Kael raised his fist again. The storm he unleashed wasn't just a storm of magic—it was a storm of memories, pain, and a rage too long buried beneath his skin.
He couldn't stop himself now.
Not after everything.
Not after the torment.
Not after Tilly's knife had carved more than just his flesh.
Kael's fist flew forward like a comet—a blow laced with vengeance, power, and the raw scream of a soul unmoored.
He wanted Tilly gone. Erased.
The ground cracked beneath his feet. The air shattered in a sonic boom. His soul poured into the strike like a dam collapsing under floodwater.
And then—
"Kael!!"
That voice—
His mind stuttered.
The chaos didn't.
In the fraction of a second it took his senses to catch up with the world, someone threw themselves between him and Tilly.
A flash of silver. The gleam of steel. A thud like a mountain colliding with a fortress wall.
Virelle.
Kael's eyes widened in a mixture of disbelief and horror as his blow collided not with flesh, not with Tilly's broken sneer, but with a shield—a massive one, carved with unfamiliar symbols glowing faintly blue. Virelle had planted it like a wall between them, her body crouched behind it, braced like a seasoned warrior.
Virelle's voice pierced through the thunder. "Kael! Kael, stop! It's me!"
But Kael was drowning—drowning in a storm of hatred, grief, and power far beyond his years. His eyes, glowing faintly with wild energy, locked onto her, but they were clouded. It was as if he were watching her through a shattered mirror—he recognized the image, but couldn't reach it.
He wanted to stop.
He tried to stop.
But his body was no longer listening. His punch—no, his will—had already been thrown. The attack was no longer his to call back.
BOOM!
The earth quaked as the full wrath of Kael's attack smashed into Virelle's shield. The once-proud relic—a defensive artifact inherited from generations of guardians—cracked like brittle glass under a tidal wave. Deep, jagged fractures raced along its surface, humming with an eerie glow before—
CRASH!!!
The shield exploded.
Shards of reinforced steel and mystic alloy burst outwards like deadly petals. Virelle's instincts took over. She abandoned her stance just in time, letting the force of the impact hurl her backward. Her only thought now: Survive.
The air screamed as she was launched across the clearing—colliding directly with the unconscious body of Tilly. Together, they sailed through the air like ragdolls until gravity claimed them, and they hit the ground in a violent tumble. Dust and debris billowed around them.
Silence.
For the first time since the chaos began—true silence.
Kael stood frozen, his arm still extended, but his eyes wide with shock. The moment Virelle disappeared from view in that violent spiral, something inside him cracked—not with rage, but with horror.
And that horror became a flood that drowned the fire of his anger.
The swirling storm of energy around him dispersed instantly, like mist fleeing the morning sun. The air settled. The glow in his eyes died out. The cracks on the earth stopped spreading. The light bleeding from the fissures vanished.
Then came the price.
Kael staggered. His limbs felt like they were made of lead. His skin was cold, slick with sweat. The pulse of power that had coursed through him mere moments ago had vanished, leaving a vacuum so sharp it felt like pain.
He tried to speak.
Nothing.
He tried to breathe.
The air wouldn't come.
And then—with a dull thud—his body hit the ground. His eyes rolled back. His consciousness faded like the final flicker of a dying flame.
Darkness took him.
---
Kael gasped.
His eyes snapped open.
Sweat drenched his forehead. His breathing came in ragged gulps, as if he had just surfaced from drowning. The echoes of that dream—that same cursed dream—clung to his mind like oil on water.
He had seen her again.
His mother.
Falling.
Her pale, blood-streaked face turning toward him with eyes that wept crimson. Her mouth moved, whispering something inaudible—his name perhaps. Her trembling hand had reached for him—
And then… the roar.
It wasn't from the fiend his father was battling.
It wasn't human.
It wasn't anything Kael could identify.
And it hadn't been part of the dream before.
Still trembling, Kael sat up with a gasp, a wince twisting his face as the pain hit—like hammers pounding into his skull and lead weighing down his bones.
His chest rose and fell sharply.
His eyes darted around.
He was lying on a straw-filled cot in a wooden room dimly lit by rays of the evening sun piercing through a shuttered window. The scent of dried herbs and burning incense hung in the air.
"Kael?" a gentle voice called.
He turned toward the sound—and there was Saria, seated quietly beside him. Her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her robe, but her eyes—wide with worry—never left his face.
"You're awake," she whispered, relief softening her voice.
Before he could speak, the door creaked open.
Virelle entered—no longer clad in armor, but in her familiar dark green tunic. Her face, usually calm and composed, now bore the weight of fatigue and concern. In her hands was a small bowl of steaming soup.
She came to his side, set the bowl on the table, and crouched, inspecting him with motherly scrutiny. "How's your head?" she asked, placing her palm gently on his forehead.
Kael blinked. Her touch was warm, steady. It brought him back.
The soup's aroma crept into his senses—earthy herbs, spiced roots, and broth simmered with care. His stomach growled in protest. Wordlessly, he took the bowl and drank slowly, each mouthful soothing the pulsing pain behind his eyes.
But the calm didn't last.
The moment the bowl was empty and her hand remained on his forehead, it struck him—the memory.
The crackling shield.
Her voice.
The exploding air.
She stood in front of me.
Kael's grip shot up—he caught Virelle's hand mid-motion.
His eyes, now wide with horror and confusion, locked onto hers.
"Why?" His voice was hoarse. "Why did you block it?"
She froze.
"What happened? What about Tilly?" he asked, voice rising slightly. "What about the others?!"
Saria moved to speak but stopped, giving space.
Virelle met his gaze. "Kael…"
Her voice was steady—but there was a tremor beneath the surface, a wave of unspoken emotion struggling to remain contained.
"You lost control," she said. "Whatever that power was… you weren't yourself. Tilly's boys were already down, but you… you were going to kill him. I couldn't let you go that far. Not like that. Not again."
Kael's heart sank at her words, especially the last two—Not again.
Virelle gently pulled her hand free and sat beside him.
"Tilly is alive," she continued. "Shaken. Injured. Most of his gang will need a week in bed—some broken bones, a few ruptured ribs, but they'll survive. You did worse damage than any grown man could've done, Kael… and that's what scares me."
She paused, then added, "What happened in that moment… that wasn't just anger. That was something else."
Kael looked down at his trembling hands—hands that had once only known farming tools and stone walls.
Now they felt… wrong.
"What did I become?" he whispered.