The Varaksha’s Curse

Malrik stood atop the dark spire of Duskholde Keep, staring into the swirling abyss beyond the mountains. The air crackled with raw energy, an ominous pulse reverberating through the Void. His fingers tightened around the hilt of his staff, the obsidian gem embedded at its peak flickering with a violent violet glow.

Something had changed.

He could feel it, like a shift in the very fabric of fate itself. The power he had carefully unraveled, the dark tendrils he had sent into the Void—it was no longer his alone to command.

Someone else had touched it.

A shrouded figure approached from the shadows behind him. Lyssara, her crimson robes still stained with the remnants of the ritual, her breath uneven from the journey back from the Void Plains.

"It's him, isn't it?" she asked, her voice measured but laced with unease.

Malrik did not turn to her. He simply exhaled slowly, pressing a gloved hand to the side of his temple, as though feeling the weight of something vast pressing against his mind.

"Kiran," he muttered. The name tasted like venom on his tongue.

Lyssara hesitated. "He's getting stronger. More than we anticipated. The Varaksha's bond is deepening—far beyond what we predicted."

Malrik's expression darkened. The Ashen Circle had expected resistance, but this was something else entirely.

The Void had answered Kiran.

That was dangerous.

He turned sharply, his piercing gaze locking onto Lyssara. "Tell me exactly what happened in the Void Plains."

Lyssara swallowed, then stepped forward, recounting every detail—the whispers, the wraith, the Voidborn, and the presence of something even greater. When she spoke of the Sealed One, Malrik's grip on his staff tightened.

"You woke something you couldn't control," he said coldly.

Lyssara inclined her head, not daring to offer an excuse. "The Voidborn did not stop us. It simply… allowed us to leave. As though it knew what was coming next."

Malrik exhaled through his nose, his mind already working through the implications.

The Void did not act without purpose. It was a force of balance, of exchange. If it had granted Kiran power, then it had also taken something in return.

The question was—what?

And more importantly—why?

The Gathering Storm

Malrik turned toward the central chamber of Duskholde Keep, where a great circular table lay etched with ancient runes. The most powerful warlocks of the Ashen Circle gathered around it, waiting in tense silence.

"The boy is no longer a mere nuisance," Malrik said as he took his place at the head of the table. "He has been marked by the Void itself."

Murmurs of unease rippled through the room. Even among those who wielded dark magic, the idea of being chosen by the Void was a dangerous omen.

One of the elder warlocks, Vharen, leaned forward, his silver eyes gleaming beneath his hood. "If the Void favors him, then he may become a threat beyond our control. We should act now—eliminate him before he grows further."

Malrik drummed his fingers against the table, his mind calculating. "We cannot kill him yet."

Lyssara frowned. "Why not?"

"Because the Void never gives without taking." Malrik's gaze burned with intensity. "If it has granted Kiran power, then it has done so for a reason. We must understand what it wants from him before we make our next move."

A heavy silence settled over the chamber.

Then another voice spoke—one that had remained quiet until now.

"The ruins," rasped a figure from the far end of the table. Elder Xaros, the most ancient of the warlocks, his skin like aged parchment stretched over brittle bones. "The Ruins of Velithra were meant to contain what we now face. If Kiran has gone there… then he seeks knowledge of the old seals."

Malrik's jaw tightened.

Of course. The ruins.

If Kiran had truly awakened to the Void's power, then the ancient seals that once contained the Sealed One would now be his only path forward.

"He's searching for answers," Malrik muttered. His mind worked swiftly, connecting the pieces. "He doesn't fully understand his connection to the Void yet."

A slow smile crept across his lips.

"But we do."

The warlocks watched him carefully, waiting for his next move.

Malrik turned to Lyssara. "Prepare the Shadowbound. If Kiran seeks knowledge, let's ensure he learns only what we wish him to know."

Lyssara bowed slightly, her eyes gleaming with understanding. "And if he refuses?"

Malrik's smile widened, cold and cruel.

"Then he will willingly walk into the darkness."

The Shadowbound Hunt

That night, under the crimson glow of a blood moon, the Shadowbound were unleashed.

They were not human. Not anymore. They had once been warriors, scholars, and even warlocks—until the Ashen Circle had broken them. Their souls had been shackled to the Void, their bodies twisted into specters of darkness and hunger.

Silent. Unseen. Unstoppable.

They moved like shadows across the land, drawn toward the pulse of Kiran's energy, following the echoes of his awakening power.

Malrik stood on the high battlements of Duskholde Keep, watching as his hunters vanished into the night.

The game had begun.

And Kiran would soon learn that no gift from the Void came without a cost.

To Be Continued…