Chapter 27: Vealeth’s Rebellion

  Far away from the orc stronghold, far away from the city of Xenor, beyond the Acronian Sea, there was a place where the wind never reached, where even the light of the stars seemed dimmer. In this void, a hooded figure knelt before a tribunal of cloaked, spectral beings. The air was thick with the scent of magic, and the atmosphere itself seemed charged with an ominous power.

  The drake raised his head slowly, his golden eyes gleaming beneath the shadow of his hood. His scales shimmered faintly in the darkness, a stark contrast to the dark cloaks surrounding him. His voice, though soft, rang with undeniable conviction.

  “I thank you for the power you’ve granted me. But I refuse to be your acolyte.”

  The figures before him remained silent, their hoods obscuring their faces. Their forms flickered, as if they were not entirely of this world. Their eyes—if they had any—seemed to burn with an otherworldly light.

  “I cannot bring myself to do your bidding,” Vealeth continued, his voice unwavering. “I am a drake. I will not be controlled.”

  The spectral figures remained still for a moment, before one of them spoke in a voice like wind rustling through dry leaves.

  “Do you truly understand the weight of your decision, Vealeth? You turn your back on our power, on our generosity. And for what? The hubris of pride?”

  Another voice, low and cold, echoed through the chamber. “You betray us, and the 7 kingdoms will fall for it. The Calamity will come, and when it does, you will regret this choice.”

  Vealeth’s heart clenched. The mention of The Calamity sent a shiver through him, but he stood firm. This was his decision.

  “I will not be a pawn,” Vealeth muttered. “I’ve seen someone gain power without your corruption. Someone who doesn’t rely on your dark designs.”

  The words hung in the air, like a delicate thread woven into the silence. He didn’t need to say the name; it was enough for the spectral beings to understand.

  The cloaked figures hissed, the air around them thickening with dark energy.

  “A fool’s choice,” one whispered. “You will not survive the coming storm. The Black Horizon is rising, and all who defy it will be swallowed by its wrath.”

  The name The Black Horizon reverberated in Vealeth’s mind. He had heard whispers about it—an impending darkness that would consume everything, a force beyond comprehension. But the drake didn’t falter. He had seen Marcus rise from nothing. That was a kind of strength Vealeth could never ignore.

  “The Black Horizon is inevitable, Vealeth,” one of the figures spoke again, as if tasting the words. “And when it reaches the kingdoms, you will regret not joining us. You will wish you had been part of the true order.”

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  But Vealeth only clenched his fists, staring at the dark, swirling energy of the figures. “I have no place in your ‘order.’ I choose my own path.”

  Without another word, the spectral beings began to dissolve, their forms disintegrating into dark runes that drifted into the void. The atmosphere seemed to thicken as they faded, leaving behind only silence.

  Vealeth stood slowly, his movements deliberate. His chest tightened, not from fear, but from the weight of his defiance. He had made his choice. And now, there was no turning back.

  With a sharp motion, Vealeth tore the dark, sigil-covered cloak from his body. As he did, the air shifted. The soldiers of the mysterious faction, concealed in the shadows, emerged from every corner of the room, their eyes gleaming with malice. They had been waiting for this moment.

  The fight began in an instant.

  Vealeth’s Psycha flared to life around him, his senses sharpening. He didn’t manipulate the elements—no, he could not. But he had something more subtle: luck. The energy of Psycha let him influence chance itself, twisting fate to his advantage. The first soldier swung a blade at his neck, and Vealeth, with a flash of concentration, altered the course of the strike just enough so that it passed mere inches from his skin. The soldier’s eyes widened in confusion, but Vealeth was already moving, his own fist a blur as it collided with the soldier’s side.

  Another soldier lunged from the left, but as they did, their strike seemed to falter mid-air. Psycha twisted their luck, and they stumbled, missing their mark entirely. Vealeth’s fist struck them with precision, and the soldier crumpled to the ground.

  “Fool,” Vealeth muttered to himself. He’d honed this power for years, and now, as the situation grew desperate, he pushed his abilities further, making every move feel like destiny itself.

  But these soldiers weren’t easy prey. As more swarmed him, Vealeth could feel his energy draining. Each use of Psycha took more out of him, each moment spent manipulating the odds leaving a small mark on his stamina. His body, though strong, was beginning to show signs of wear.

  One of the soldiers—a massive, hulking figure—charged at him with a broadsword. Vealeth sidestepped the attack, but just barely. His hand grazed the blade’s edge, the cut shallow but painful. The world seemed to slow as Vealeth's concentration wavered.

  A flicker of doubt, then.

  With a deep breath, Vealeth forced his luck to twist once more, sending the soldier's strike wide, causing the weapon to slam into the stone wall with a loud crash. Vealeth reacted immediately, unleashing a flurry of quick strikes that sent the soldier staggering back.

  But even as he landed blow after blow, more kept coming. And Vealeth could feel his energy draining, his Psycha powers flickering with each use.

  A voice shouted from behind him. “He must not escape.”

  Another soldier, one Vealeth hadn’t seen, lunged from the shadows with a spear, aiming for his back. In that instant, Vealeth’s heart raced. A near-miss, another stroke of luck—but not enough. He was this close to being overwhelmed.

  He needed to escape.

  With a final surge of effort, he manipulated his luck one last time, pulling a nearby stone pillar into the soldier’s path. The spear crashed against it, sending shards of rock flying in every direction. Vealeth seized the moment, dodging out of the way and darting for the nearest exit.

  As he fled, the sounds of pursuit echoed in the distance. His chest heaved with exertion, but he didn’t dare slow down. Behind him, the soldiers regrouped, but Vealeth was already gone, vanishing into the darkness, leaving his would-be captors in his wake.

  The last thing he heard before disappearing into the shadows was the soft murmur of one of the spectral figures' warnings. The Black Horizon is coming, and nothing will stop it.

  And as he disappeared into the night, Vealeth muttered to himself, the words barely a whisper but full of iron resolve:

  “We will be ready.”