Ashes of the Forsaken

Kieran's first breath back in the real world felt like breathing through water.

His lungs burned, his vision blurred, and for a single moment, he wasn't sure he had truly escaped.

The ruins still stretched around him—the cold stone, the endless carvings, the passage that had led him here.

But something was different.

The weight in the air.

The way the walls no longer seemed to whisper.

The presence that had always lurked at the edges of his vision—gone.

Not destroyed.

But silent.

Kieran staggered forward, pressing a hand against the wall for balance.

His mind still reeled from what had happened.

The fight. The truth.

The war he had once fought, the war he had lost.

And the face of the one who had called his name as the world burned.

The one he had failed.

The one he had forgotten.

But now, he remembered.

A dull pain throbbed in his chest, an echo of the fractured battle that had played out inside the vision. His past self had left more than just memories behind.

His body felt heavier, stronger.

Not physically.

But something inside him had shifted—a weight he hadn't carried before.

A power he had once wielded.

Not magic. Not strength.

But understanding.

A knowledge that had been buried alongside his name.

Kieran clenched his fingers.

His return wasn't just about survival anymore.

It wasn't about revenge.

It was about setting things right.

And that meant finding the ones who had erased him.

And the ones who had made sure he returned.

The ruins stretched ahead of him, their halls empty, their secrets already given.

For the first time, Kieran could feel the weight of what lay ahead.

He had spent too long wandering in the dark.

But now, he had a direction.

And that direction led back to the world above.

Back to the kingdom.

Back to the ones who had ensured he would never escape his fate.

But they had failed.

He was still here.

And this time—he was the one watching them.

The path back felt shorter than before.

Maybe because the ruins no longer resisted him.

Maybe because his purpose had changed.

Or maybe because the past was no longer holding him back.

Kieran reached the exit—the narrow passage leading up through the crumbling remnants of the watchtower.

A cold wind greeted him as he emerged.

Night.

The stars burned overhead, sharp and bright.

But the city in the distance—that was where his gaze settled.

Where his enemies still lived.

Where the ones who had sentenced him to death still ruled.

Where the game of power, politics, and survival had never stopped.

Kieran inhaled slowly.

Then, without hesitation—he started walking.

By the time he reached the ruins of the old noble estate, his presence was already noticed.

Figures in the shadows—watching.

Waiting.

Kieran stepped past the broken archway, his boots crunching against the gravel.

The fires were still burning in the half-ruined courtyard.

And sitting atop a crumbled stone pillar, as always—the slumlord.

She studied him before he even spoke.

Then—

"You look like a man who's found something he shouldn't have."

Kieran exhaled.

"Maybe I have."

She smiled lazily, twirling the dagger in her hand. "You're still alive, though. That's unexpected."

Kieran stepped closer, his eyes sharp.

"I need answers."

The slumlord sighed. "You always do."

Kieran didn't blink.

"You knew, didn't you?"

The lazy smirk on her lips didn't fade.

But it was her silence that gave her away.

She knew.

She had always known.

And now, Kieran was done waiting.

The slumlord finally leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees.

Her eyes, always unreadable, glimmered in the firelight.

"I told you before," she said. "I deal in information. I sell secrets. But the one you're after?"

She tilted her head.

"That one's not for sale."

Kieran didn't look away.

"Then why haven't you tried to kill me?"

That made her laugh—a sharp, amused sound.

"If I wanted you dead, you wouldn't be standing here."

Kieran's grip on his cloak tightened. "Then what do you want?"

She exhaled.

Then, in a voice too calm—

"To see what you do next."

Silence.

The fire crackled between them.

Kieran searched her expression, looking for the lie.

But there wasn't one.

She wasn't working for his enemies.

She wasn't trying to stop him.

She had been watching.

Waiting.

For him to remember.

For him to reach this point.

And now, she wanted to see what he would do.

Kieran exhaled, his breath slow and controlled.

"Then watch closely," he murmured.

"Because the people who did this to me?"

His eyes burned.

"I'm going to tear them apart."

The slumlord grinned.

And for the first time—she looked truly interested.

Kieran turned away, his mind already racing.

He had spent too long in the shadows, too long following trails of half-truths and whispers.

Now?

Now, he was the one setting the pieces.

His enemies had tried to erase him.

They had failed.

And if they still thought they were safe?

Then they had no idea what was coming.

Kieran stepped into the night, the city sprawling before him.

The hunt had begun.

The city sprawled before Kieran like a beast slumbering in the dark.

From the ruins of the slumlord's domain, he could see the distant glow of the noble districts, where wealth and power twisted into a web of lies and ambition.

That was where his enemies lived.

The ones who had ordered his execution.

The ones who had erased his name.

The ones who still believed he was dead.

Kieran adjusted the cloak around his shoulders, blending into the shadows as he moved.

They had stolen his past.

Now, he would steal their future.

Kieran knew better than to strike blindly.

Revenge wasn't about rage.

It was about calculated destruction.

He needed leverage.

Something that would shake the foundations of those who sat atop their gilded thrones.

And he already knew where to start.

The noble houses thrived on two things—power and fear.

And there was one man who trafficked in both.

The Whisper Broker.

If anyone knew who had given the final order for his execution, it was him.

Kieran had avoided the broker before, unwilling to owe favors.

But now?

Now, he would pay any price.

As long as it ended with his enemies on their knees.

The underground market was quieter than before.

Not empty.

Never empty.

But tonight, there was a tension in the air.

Kieran moved through the torch-lit corridors, past merchants selling stolen relics, enchanted artifacts, and secrets wrapped in parchment.

And at the farthest end, behind a curtain of black silk, sat the one he had come for.

The Whisper Broker.

Draped in robes of deep red, his fingers adorned with rings carved in old, forgotten languages, he exuded an air of quiet menace.

A man who dealt in shadows.

And tonight—Kieran was one of them.

The broker looked up as Kieran entered.

For a long moment, he said nothing.

Then—

"Ah."

His lips curled into something resembling amusement.

"So, the dead do walk."

Kieran didn't smile.

He pulled back his hood, letting the torchlight catch the sharp angles of his face.

"I need a name."

The broker exhaled slowly, leaning forward.

"And why would I give you one?"

Kieran reached into his cloak, pulling out a single silver token.

The broker's fingers twitched.

Not at the sight of the metal.

But at the mark engraved on it.

Three slashes.

The same sigil that had haunted Kieran since the moment he had returned.

The same mark that had been left behind by the ones who had walked this path before him.

For the first time, the Whisper Broker looked uneasy.

"Where did you get this?"

Kieran met his gaze, his voice calm, unyielding.

"You already know."

Silence.

Then, the broker let out a slow breath.

"I see."

He reached for a piece of parchment, dipping a quill into ink.

He began to write.

Not quickly. Not hurriedly.

With care.

Because this was not just a name.

This was the first thread of the noose Kieran was about to tighten.

The parchment was placed in front of him.

Kieran took it.

Read it.

His pulse steadied.

Not because the name was unexpected.

But because he had always known.

Even before he had died.

Even before the execution.

He had known.

The one who had given the final order.

The one who had ensured his name was erased.

The one who had feared him more than anyone else.

Kieran folded the parchment, tucking it inside his cloak.

The broker watched him carefully.

"What will you do now?"

Kieran met his gaze.

And for the first time since returning—

He smiled.

"I'm going to pay them a visit."

Kieran left the Whisper Market without another word.

The city stretched before him once more.

But now, it looked different.

Before, he had been a ghost wandering through its streets.

Now—

Now, he was a hunter.

And his prey was waiting.