I never wanted power. I just wanted answers.

I was translating ruins in the Ashen Wastes when the stone floor gave way. Beneath it lay the Gauntlet—jagged crystal fused with bone—and it moved toward me. Before I could react, it latched onto my hand, piercing skin, rewriting flesh.

Now, the dead won’t leave me alone.

They call me the Reclaimer. They say I’m the last blood of General Theron, the man who doomed Vaelthar. They want me to restore the empire. Tonight, the first vision came in full: ranks of armored wraiths rising from cracked earth, cities rebuilt on fire, and me—crowned in shadow, commanding it all.

But I saw the cost too: burning villages, friends turned to ash, my hands drenched in blood that wasn’t mine.

The gauntlet pulses under my sleeve, warm and hungry. It’s waiting for my decision.

Do I build alliances with those who fear me? Do I awaken the ancient army and start the war they crave? Or do I run—disappear into the wilds and spend my life hiding from the ghosts in my head?