Veil of the Forgotten

  After parting ways with the old man, Ashwat made his way to the city quarters, urgency driving every step. His mind was clouded with exhaustion, but the memory of what he had seen outside the mine left no room for rest. He headed straight for the artisan's quarter, knowing Uvaan often frequented the scribes and traders there. By chance—or fate—they crossed paths in a narrow street just beyond the square. Uvaan was visibly surprised by Ashwat's sudden appearance. The two had not spoken in weeks, and it wasn't like Ashwat to travel without cause, much less show up unannounced. Without pressing him in public, Uvaan guided him toward a nearby inn. They settled into a secluded booth, the air heavy with the scent of roasted meat and old parchment. Over a shared meal—the first proper one Ashwat had had in days—he finally began to speak. His voice was hushed, almost reverent, as he recounted the events outside the mine. He spoke of the monstrous rider, cloaked in flame, and the s...

  A week had passed since Ashwat's harrowing experience near the mine, and he had spent nearly all of it secluded in the dim silence of his basement. The once-proud swordsmith, whose steady hands had crafted blades for the town's finest guards, had withdrawn into himself, vanishing from the streets where his presence had once been a reassuring constant. Ashwat had no family in the town—no wife or siblings, no aging parents to keep him tethered to the world above. His solitude, once a matter of preference, had become a prison. The townsfolk, fond of him as they were, grew increasingly uneasy. Whispers filled the market stalls and tavern corners. Concerned citizens knocked at his door, but none received a response. Curtains remained drawn, the forge cold and silent. Meanwhile, the deadline for the massive weapons order loomed ever closer. Yet the forge remained untouched, and Ashwat hadn't so much as lifted a hammer since the day he stumbled upon that infernal vision outside ...

  A year had passed since the mysterious disappearance of Muztek—the rebel leader who had defeated the tyrant king and freed the capital from decades of oppression. With his vanishing, life seemed to drift back to a quiet normalcy, albeit under the shadow of a new force known only as Haznek. Their emergence had been sudden and absolute. Little was known of their origins, and even less of their leadership. Yet, they had assumed full control over the capital, and without any overt signs of tyranny or malice, the general populace slowly allowed themselves to exhale. But beneath that fragile peace, unease lingered. In a modest town on the outskirts of the capital, a young man named Ashwat led a humble yet respected life. Standing six feet tall, with olive-toned skin and a mane of lustrous black hair, he was known to all as the town's swordsmith. Each clang of his hammer echoed through the alleyways, shaping blades that would eventually find their way into the hands of the town's gu...

"Strike thy blow, O usurper—but know this: with my blood, thou shalt awaken a darkness no sword may slay." These were the final words uttered by the last king of the Mahava Dynasty as the rebel leader Muztek drove a spear through his chest. With his death, a thousand-year reign—one that had transformed a nameless hamlet into a sprawling, globe-spanning empire—was brought to a brutal end. The people, weary of the king's tyranny and decadence, rejoiced at the fall of the once-revered line. But not all shared in the revelry. Loyalists to the crown—nobles, soldiers, and commoners alike—mourned the king's demise, clinging to the legacy of a kingdom that once stood for order, glory, and conquest. Their grief, however, was short-lived. Muztek's forces scoured the land, hunting down every last sympathizer. The king's remaining supporters were rooted out, silenced, and either buried in shallow graves or burned atop pyres, their loyalty reduced to ash. With the empire s...

  In the wake of a fallen empire, a darker force awakens. When rebel hero Muztek ends a tyrant's reign, the world rejoices-until he vanishes without a trace. From the shadows, a nameless order known as the Haznek rises, seizing the fractured capital with silent terror. As ancient powers stir beneath the ruins of the Mahava Dynasty, whispers of blood rites and forgotten darkness echo across the land. In a realm still scarred by war, one young swordsmith stumbles upon a secret that could reshape the fate of the world. Because some empires burn... ...but their shadows never die.