The wind howled across the jagged ridge as Kael stood just beyond the shadow of the Howling Cysts, the sky beginning to bleed hues of orange and blood-red with the dying day. His cloak fluttered behind him, boots crunching against cracked stone. Beside him loomed a towering figure—silent, monstrous, regal in its decay.

  The Mourning Knight.

  His first true conquest. And now… his elite summon.

  Kael glanced at the Gravetongue Sigil resting coldly against his chest. He touched it lightly. The soulmetal shimmered.

  “Let’s see if this works.”

  He looked up at the armored revenant and spoke, his voice steady. “Can you hear me?”

  The knight’s head turned toward him slowly—bone creaked, joints groaned—and for the first time, it answered.

  “Yes.”

  The voice was deep and layered, like metal dragged across stone. But it was not mindless.

  It was aware.

  Kael’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not just some husk.”

  “No,” the knight rumbled. “I was born Seradin, once of Hollowspire. A guardian in life. A prisoner in death. You… are different. Your leash burns clean. I remember the chain, but not the weight.”

  Kael blinked. A name. A memory. An identity.

  “I didn’t think anything would be left of you. Not after what you were.”

  Seradin’s head dipped, gaze unreadable through the fractured bone-crown. “The curse twisted me. The blade spoke lies. But your will is… sharper.”

  Kael grinned faintly. “Good. I need something sharp.”

  He lifted his hand, summoning the System Window, now locked onto his summon.

  [Summoned Minion: Seradin, the Mourning Knight]

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  Type: Elite Undead – Bound Soul

  Level: 5

  Rank: Elite (Evolvable)

  Status: Controlled – Soulbound to Kael Vire

  Health: 950

  Armor: Bone-Fused Plating (High Physical Resistance)

  Abilities:

  –   Graveblade Cleave – Sweeping slash that causes bleeding and fear.

  –   Cage of Remorse – Briefly traps enemies in a spectral bone prison.

  –   Deathless March – Increased speed and defense when HP drops below 30%.

  Traits:

  –   Retains combat memory from life.

  –   Resistant to mind control, light magic, and holy incantations.

  –   Capable of evolving upon major victories or infused rituals.

  Kael dismissed the window with a spark of satisfaction.

  “You’ll do just fine.”

  Seradin remained still, watching him, like a loyal war hound carved from sorrow and steel.

  Their journey toward Crimson Hollow began at dusk.

  They passed through winding lowland trails, where fog crept like spider-silk through the trees and will-o’-wisps danced among the roots. Small hamlets dotted the land below Duskar Cradle, their people wary of strangers, especially Drakenborne. Doors closed at Kael’s passing, shutters locked tight. He ignored them.

  The Grimoire whispered softly along the way, feeding him idle facts—old runes etched into rocks, forgotten wards, remnants of skirmishes between necromancers and priests. Kael drank it all in like wine.

  As night fell, they came to a place where the earth had been ripped apart.

  A scar in the land, wide and yawning.

  And in its center: a smooth, polished stone arch leading nowhere. No building. No cave.

  Just red mist… and a door.

  The Crimson Hollow.

  The door was tall, made from petrified bone and fused crimson crystal. It pulsed faintly, like a sleeping heart, sealed with runes that bled glowing blood down its sides.

  Kael approached, hand resting on the Gravetongue Sigil.

  Behind him, Seradin stood like a silent executioner.

  The sigils across the door began to flicker as he neared.

  The Hollow Grimoire quivered, excited.

  Kael smiled.

  “Let’s see what bleeds behind the Crimson Door.”