The forest was dying.

  Twilight bled red through the trees as Kael stumbled through the underbrush, his blade slick with the blood of something he couldn’t name. His breaths were ragged, pulse loud in his ears. Whatever had chased him wasn’t natural. Not a beast. Not a demon. Something older.

  Something hungry.

  He tripped. Rolled. Landed hard in a clearing where fog clung to the grass like fingers.

  Behind him, the creature shrieked — a guttural, bone-rattling sound that echoed through the trees.

  Kael turned, gripping his sword tighter.

  But before he could raise it, the shadows split — and the Masked Man stepped out of them.

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  No hesitation. No sound.

  He moved with terrifying grace, sliding between Kael and the beast. In two swift motions — one upward slash, one downward — the creature collapsed, black ichor leaking into the soil.

  Kael froze.

  The man stood over him now, blade dripping, breath calm. The hood covered his face, but Kael could feel those eyes. Watching. Judging.

  And then, for the first time… he spoke.

  “You’re not ready.”

  The voice was gravel, broken by pain. But familiar.

  So familiar it stopped Kael’s heart cold.

  “I… I know you,” Kael whispered. “How do I—?”

  The Masked Man turned away, vanishing again into the fog.

  Kael stood there, trembling. Confused. Shaken.

  And somewhere inside his mind, something clicked—a memory he couldn’t reach.

  That night, Kael dreamt of fire again.

  Only this time, a voice whispered in the flames:

  “You knew me once… before the ash.”

  What’s Kael Recognizing?