Pain returned first.
It came in dull, rhythmic pulses that throbbed through Kaelen's limbs, echoing with every beat of his heart. He tried to move, but his body refused. Too heavy. Too numb. A cold pressure coiled around his wrists and ankles — shackles, etched with runes that hummed with soft, suppressive magic.
A low, metallic hum filled the air. The scent of iron, alchemical smoke, and something fouler — burnt hair, maybe, or cooked flesh — stung his nose.
He opened his eyes.
The world was dim. A ceiling of dark steel and arcane conduits stretched above him. He lay upon a cold slab, stone or metal, strapped tight. His mouth was dry. His skin burned where runes had been etched directly onto his flesh.
Whispers echoed beyond the wall. Voices, speaking in hushed tones.
"He's stable for now. But the readings are inconsistent. He fluctuates between all three fabrics. It's like he doesn't belong to any one law of reality."
"It's because he doesn't," came another voice — older, calm, laced with clinical curiosity. "He's not bound to this world's limits. He is… potential. Raw, untamed. If we succeed, we won't need relics or contracts with Riftborn. He will be the key."
Kaelen's vision blurred again. He fought against the darkness, but it was patient. Still, he memorized that voice — not from rage. From purpose. He'd remember them all. Every one of them who treated him like an object.
Another day. Another test. This time they tried something new — a cube of flickering light suspended above his chest. It pulsed in tandem with his heartbeat. With each pulse, it drew something from him. Energy. Memory. Power.
Then the dreams began.
Visions not of his own mind:
— Oceans of fractured glass reflecting unknown skies.
— Creatures with mouths where eyes should be, reaching from rifts in space.
— A throne of bones suspended in stasis, untouched by time.
And a voice.
Not human. Not kind. But ancient.
"You are tethered to threads they cannot see. Break your bindings, little Weaver. Become the blade."
Kaelen screamed. But not from fear. From the pressure. From the need to move. To break. To become.
It happened without warning.
A surge. Like a dam breaking within his soul.
The cube above him shattered — its pieces suspended mid-air as if time halted. The shackles cracked, then exploded into molten shards. Runes on his skin flared and dissolved. Alarms blared.
Kaelen rose.
He did not flee.
He stood, silent, bare-chested and barefoot. His silver-purple eyes glowed faintly, and the air around him warped ever so slightly. Two guards burst through the door — one raised a flux pike.
Kaelen raised a hand.
The weapon bent. Not broke — bent, like space itself curled around it. The guard screamed. The other charged.
Time slowed.
Kaelen sidestepped. Gently.
The soldier moved like molasses, unaware of the fracture in time. Kaelen reached, touched his helmet — and matter unraveled. The helmet dissolved into dust. So did his arm. The man collapsed.
Kaelen exhaled.
His body hurt. His power wasn't under control. But he was free.
He stepped out of the chamber — and into a larger hallway bathed in flickering red lights. Arcane sigils pulsed across the floor, but they were crude. Imperfect. He walked between them, untouched.
Scientists scattered. One screamed for containment. Another raised a runeblade.
Kaelen barely looked at him. The blade rusted in seconds. The man followed.
He moved through the complex like a ghost of vengeance. Not with fury. With focus.
Then — another presence.
A woman. Older. Elegant. Standing at the end of the hallway. Not armored. Not afraid.
She smiled sadly. "I warned them not to push you."
Kaelen blinked. "Who are you?"
"Someone who believes the world needs a monster to cleanse the rot."
She stepped aside. "Go. But remember this — we are not your only hunters. The Councils have felt your awakening. The Rift stirs because of you."
Kaelen didn't respond. He walked past her.
The facility collapsed behind him in spatial convulsions. The sky above welcomed him with cold stars and howling wind.
Kaelen vanished into the night.
Not as a fugitive.
But as a harbinger.