"Get dressed and meet me in the hall," Thorne said, turning and leaving the room.
Kael stared at the gauntlet for a moment, then sighed and picked up the scroll. He tried to open it—but something resisted. His brow furrowed.
He gritted his teeth and applied more strength. Still nothing. He pulled harder, muscles tensing—but the scroll refused to budge.
With a frustrated breath, Kael dropped the scroll and wiped imaginary sweat from his brow. It looked ordinary… but he knew better.
With a mutter, he picked up the clothes and began dressing. At least the clothes are normal, he thought.
In the mirror provided by Thorne, Kael saw himself clad in a high-collared martial coat of deep obsidian black. Subtle violet patterns shimmered across its surface like veins of trapped lightning. The coat hugged his chest and shoulders, then flared slightly at the waist. Ornate glyphs—some embroidered, some scorched—ran along the sleeves in spiraling marks.
His forearms were bound with dark bandages around arm guards, and a sash of bruised violet hung from his waist. Loose but practical pants, traced with faint glowing seams, were tucked into high boots veined with dim purple sigils.
The sigils pulsed briefly, then faded, leaving the outfit looking mostly black—save for the sash.
"I do look good," he muttered. "Bit dark though."
He stretched, testing the flexibility. "Comfortable. And I'm sure the runes have a purpose."
With one last glance at the gauntlet—still untouched—Kael grabbed the stubborn scroll and stepped out.
---
Thorne was seated beside a weapons rack in the hall. Across from him, Nyric inspected a katana.
"Nyric?" Kael blinked. He hadn't seen the man in over a month. At first, Nyric had checked in often—then vanished without warning.
Nyric turned, whistling. "Hey, kiddo."
He grinned. "Looking sharp. The black suits you."
Then, glancing sideways at Thorne, he added, "Bit bland though. Wonder who your tailor was."
"Shut up," Thorne muttered softly.
Nyric stiffened. "Chills," he murmured.
"I think so too," Kael added, making Thorne's hand twitch slightly.
"But it's comfortable." Kael stretched again, then nodded toward Nyric. "Good to see you. Where've you been?"
"Not all of us are training junkies," Nyric said, smirking. "Had business. The world won't save itself, you know."
"Right," Kael said, rolling his eyes.
Nyric's brow twitched. He opened his mouth to respond—but closed it again at Thorne's warning glance.
Kael raised the scroll. "Why can't I open this?"
"It's sealed," Thorne said. "No one can open it until the right time… or until you find the right person."
"What does that mean?" Nyric asked.
Thorne tilted his head, then shrugged. "I don't know. But you'll know. That's all I can say."
"You didn't take the gauntlet," he added, voice suddenly serious.
"I don't want it," Kael said instantly.
Thorne smiled faintly. "Don't be so sure."
"I am sure." Kael looked down at his clenched fist. "I want strength—I just don't need something like that."
Thorne chuckled. "That's a choice. As long as it's yours, that's what matters."
He pointed at Nyric. "He'll take you to the capital of Ashspire."
"It would've been ideal to let you go alone," he continued, "but you don't know the way. Once you arrive, he'll leave. You'll be on your own from there."
"The capital has many paths to strength. Find yours." Thorne tossed a small ring to Kael. "Another trinket. A drop of your blood will bind it to you. After that, just think—and it'll respond."
Kael caught the ring. Without hesitation, he bit his finger and let a drop of blood fall onto it.
The ring pulsed—and knowledge surged into his mind.
His eyes widened.
It was a storage ring.
The internal space stretched across twenty-seven cuboid chambers, side by side and stacked vertically. Four were already filled:
—One held stacks of currency.
—Another contained ten martial essence crystals and some weapons.
—A third housed vials of green potion—healing draughts.
—The fourth stored clothes and several skill scrolls.
By willing it, he could retrieve or store items. No living beings could enter—but once bonded, it recognized only him. Not even death would change that—unless under rare, special conditions.
"I see you like it," Thorne said, smiling.
Kael nodded slowly, still exploring its contents.
Nyric leaned over to get a look. "Is that…?"
"Yes," Thorne answered. "A storage item."
Nyric just stared. Those weren't rare—but they were expensive. Then again, this monster probably made them in his sleep.
What he didn't realize was that Kael's ring, unlike the gaudy ones given by high clans, looked plain.But it had as much features and space as those, it looked ordinary. But it was completely unstealable.
"If you get him to the capital," Thorne continued, "this will unlock." He tossed Nyric a second ring. "Your payment is in there."
"And don't try anything funny."
Nyric caught the ring, grinning nervously. "Of course not," he said, inspecting it.
"The tattoo will disappear when the job is done," Thorne added.
Nyric glanced at the mark on his wrist. Finally. No more creepy brand. He grinned.
Then Thorne gave him a side-eye, and Nyric's hands shot up in surrender. "Alright, alright—I heard you."
"Try anything and… well." Thorne didn't finish the sentence. He just smiled.
---
As they stepped outside, the sky over the mountain had begun to darken—veined with threads of crimson like a wound across the heavens.
Kael tightened the sash at his waist, and adjusted his ring.
He glanced once more at Nephroth's palm, barely visible through the thick mist.
He smiled as he remembered Thorne's parting words:
"Don't dare come back here, unless the fate of the world depends on it and you can beat the snake out there."
But for now, the road to Ashspire awaited. And so did everything that would try to break him along the way.