Kael woke with a start, the echo of shadowed hands still gripping his chest. The training chamber was quiet, but the weight in his Core lingered—a cold fracture, subtle but unyielding.
Sarai sat nearby, eyes sharp but patient. "The Chains mark you now. It's not just power you wield—it's your soul. And right now, it's cracked."
He swallowed hard, staring at the faint glow where the bronze chain once thrummed in his hand. "Can it be fixed?"
She nodded slowly. "But it takes time, and honesty. You'll need to face everything you've buried—your fears, your regrets, the truths you hide even from yourself."
Kael clenched his fists, the memories flooding back: Aria's waiting eyes, the broken promises, the guilt he'd buried beneath survival's weight. This was more than just training—it was reckoning.
"Where do I start?"
"Inside," Sarai replied. "The Core responds to intent, yes—but intent means nothing without understanding. You have to know yourself, Kael. Every fracture, every shadow, every unspoken truth."
The chamber shifted again, this time to a quieter place: the ruins of the orphanage. Not the place of pain, but the place of beginnings—soft snow falling, wind whispering through hollow walls.
Kael knelt, letting the cold seep in. He whispered Aria's name, the word breaking through years of silence.
And for the first time, the fracture in his Core pulsed—not with pain, but with tentative warmth.
Sarai's voice came close. "Healing isn't forgetting. It's embracing. Only then can your Chains become stronger than your fears."
Kael looked up, resolve hardening. "Then I'll face everything."
Because true strength wasn't in hiding pain. It was in letting it bind him—like the Chains—into something unbreakable.