Chapter4: They Masked General
1529 Words
The sun bled red through the clouds that rolled over the eastern steppes like silent witnesses to the chaos brewing below. In a wind-swept canyon nestled between two craggy mountains, a formation of Dominion soldiers stood like statues—rows upon rows of armored figures with crimson cloaks fluttering like bloodied banners.
At their helm stood the one they all feared, even among themselves—the Masked General.
No one knew his true name. Only that he had risen from the Dominion’s black ranks like smoke from a dying city. His face was always hidden behind an angular, metallic mask shaped like a raven’s beak. It distorted his voice, made it echo with mechanical precision and cruelty. Some whispered he was more construct than man—an abomination forged in the Citadel’s deepest vaults. Others said he was once Kaelin’s pupil, twisted by betrayal and time.
He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, facing the canyon mouth, as a soldier approached and knelt.
“They confirmed it, General,” the soldier reported, keeping his gaze to the dust. “The one in grey… it was him. The boy, Ren, survived. We lost the pursuit force. All of them.”
The General tilted his head slightly, considering the news. “All of them?”
“Yes, General. The bodies were… unrecognizable. Burned. The rocks themselves melted.”
A long silence.
Then, the General turned his back and walked toward the obsidian-coated transport vessel parked nearby. “Then it is true. The Master lives.”
The soldier dared raise his head slightly. “Shall we send for the Aether Division?”
“No. That would alert the Court. Not yet.” The General paused at the edge of the ramp. “Send ravens to every outpost south of Variss. I want the old forests burned. I want villages swept clean. If he is reborn, he will seek sanctuary in memory.”
He turned his masked face toward the soldier one last time. “And memories must be erased.
The Forest of Shards
Far to the south, hidden beneath the canopy of a forest untouched by war for a decade, Kaelin sat by a fire beside Ren, sharpening a thin-bladed dagger. Sparks hissed into the cool air as stone met steel. Ren watched silently, curled in his blanket, eyes wide and restless.
“I didn’t know they’d follow us that far,” Ren finally muttered. “I thought… I thought we were safe.”
Kaelin didn’t stop sharpening. “Safety is a story people tell children to help them sleep. There is no safety, only survival.”
“You don’t talk like a monk.”
“I’m not a monk.”
That silenced the boy. He glanced at the edge of the clearing where the bodies of two slain Dominion scouts lay hidden beneath brush and shadow. He hadn’t seen Kaelin kill them. One moment they were alive—arrogant and cruel—the next, gone. Not a drop of blood spilled. No scream. Just the smell of ozone, and silence.
Ren lowered his head. “I don’t want to be a killer.”
Kaelin finally stopped sharpening. He looked up, meeting the boy’s eyes. “Then don’t. But you’ll have to learn to fight, regardless. Because killers don’t ask for your consent.”
A sudden gust of wind swept through the trees, lifting Kaelin’s grey cloak like ghost wings. He stood, sensing something beyond the firelight.
“Pack your things,” he said.
Ren blinked. “What? Why?”
“They’re moving faster than I expected. We have to go.”
The boy didn’t argue. He jumped up, gathering his worn satchel and the carved wooden flute Kaelin had given him days earlier. He didn’t know why the Master had given it to him. It made no sound when he played it—only silence. But Kaelin insisted he keep it close.
They were about to slip into the trees when Kaelin froze. His hand went to the hilt of his sword.
Ren followed his gaze and saw it—a shimmer in the air ahead. Like a mirage, but colder. Then it stepped into view: a woman in Dominion black, her face tattooed with silver runes, her eyes glowing violet.
“Aether Division,” Kaelin murmured. “Damn it.”
The woman raised a hand, and the air twisted. Reality bent.
Kaelin shoved Ren aside just as a bolt of light struck the spot where they’d stood.
The Duel of Will
Kaelin surged forward, blade unsheathing in a silver arc. The woman in black smiled.
Their swords met with a clash of force and energy that shattered branches overhead. Ren stumbled backward, eyes wide. It wasn’t just swordplay—it was something more. Their movements bent the forest around them. Trees twisted. Leaves shriveled. The ground cracked beneath their feet.
The Aether Knight was fast. Unnatural. Her body glided as though gravity was optional. But Kaelin’s style was older—rooted in balance and breath. He flowed like water, struck like thunder. For every illusion she cast, he dispelled it with focus and form.
“You’ve aged, Master,” she hissed, breaking the deadlock. “You were sharper in the war.”
“And you were slower,” Kaelin replied.
They clashed again. Sparks erupted as their blades met—steel and aether grinding like rival gods.
From the shadows, Ren watched, trembling. He didn’t understand how Kaelin moved like that, or how he kept his focus so calm. He could barely see what was happening—it was as if time slowed for them alone.
Suddenly, Kaelin disarmed her.
In a flash, his sword was at her throat.
She froze.
“Kill me, then,” she spat. “You always do.”
Kaelin didn’t strike. Instead, he stepped back.
“No,” he said. “Let them see you live—and fail.”
Her eyes widened in shock.
Then Kaelin moved. In a blur, he grabbed Ren, and they vanished into the forest, leaving only silence and stunned humiliation behind.
The Whispering Hall
Three days later, the halls of the Crimson Citadel echoed with whispers. Murmurs passed from one gilded corridor to the next.
The Aether Knight had returned… alive. Defeated.
The Masked General stood in the center of the War Chamber, hands folded behind his back as she knelt.
“I failed,” she said.
“You survived,” he replied.
“She didn’t strike to kill. I—”
“You weren’t meant to kill her,” the General interrupted. “You were meant to slow him.”
A pause.
“He’s heading west. Toward the ruins of Kael’Reth.”
The General nodded. “Let him.”
“What?” she blinked. “But the archives—”
“Are gone,” the General cut in. “The ashes of Kael’Reth hold nothing but ghosts. Let him speak to them. Let him think he’s safe. We’ll tighten the noose when he sleeps.”
He turned toward a burning map on the wall. The western territories flickered under crimson light.
“We lost the war once,” the General whispered. “I will not lose it again.
In the Ruins of Kael’Reth
The ancient city was nothing but stone bones now. Towering spires lay shattered. The great reflecting pools were dry. Statues of long-dead Masters lay face down in the dirt.
Kaelin walked in silence, Ren beside him. The boy’s eyes darted from one broken archway to another.
“This place… it feels wrong,” Ren whispered.
“It was once beautiful,” Kaelin said. “A place of learning. Of peace.”
“What happened?”
Kaelin paused before a toppled obelisk.
“I happened.”
He crouched beside a circular dais, placing his hand on the runes carved into its surface. The stone pulsed faintly beneath his palm. A flicker of light danced across it.
A voice echoed in the wind—not words, but memories. Laughter. Screams. The clash of steel. The shattering of trust.
“Was this your home?” Ren asked.
Kaelin stood slowly. “No. It was my failure.”
Ren didn’t know what to say. But then, he noticed something—an old mural partially intact along the wall. It depicted a group of five figures standing atop a mountain, holding blades of flame and lightning. One of them… looked like Kaelin.
“Is that you?”
Kaelin nodded once.
“And the others?”
“Dead. Or worse.”
Ren stared at the mural a moment longer, then lowered his voice. “Do you think… the people still remember what you were before? What you tried to do?”
Kaelin sighed.
“They remember the wrong things. That I lost. That I broke the world. But they never ask why.”
A long silence followed.
Then Ren spoke, his voice quieter than ever. “So what are we going to do?”
Kaelin turned to face him. The wind lifted his cloak, revealing the silver sigil burned into his chest—an old mark of the High Masters.
“We’re going to remind them,” he said.
- Writer
