"They won’t come," the scout spat bitterly. "Ser Alistair said it’s ‘below their concern.’ He said Lyra should have known better than to delve old tombs. He’s... he’s different now. Arrogant. So I came to the monster. At least monsters are honest."
Kaelen looked at the holy blade. Its light felt warm on his scarred hand. For seven years, he had lived in the dark, saving people who would have killed him on sight. He had been the shadow’s mercy. And now, finally, the dawn was offering its hand.
Kaelen didn’t answer. He walked forward, each step leaving a sizzling footprint in the stone. The curse was trying to consume him, turn him into a mindless beast. But Kaelen had spent seven years learning its shape, its hunger, its limits. He wasn’t controlling it anymore. He was aiming it.
Thalia, the young mage, looked at him with wide, awestruck eyes. "The songs are wrong, aren’t they? You never betrayed anyone." dark hero party save
"Kaelen?" Lyra’s voice was a hoarse whisper. "No... you shouldn’t be here. The curse... Malachar wants to absorb it. He wants to become a true Lich King."
"No," Alistair said, and he dropped to one knee. "I did what was easy. I believed the lie because the truth was too hard. I am not worthy of this light." He drew Dawnbreaker and offered it, hilt first, to Kaelen. "It was always meant for you. To purge the curse. But also... to be wielded by someone who understands that darkness is not the enemy. It is a tool. Like fire. Like shadow. Take it."
"Stay here," Kaelen said, pulling on a cloak that drank the light. "If I’m not back in three days, assume the necromancer won." "They won’t come," the scout spat bitterly
"What are you doing?!" Malachar shrieked.
Behind him, Lyra, Gunnar, Thalia, and even Ser Alistair fell into step. Not following. Walking beside him.
"Keep it," Kaelen said. "The world still needs its Radiant Five. But maybe... maybe there’s room for a sixth. Not as a traitor. As a shadow. Every light needs a shadow to give it depth." he’s different now
"You did what you had to do," Kaelen replied. "The curse would have spread."
And in a small cottage on the edge of Silverwood, a scarred man with a quiet smile finally learns to sleep without nightmares.
Gunnar the dwarf let out a booming laugh. "Owed us? Lad, you just ripped a hole in reality to save our sorry hides. I’d say you’ve paid your debt a thousand times over."
The crypt was a nightmare. The air was thick with the stench of decay and the whisper of trapped souls. Kaelen felt a dark familiarity here. This was his domain, but twisted. A rival necromancer named Malachar had set up shop, using a heartstone—a crystallized lump of pure, undiluted misery—to fuel his power.