heir of the cursed blood

The mountain winds whispered farewell as Kael stood atop the grand steps of the Dwarven capital, the sky painted in deep blue hues of early dawn.

At the edge of the plaza, the King of Steelspire, Brogar Stoneveil, stood surrounded by his soldiers and attendants, his arms crossed and his beard braided tight for the occasion. The massive griffin, easily the size of a small ship, waited beside them, its feathers gleaming like polished bronze under the sun.

"You've got fire, boy," Brogar said, stepping forward. "Don't waste it."

Kael bowed his head deeply, respectfully.

One of the elder dwarves — the butler Drawe, who had silently tended to Kael during their stay — approached with a folded bundle wrapped in black silk. Without a word, he handed it over.

"A gift from the forge," Drawe said, his voice gravelly. "Crafted with dwarf-skin silk, rune-infused inner armor, and boots reinforced with leviathan hide. It won't stop a dragon's breath — but it'll help you live long enough to dodge it."

Kael was stunned. The coat was long, pitch-black, with a high collar and silver trim running along the edges. The inner armor was sleek yet flexible, glowing with subtle sigils woven into the fabric. The boots felt like clouds underfoot, yet hit the stone like thunder.

"Thank you... I'll wear it with pride," Kael replied, tightening his grip on the white blade at his hip.

The king gave a small nod and smirked. "Try not to die wearing it."

With that, Kael and Eorun mounted the great griffin and took to the skies. The wind howled, but neither of them looked back.

🕊️ 18 Days Later – Above the Skies of RAGHAS

The Great Forest had long faded behind them, its endless emerald sea swallowed by distance.

Now, ahead, the terrain shifted into the rolling mountains and golden plains of central RAGHAS — the lands under the influence of the RagDon Clan.

Kael sat calmly on the griffin's saddle, eyes closed, aura softly pulsing around him.

"We'll reach the clan's territory by dusk tomorrow," Eorun said. "Make sure you're mentally ready."

Kael opened his eyes. "I've been ready since the moment I left."

But fate wasn't about to make things so easy.

Suddenly, the wind shifted — too sharply.

Out of the clouds, figures on sky-riders swooped down. Feathered cloaks flared behind them, and their eyes were bloodshot with greed. Sky Bandits — raiders who preyed on air travelers.

"They're after our griffin," Eorun muttered. "Hold tight. Show me what all that training was for."

Kael stood up on the griffin's back, his hand gripping the hilt of his white blade. The air thickened around him, magenta energy swirling at his fingertips.

Three bandits rushed in.

Kael's First Technique – Rune Hole Slash

"You want this beast?" Kael growled. "Then fall."

He raised his blade overhead. Magenta aura crackled along the surface like lightning crawling across glass. He slashed forward — but not at the bandits directly.

Instead, the air itself tore, a slashing arc of pure aura shot out.

Rune Hole Slash!

The arc cut clean through the wing of one of the attacking griffins, sending its rider spiraling into the trees below.

The others gasped — but Kael wasn't done.

Second Technique – Fall Blade

He surged forward, flipping off his own griffin and landing directly onto the enemy leader's mount. Their eyes met — the leader raised his scythe.

Too slow.

Kael thrust his sword forward — directly into the man's chest.

The magenta aura exploded in a violent wave, piercing not only flesh but spirit.

"Fall Blade."

The leader's body went limp, and the griffin screamed before veering off.

Kael leapt back onto his mount as the sky cleared, blood still evaporating from his blade.

Eorun crossed his arms, looking mildly amused. "That'll do."

As the horizon stretched forward, Kael tightened the belt around his new coat and sheathed his white blade.

The sky bandits had come for blood. Instead, they found a storm.

Ahead, the banners of the RagDon Clan waved in the distance.

"Let's go home," Kael whispered.