The night was thick with smoke and old blood.
Mazen sat by a fire surrounded by a half-circle of battle-weary faces.
Calen nursed a cracked mug of whatever passed for liquor in these camps, a sour grin tugging at his scarred mouth.
"Back in my day," one of the older warriors grumbled, "we had blades sharp enough to cut a shadow clean in half."
A ripple of rough laughter.
"Back in your day, you were probably chasing goats," Calen shot back.
Even Shadow of the North cracked a faint smirk.
The talk drifted — tales of old battles, doomed marches, and kings who bled like anyone else. Mazen sat quiet.
And then one of the older rebels spoke a name.
"Course, none of 'em could hold a candle to Abdou."
The fire popped.
The conversation stilled like a held breath.
Even Shadow's eyes darkened.
"Don't bring that name up lightly," Shadow said, voice low.
Mazen's head jerked up, blood chilling.
"Wait— Abdou?"
The old man blinked.
"Yeah. The Ghost of Vortrex. The Shadow Hunter. The man who broke Ragnar Bloodscale in a duel no one else survived. You don't know the name?"
Mazen's voice was tight.
"It's my father's name."
A long silence.
Shadow stood.
"Enough stories for tonight."
But it was too late.
The fire had already burned the past wide open.
The fire's crackle sounded louder after that.
Calen glanced at Shadow, then at Mazen, and back again, sensing the storm in the air.
"You mean to tell me you're Abdou's blood?" one grizzled warrior muttered, half in disbelief.
Mazen didn't answer. He didn't have to. The look on his face said it all.
Shadow let out a long, dry sigh and sat back down.
"Might as well say it before someone else runs their mouth wrong."
He tossed a twig into the fire and watched it curl to ash.
"Your father," Shadow began, "was a name this world prayed to, cursed, and feared in equal measure."
Mazen's throat tightened.
"I thought he… vanished. On Earth. One day gone. No word."
"Because he didn't belong there," Shadow said.
"Not entirely."
He leaned forward.
"Abdou was the only man who ever made Ragnar Bloodscale kneel. Six seconds. Crushed his spine with a sword forged from lightning itself. Walked through an entire war host alone. Elementalists, sorcerers, even a Lightbearer tried to stop him. None lasted a minute."
One of the older rebels looked into the fire.
"They say he fought darkness itself… and won."
Mazen's chest tightened.
"Why? Why would he leave?"
Shadow met his gaze, and for once, the warlord's sharp smirk faded.
"Because the world was breaking. The Shadow Mind, sealed in the heart of the planet, was stirring. Abdou was the only one who could keep it bound."
A beat.
"He guards it still."
Mazen's blood ran cold.
"He's alive?"
"If he's dead, the world's already over."
The fire hissed, like the darkness itself was listening.
Mazen's breath felt sharp in his throat, as if the air itself had thickened around him.
For years, he'd pictured his father's face — not as a legend, but as a man. A quiet figure at Cairo's old amusement park, telling stories, buying him roasted peanuts, teaching him how to fix a radio.
A man who vanished one morning without a trace.
And now… this.
"You're telling me," Mazen said, voice hoarse, "that while I was sitting in classrooms and chasing grades… my father was guarding a goddamn world-ending monster?"
Shadow's face softened a fraction — a rare thing, like winter thawing for a single heartbeat.
"You weren't meant to carry his war, boy. Abdou did what he did to keep that darkness from spilling into your world… into every world."
Mazen laughed — bitter, disbelieving.
"And no one thought to tell me? Not a word? Not when that tear opened, when the portal dragged me here?"
Calen spoke up from the fire's edge.
"None of us even knew you existed, kid. Abdou made sure of it. The old man burned every trace of family, made enemies think he had no one. You were his one weakness, and he wasn't about to hand that to Vortrex's monsters."
Mazen's fists clenched, knuckles bone-white.
"If he's alive, I'm going to find him."
Shadow's voice dropped to a low, dangerous rumble.
"You don't get to chase that man, Arkios. Not now. Not with this war breaking loose. Not with Rhys III hunting your head and uncontrolled darkness boiling in your veins."
Mazen stared at the fire.
But in his mind's eye, he saw his father's face.
And a promise older than any rebellion.
"I'll find him," Mazen whispered to himself.
"Dead or alive."
The wind shifted, carrying the faint scent of old earth and lightning.
Somewhere, far below Vortrex's surface… something stirred.
The fire burned lower, the night folding in like a closing fist.
Shadow didn't move, didn't blink, just fixed Mazen with a stare sharp enough to peel skin.
"Listen to me, Arkios," he said, voice low as thunder rolling under earth.
"I know what's in your head now. I know you want to run off chasing the old man. But hear this and hear it good — you chase Abdou now, and this war will eat you alive."
Mazen didn't back down.
"I'm not leaving him out there if he's alive."
"And if he is, it's because he chose to be." Shadow's voice cracked like a whip.
"He left everything behind for a reason. That darkness he guards — it's not just some monster. It's the thing that ends realms. The thing even light fears."
Calen grunted from the side.
"We all owe Abdou our lives a hundred times over. But no man alive is fool enough to go poking around the Great Temple without a death wish."
Mazen swallowed the burn in his throat.
Shadow sighed, rubbing a hand over his scarred jaw.
"I'll make you a promise, boy. When Rhys III's head is in the dirt, when the rebellion's done and the world's still standing… I'll lead you to that temple myself."
A long pause.
"But until then — you fight here. You bleed here. You earn your damn name."
Mazen's jaw clenched.
But he gave a tight nod.
"Fine. After the king falls."
Shadow gave him a sharp grin.
"Good."
And with that, the night shifted back to war.
Long after the others drifted away, Mazen stayed by the dying fire.
The embers pulsed low, fat coals cracking open like tiny hearts. The Fire Serpent's mark beneath his skin itched, heat rolling under his flesh like an echo.
He stared at the empty night beyond the ring of stones.
The words lingered in his skull.
Abdou. The Ghost of Vortrex. Shadow Hunter. The man who fought darkness and won.
And for Mazen — always just Dad. The man with a crooked grin and calloused hands, who made sure his son could climb an old Ferris wheel without falling, who taught him how to throw a punch, who vanished one day without a trace.
A thousand versions of his father shattered and reformed inside his head.
He drew a line in the ash with one finger.
"I'll find you," he whispered.
"Dead or alive. I don't care how deep this place buried you. I'll tear it open."
The wind stirred the fire's remains.
And far, far beneath the earth — in the shadowed heart of the Great Temple — a pulse traveled through the stone. A presence lifted its head.
A voice, like crumbling mountains.
"So… the boy bleeds."
And Abdou opened his eyes.