Vaelen

​The cathedral’s incense smelled of rot. The priestess, once a beacon of grace, shrieked of "Consumption," her skin peeling back to reveal the abyss beneath. When she turned her hunger on the weary travelers at the door, the sanctuary became a slaughterhouse. ​Vaelen didn’t hesitate. He pulled me through the heavy oak doors, our breath hitching as we raced into the biting rain. But the darkness was faster. It bled out of the earth, manifesting as a legion of hollow-eyed demons. ​In the center of a moon-drenched clearing, the path ended. Standing there, draped in the same face and form as my love, was his shadow—the Wraith-King. ​"The only way to hold them back is to let me in," the Wraith-King hissed, a dark mirror of Vaelen’s own voice. ​Vaelen looked at me, his eyes brimming with a grief so deep it felt like a physical weight. "I will not let them touch you," he whispered, pressing his forehead against mine. "But to be your shield, I must become their sword." ​One final, soul-shattering kiss was all the time we had. He led me to a small stone cottage, his touch growing colder by the second. He watched me fall into a heavy, magical slumber, his silhouette framed against the window as the golden light of his humanity flickered and died. ​I woke to a world of grey. Looking out the window, I saw the cottage was surrounded—not by enemies, but by a silent, terrifying guard. At their head stood a man in dark, tattered steel. He didn't look back. Vaelen was gone; only the Commander of the Legion remained, marching into the dawn to ensure the monsters never reached my door.