Kael’s breath came slow and steady as he crouched against the cold stone of the ruined temple’s inner chamber. His body ached, his muscles tight from exhaustion, but his mind was sharp—too sharp. The Mark’s whispers had become a constant murmur in his thoughts, distant yet present, like an unseen predator waiting for the right moment to strike.

Across from him, the nameless man—his so-called guide—watched him with an expression that was too calm. Too knowing.

“You hesitate,” the man said, breaking the silence.

Kael’s fingers twitched. “I don’t trust you.”

A flicker of amusement crossed the man’s face. “Good. You shouldn’t.”

Kael exhaled through his nose, his patience wearing thin. “Then why are you still here? Why not let me walk into the Imperium’s hands and rid yourself of a future problem?”

The man leaned against the cracked stone wall, folding his arms. “Because you’re not a problem, Kael. You’re a question. And I don’t have an answer yet.”

Kael’s jaw clenched. “I don’t care about your riddles. I want the truth. No more half-explanations, no more warnings about things I don’t understand—what am I?” He rolled up his sleeve, exposing the Mark that had burned itself into his skin. “Why did the Imperium fear this? Why did they want me dead the second I touched it?”

The man’s gaze flickered toward the Mark, his eyes narrowing. “Because it is older than they are. Older than Solmaris. Older than any empire standing today.”

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Kael’s pulse quickened. He had already begun to suspect as much, but hearing it confirmed sent an uneasy chill down his spine.

“This power,” the man continued, stepping closer. “It does not belong to you. It never has. You are merely its vessel.”

Kael shook his head. “That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one you need,” the man countered. “The Imperium does not fear you, Kael. They fear what you might become.”

The Mark pulsed at those words, as if responding.

Kael gritted his teeth. He had felt it before—that moment of raw, overwhelming force, when the Hound had been obliterated without him even raising a blade. That had not been skill. That had not been him.

“You think I’ll lose control,” Kael said, his voice quieter now.

The man met his gaze, unreadable. “You already have.”

Silence stretched between them.

Kael looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers. He had always been a warrior. A soldier of the Imperium. Strength was something he understood. But this? This was something else entirely.

A force that did not obey him, only answered him when it chose.

He exhaled sharply, forcing the thoughts aside. He couldn’t afford doubt. Not now.

He turned to the man. “What’s next?”

The nameless man studied him for a long moment before speaking. “We move before nightfall. The Imperium is sending more than just soldiers this time.”

Kael frowned. “More Hounds?”

“No.” The man’s voice was grim. “Something worse.”

Kael’s fingers twitched toward the hilt of his blade. “Then tell me what we’re dealing with.”

The man hesitated, then spoke three words that sent ice through Kael’s veins.

“The Sovereign’s Chosen.”

Kael had heard that name before. Whispers, rumors—agents of the Eternal Sovereign himself, rarely seen but always feared. Assassins. Enforcers. Hunters.

Not men. Not entirely.

Kael exhaled slowly. The weight of the Mark on his arm suddenly felt heavier.

“So,” he muttered, tightening his grip on his sword, “we’re already dead.”

The nameless man only smiled.

“Not if we make the first move.”