Return Of Reckoning May 2026

Kaelen counted the chimes. Seven. The number of Nurgle. The number of years the mist had held.

He should have died. Instead, he clawed free three days later, half-blind, raving, his axe notched beyond repair. The dwarfs of Karak Kadrin had given him a new axe and a new name: Drengbarazi —the living dead.

“Aye.” Kaelen hefted his axe. The rune on its blade glowed faintly, a dying ember refusing to go dark. “But it is our execution. We choose the ground. We choose the moment. That is the return of reckoning, knight. Not waiting for a savior. Becoming one.” return of reckoning

The Witch Hunter, a gaunt woman named Elsbeth, did not raise her voice. She never did. “The High Elves withdrew to the Isle of the Dead. The Empire has its own wounds to bind. You have what you have, Sir Roland.”

Either way, the reckoning was coming home. Kaelen counted the chimes

“Then we are already lost.”

Sir Roland sheathed his sword. “Twenty against a Daemon Prince of Nurgle? Those are not odds. That is an execution.” The number of years the mist had held

The mist curled around them as the three walked toward the war council. Somewhere in the darkness beyond the gate, a bell tolled—slow, wet, wrong.