Tarn awoke.
Still in the ruins.
Ash coated his skin. His breath steamed the cold air.
The black spear lay beside him, humming. Sleeping.
But not dead.
Tarn gritted his teeth.Pushed to his feet.His body was weaker. His arms felt heavier.
"I gave you enough," he muttered to the weapon.
It didn't answer. But he felt it smile.
The wind shifted.
Cold. Too cold.
Then he heard it.
Chains.
Dragging. Scraping.
Something was coming.
Tarn turned.
From the mist, something stumbled forward.
Not a god.
Not a man.
It was caged in iron — arms bound, face covered in a broken mask.
Every step it took, the ground cracked beneath its feet.
Eyes glowed from behind the mask.
"You… carry the cursed flame," it rasped.
Tarn raised his spear.
"Who are you?"
The thing tilted its head.
"A warning."
Then it charged.
They clashed in an instant.
Faster than the Hunter.
Stronger than the King's guard.
Its chains struck like whips.Its fists, heavy as meteors.
Tarn blocked, countered, burned.
The spear responded eagerly, twisting into a scythe mid-swing.
But the creature didn't bleed.
Didn't groan.
Didn't stop.
"You're feeding it too soon," it snarled mid-swing.
"The flame is not yours yet."
Tarn ducked, rolled, and stabbed through its gut.
It barely reacted.
Just grinned beneath the mask.
"You'll burn before it does."
Then it exploded in black light — flinging Tarn across the courtyard.
He crashed into stone.
Bones cracked.
The spear flew from his hand.
By the time he got up—
The thing in chains was gone.
No footprints. No scent. Nothing.
Just one chain left behind, still smoldering.
Tarn picked it up.
It hissed in his palm.
A symbol burned across the link.A name.
A warning.
"Drethis."
He didn't know what it meant.
But deep in his bones—
He knew this wouldn't be the last time they met.
And next time…
One of them wouldn't walk away.