The fire started in the northern reach.
A single noble's estate — ash.
They said it was bandits.
They said it was witches.
But no blade was drawn. No coin taken. Only the lord's head was mounted on a pike, and beside it, carved into the gate with burnt iron:
"Born of ash. Bound by none."
Whispers spread like wildfire. A slum-boy turned killer. A ghost in the woods. A storm with a name — Caelan.
Far from the burn-marked gate, in the ruins of a forgotten watchtower, Caelan listened to the crackling hearth and the rustle of paper maps. The cold crept down the stones like a patient death, but it didn't touch him. Not anymore.
Across from him sat Edran, once a loyal tactician of the Southern Guard, now a traitor. Gray-bearded, sharp-eyed, and missing two fingers from the last war. His loyalty had price—but not to coin.
"To rise," the old man muttered, tapping a pin into the map, "you'll need more than dead lords and burned banners."
"I'm not here to rise," Caelan said. "I'm here to shatter."
Edran's eyes narrowed. "Then you'll need chaos."
"Good." Caelan stood, the weight of his blade a familiar anchor. "I was born in it."
Villages along the border began to vanish from records.
Tax collectors disappeared.
Watchposts were found emptied, the guards still at their stations—eyes glassy, mouths filled with soot.
A pattern emerged.
Where injustice festered, he struck.
Where silence reigned, he roared.
In the mining city of Vhalcrest, rebellion sparked.
Not a war. Not yet.
But a question.
"If a slum-born could kill a noble and walk away, what else have they lied about?"
And in the city square, a masked speaker stood atop a shattered statue, whispering heresy into the crowd:
"The world is a throne built on bones. But the bones are waking."
The guards arrived too late.
By then, the city gates were open.
By then, they were chanting his name.
Meanwhile — A Castle Far South
Lady Sorelle watched the flames dance in her hearth. She'd received the report. Three nobles dead. Five garrisons routed.
She looked to the shadows behind her.
"He moves quickly," she said.
The shadow replied, voice a purr of silk and steel. "Quicker than prophecy intended."
"Do the others know?"
"They will."
She turned. "And the boy?"
"Caelan?"
A pause.
"Ash still clings to him. But something darker stirs. The Eclipsed Veil wakes."
Eclipsed Veil Interface — Update
Dominion Progression: [Stage I — Rebellion]Notoriety: Whispered (⚠ Regional Rumors)Veil Reaction: Minor AwakeningNew Attribute Unlocked — Leadership
Your presence inspires unrest or loyalty, depending on the hearts of those who follow. A Sovereign rises not by silence, but by storm.
As dawn broke over the frost-ridden hills, Caelan stood before the ragged dozen who had followed him this far — murderers, runaways, and broken men.
He looked each in the eye.
"You want freedom?" he said.
They nodded.
"Then stop praying for it."
He turned, sword dragging through the snow.
"Take it."