Prologue
In the heart of the Dreadwood, where the trees writhed like twisted fingers reaching for the sky, a pale mist clung to the ground, concealing the sins of the past. The air hummed with a strange energy, a palpable tension that thickened as the Crimson Hour approached. Caelan Drakemore crouched low in the underbrush, his heart pounding in rhythm with the distant drums of war. He could smell the smoke on the wind, a reminder of the chaos that had turned his once-proud name to ash.
The blue flames of the Gravewood flickered ominously, casting ghostly shadows on the forest floor. With each crack of a branch and rustle of leaves, the memories clawed at his mind—memories of his family, the laughter echoing through the halls of Drakemore Keep, now silenced forever. The treachery that had befallen them was a wound that never healed, and tonight, he would seek vengeance.
