated with unseen forces.
He could feel them now.
Ancient things.
Buried things.
Waiting.
Behind him, Seraphina approached, her steps light but sure across the slick obsidian floor.
"My Emperor," she said, bowing her head in reverence, her platinum hair glinting in the intermittent flashes of light.
Kael did not turn immediately. His silver eyes were fixed on the distant horizon where the mountains loomed like sleeping beasts.
"Has it been prepared?" he asked.
"Yes," she replied, voice steady despite the tension coiling in the very air. "The Circle stands ready. The blood rites have been completed. The Gate awaits your command."
Kael finally turned, studying her.
There was loyalty in her gaze. Fear, too — but not of Kael himself.
She feared what was about to be unleashed.
Good.
Fear was necessary.
It kept lesser minds sharp.
"Take me to it," he said.
Without another word, the two descended into the depths of the citadel.
The Vaults were forbidden by ancient decree, sealed long before the empire had risen to glory.
Even the Emperors of old had dared not tread too deep, lest they awaken that which slumbered beneath.
Kael had no such fear.
The deeper they went, the more oppressive the atmosphere became. The stone walls, once smooth and elegant, grew rough, marked with archaic runes that pulsed with a sickly green glow.
Seraphina led him through the final gate, guarded not by soldiers, but by wards woven from the very bones of long-dead Archmages.
The door itself was a monstrous slab of black iron, etched with countless sigils. It had remained closed for centuries.
Kael placed his hand against it.
The iron groaned — a deep, anguished sound — and then, with a shudder that shook the earth, it swung inward.
Beyond lay a vast cavern, lit by phosphorescent moss and the flickering glow of braziers that had somehow remained burning across eons.
And in the center of the cavern, suspended in the air by chains of pure silver, was the Gate.
It was not a physical gate, not truly.
It was a wound in reality — a tear stitched closed by runes of immense, forgotten power.
Kael approached, feeling the raw hunger radiating from it.
The Circle stood ready — twelve of his most trusted sorcerers, arrayed around the Gate, their faces hidden behind silver masks.
At Kael's nod, they began to chant.
The language was not of men.
It was older than the stars.
Each syllable clawed at the air, making the cavern tremble.
Kael watched as the runes binding the Gate began to flicker, then dim.
The wound strained against its stitches, pulsing like a living thing desperate for release.
Seraphina stepped forward, offering Kael a ceremonial dagger — its blade blacker than night, forged from the heart of a fallen star.
Without hesitation, Kael took it and sliced his palm.
Blood — dark, almost black — welled up and dripped onto the ground.
The Gate shuddered.
With a roar that tore at the mind, the final bindings snapped.
And the Gate opened.
From the void beyond the Gate, shapes emerged.
Not creatures, not spirits — something in between.
They were vast, their forms shifting and coiling like smoke, their eyes burning with a terrible, cold intelligence.
The Circle faltered. Several of the sorcerers staggered back, overwhelmed by the sheer pressure radiating from the beings.
One collapsed entirely, blood streaming from his eyes.
Kael stood firm.
The largest of the entities slithered forward, its voice a whisper in the mind rather than the air.
"Who dares summon the Forgotten?"
Kael did not flinch.
"I am Kael," he said, his voice a command more than an introduction. "Emperor of the Broken Crown. Harbinger of the New Order."
The entity's many eyes narrowed.
"You seek power."
It was not a question.
Kael smiled.
"I am power," he said. "But I offer you something greater."
The entity loomed closer, its vast form blotting out the light.
"Speak, mortal king."
Kael's words were calm, but each one carried the weight of his will.
"You have slumbered too long. Forgotten by a world that fears you. Serve me — and you will taste conquest once more. Cities will burn. Empires will fall. The gods themselves will tremble."
For a long moment, there was only silence.
Then, slowly, the entity laughed.
It was a hideous sound — a scraping, grinding mirth that echoed off the cavern walls.
"We accept."
The other entities echoed the sentiment, their voices rising into a chorus of doom.
Kael stepped back, allowing them to fully emerge into the world.
The ground trembled under their weight. The air grew cold and brittle.
Seraphina dropped to one knee, her head bowed.
The Circle followed, though several wept openly, unable to bear the pressure.
Kael alone stood tall.
At his side, the first of the Forgotten — a colossal, serpentine thing with dozens of eyes and a mouth full of obsidian fangs — bowed low.
And thus, the pact was sealed.
Later, in the war room deep within the citadel, Kael laid out his plans.
The Forgotten hovered in the shadows, their forms barely visible to mortal sight, but their presence undeniable.
Seraphina, Eryndor, and the Council of Shadows gathered around the massive table of black marble, their expressions grim.
A new map was unrolled — one that depicted not only the known world, but the veiled realms beyond: the fabled Isles of the Drowned, the Cradle of Stars, the Kingdoms of the Sundering East.
Targets.
Kael tapped the first location: The Sable Sanctum — a fortress-city of the Archons, guardians of the old ways.
"They must fall first," he said. "Their death will be a message."
The Council nodded, though unease flickered in their eyes.
Even now, the Archons were whispered of with fear.
But Kael was beyond such fear.
He turned to one of the Forgotten — a being of shifting tendrils and ever-changing faces.
"You will lead the assault," Kael commanded. "Show them the meaning of despair."
The creature bowed low, its many mouths grinning.
Kael's gaze swept his council.
"There will be no mercy. No treaties. No quarter."
He leaned forward, his silver eyes burning with a cold, implacable light.
"This is the age of conquest."
And so, the wheels of annihilation began to turn.
Far across the empire, in a crumbling temple forgotten by all but the most ancient of cults, a woman watched the gathering storm.
Clad in rags, her face hidden beneath a veil of ashes, she whispered to the unseen spirits.
"He rises," she said. "The Breaker. The Usurper of Heaven."
Around her, the shadows shifted.
The old powers were stirring — not all in favor of Kael.
In the deepest places of the world, where even the Forgotten feared to tread, something else opened its eyes.
Not an enemy.
Not a friend.
Something worse.
Something inevitable.
To be continued...