Third Point of view
The dungeon beneath the Drayven estate wasn't marked on any of the blueprints Kael had memorized in his past life. It was a secret, carved into the bowels of the earth beneath the central spire. Only the Leon would know how to find it.
And now, so did Kael.
The passage opened behind a false panel in the archives. He pressed the Drayven crest—lion, serpent, sword—and the cold stone wall split with a whisper, revealing a staircase spiraling down into darkness.
His footsteps echoed. The torches along the wall flickered to life without him touching them, casting a ghostly orange light on the walls, where old, dry blood had become part of the stone.
A part of him—Kael, not Leon—wanted to turn back. But he couldn't afford to hesitate. Not when the Emperor's Seers were watching. Not when he knew this dungeon might hold the key to the power he needed to survive the future.
He reached the bottom.
There, in a domed chamber chiseled from obsidian rock, stood the Chains of Eternus—twelve black spires encircling a platform. Each one held a glowing sigil at its tip, pulsing with runes so old they predated the Empire itself.
And in the center, nailed to the ground by arcane iron, was a corpse.
No—not a corpse.
A man.
Still alive.
Barely.
His arms were stretched outward, bound by enchanted shackles. His hair, once golden, hung in filthy mats over his face. His chest rose in slow, ragged breaths. Skin clung to bone, and a brand—Drayven's crest—was burned into his sternum.
Kael's blood turned to ice.
"...Father?"
The man stirred. He opened one eye—black and full of broken stars.
"You're not him," he rasped, voice like gravel scraping glass. "But... you wear his scent."
Kael took a step forward. "You're the former Leon."
The prisoner let out a weak chuckle that turned into a cough. "That's what they called me. Before the Betrayal. Before your grandfather fed me to the Chains."
Kael swallowed hard. "Why? What did you do?"
"I loved," the man whispered. "And I defied the fate written for the Drayven line."
Kael's heart pounded in his chest. So the stories were true—there had been a Leon who vanished without a trace two generations ago. The official tale was that he died battling demons at the Borderlands.
Another lie.
The man looked up, eyes focusing on Kael for the first time. "And now, the Chains stir again. That means you've made a Pact."
Kael hesitated. He hadn't told anyone—not even the shadows that whispered in his sleep—that he had started dreaming of fire and death again. That the same pact he rejected in his first life was calling him once more.
"I haven't accepted," Kael said. "But I will, if that's what it takes to survive."
The chained man laughed again, this time with something almost like pity. "You think survival is a choice. But if the Chains awaken, then fate has already found you."
Kael stepped onto the platform.
The air around him changed instantly. It was thick, cold, yet somehow humming with heat—like the air before a lightning strike.
"The Chains can grant you knowledge," the man said. "But they demand something first. A piece of you. A price. A sacrifice."
Kael's jaw clenched. "I've already died once. I've lost everything. If pain is the price, I'll pay it."
The man lifted his head, a strange gleam returning to his eyes.
"Then place your hand on the central rune."
Kael hesitated.
He knew this was dangerous.
He also knew this was his only chance to outmaneuver Duke Valter, to survive the Emperor's game, to stand a chance when the true villains made their moves.
He placed his hand on the rune.
And the world exploded.
Pain lanced through his arm like molten steel. Symbols burned into his skin—ancient ones, shifting constantly as if alive. His veins lit up, glowing orange beneath the surface, pulsing in time with the Chains.
He screamed.
Memories not his own surged into his mind—battles fought in deserts of bone, betrayals in golden palaces, a kiss beneath a crimson moon, and the roar of dragons that no longer existed.
Kael collapsed to his knees, panting, sweat soaking his shirt.
The former Leon looked at him, hollow-eyed. "You've done it. You've opened the door."
Kael forced himself to his feet, body trembling. "What door?"
The walls of the chamber shuddered. Stone cracked. The torches blew out.
And then the voice came.
"My vessel... awakens."
Kael froze.
It wasn't human. It wasn't even alive. It was a presence—a titanic mind, cold and ancient. Something buried beneath time.
The chained man screamed. His body arched violently as runes tore through his skin.
"I warned you!" he cried, eyes rolling back. "You touched the Chain! You awakened it!"
Kael stumbled back. "What is it?!"
The Chains trembled. And from the shadows behind the spires, something began to emerge—a figure made of ash and bone, crowned in fire, with no face.
Kael's breath hitched.
A memory from his past life surfaced—a dream, just before his execution. A voice that whispered, "Come back, and finish what you began."
The creature stepped forward.
Kael turned to run.
But the stone stairs had vanished.
And the chamber was sealing shut behind him.
Kael is now locked inside a chamber with a primordial being he accidentally awakened through the Chains—and there's no way out.
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