CHAPTER 1: THE FORSAKEN MARK
Three days ago, Kael Varian was an Inquisitor of the Imperium of Solmaris.
Three days ago, he stood in the depths of Vael’Thalos, a forgotten ruin swallowed by time, surrounded by his fellow soldiers. Their orders were clear: search for traces of heresy, purge anything unnatural, and return to the capital.
Then they found it—the Mark.
A symbol not meant for mortal eyes, burned into the walls like a scar on the world itself. It pulsed with something ancient, something wrong.
The moment Kael reached out to it, the world shattered.
When he woke, his own men were dragging him to execution.
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The air was thick with the scent of blood and smoke.
Kael knelt in the dirt, his breathing ragged, his wrists bound in iron. The ruins of Vael’Thalos loomed around him, jagged remnants of a civilization long erased. A shattered statue, once the figurehead of a forgotten god, lay in pieces at his feet.
Above him, the silver crest of the Imperium of Solmaris gleamed against the night sky, stitched onto the black cloaks of the men who had once been his comrades.
They didn’t look at him as a man anymore. Only as a traitor.
"Kael Varian," intoned Commander Taron Valcrosse, stepping forward, his steel-plated boots grinding against the rubble. His voice carried the weight of iron—unbending, merciless. "By decree of the Eternal Sovereign, you stand condemned for heresy, treason, and the unlawful acquisition of forbidden knowledge."
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Kael’s fingers curled into fists. Heresy. A word the Imperium wielded like a hammer, breaking any who dared to glimpse beyond the veil of their rule.
"You were one of us," Taron continued, his face impassive beneath his helm. "You swore an oath to the Imperium. To the Sovereign. To order." His voice hardened. "And now you kneel before me as a traitor."
Kael lifted his gaze, staring at the man he had once called brother. He had fought beside Taron. Had bled beside him. Had trusted him.
And yet, there was no hesitation in his voice. No regret.
Behind him, the other Inquisitors stood like executioners, hands resting on the pommels of their blades. The sigil of the Imperium was seared into their cloaks—the unblinking golden eye of the Eternal Sovereign, watching, always watching.
And tonight, it would watch him die.
Taron exhaled slowly. "The sentence is death."
The torches flickered as two Inquisitors strode forward, blades drawn. They grabbed Kael by the shoulders, forcing him onto his knees. The steel of a dagger pressed against his throat—
Then, the whispering began.
A voice, dry as rusted iron, old as the first spoken word.
"Awaken."
Kael’s breath caught. The voice did not belong to the Inquisitors. It did not belong to any mortal.
It spoke from within him.
"You are not meant to kneel. You are meant to rise."
Then came the pain. A searing, all-consuming fire erupted across his back.
Kael gasped, his body arching as an unseen force tore through his flesh. The Mark—the thing they had tried to erase from him—was waking.
"Restrain him!" Taron barked.
The guards tightened their grip, but Kael felt nothing but the burn, the power, the awakening.
The Mark did not just burn—it moved. The black veins pulsed beneath his skin, spreading like cracks in glass.
Then—a pulse.
A shockwave.
Then—silence.
The dagger that had been pressed to his throat shattered.
The Inquisitor holding it stumbled back, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps. His hands trembled around the broken hilt. "What… what is—"
Kael lifted his head.
The Mark had activated.
And the Imperium had made a mistake.
They should have killed him before it awoke.