Kael didn't sleep that night. Not truly.
He had built a fire with remnants of torn tent fabric and dry driftwood from the ancient camp. Sparks danced against the cold desert sky as he sat by the flames, staring into the shard that pulsed softly in his palm. Each flicker of blue light sent ripples through his cursed veins. The rune marks on his forearms responded in kind, resonating like ancient bells long forgotten.
He was no longer just a prince in exile.
He was a chosen heir to something buried and forbidden.
The Valley of Drowned Suns even its name was wrapped in myth and dread. Legend said the valley was a crater where fallen stars had once waged war, and where time itself wept. No map recorded its path. Only the foolish or the desperate dared search.
Kael was now both.
Before dawn, he buried the fire and began his journey east. The shard led him, tugging like a magnet toward something deeper. He passed ruined battlements, bone gardens, and the silhouettes of petrified beasts remnants of a forgotten war.
Hours passed. Maybe days.
Then he saw it a narrow ridge that descended into a canyon so wide and deep it seemed to swallow light itself.
The Valley of Drowned Suns.
---
**Meanwhile, in the Inner Kingdom of Velmora...**
"Speak plainly, Naerys."
Lady Naerys, cloaked in white runes and silver charms, stepped into the royal chamber. Her violet eyes glowed faintly in the dark. King Maren sat alone now, the throne room silent.
"The curse was never meant to be stable," she said. "You bound a forgotten god's sigil to your son's blood. It was never going to sleep quietly."
"You promised containment."
She shook her head. "I promised exile. Not ignorance."
Maren stood slowly, placing a hand on the sword of the throne's side.
"Then what now?"
"The blade has awakened. If Kael reaches it, the god within will stir. And your second son will never hold the throne."
Maren's voice was bitter. "He already holds it."
Naerys smiled faintly. "In name. But not in fate."
---
**Back in the valley, Kael descended.**
The air thickened with each step. Darkness clung to the canyon walls. The shard in his hand grew warmer, humming now with urgency. He followed the pull until he stood before a sealed gate of obsidian stone, covered in glowing runes he didn't understand.
A figure waited there.
It was not the robed stranger from before — this one was younger, armored in black and silver, a helm under one arm, a long spear in the other.
"Kael Draeven," the warrior said, his voice metallic.
Kael's eyes narrowed. "Who are you?"
The man bowed slightly. "Guardian of the Blade. Last of the Dawnbound. My name is Thalen."
Thalen's appearance was striking. Jet-black hair tied back in a warrior's knot, amber eyes that flickered like fire, and a long scar across his jaw that looked more like a mark of survival than shame.
"You came because it called," Thalen said. "But the blade does not belong to the untested."
Kael gritted his teeth. "I didn't come for trials. I came for answers."
Thalen stepped aside, gesturing to the sealed gate. "Then earn them."
The moment Kael approached, the shard glowed so bright it forced him to shield his eyes. The gate responded with a deep chime, and the stone cracked open.
Beyond it lay a stairway descending into shimmering darkness.
Kael glanced at Thalen one last time.
"Should I trust you?"
Thalen gave a half-smile. "No. But you should trust the blade."
Kael stepped forward.
And the gate closed behind him.
---
**Interlude: The Whispering Forge**
Deep within the earth, the Blade of Thorns stirred.
Chains of celestial iron groaned as the weapon pulsed in its tomb, reacting to Kael's blood. Spirits bound to the forge hissed and flickered like dying flames.
He had arrived.
The forge began to hum.
And the curse within Kael flared in response, ready for what was to come.