Lord of the Foresaken

Smoke still clung to Reed’s skin when he emerged from the war-cave.

The transformation had taken hours. When it ended, he stood hunched, blood-soaked, half-naked, breathing like an animal fresh from the kill. His veins no longer pulsed—they glowed. The runes under his skin had grown. His pupils were vertical slits.

Goblins shrank back when they saw him.

Shia didn’t.

"You survived," she said.

He looked at her—eyes flickering like emerald flames.

"No," Reed replied. "I evolved."

The resources taken from Feyroot—grain sacks, barrels of oil, stolen tools—were more than loot. They were catalysts.

Reed stood before the goblin masses, Thornblade sheathed at his side.

"We build," he commanded. "We grow. We make the Hollow something the nobles fear."

Then he opened the System Interface.