The scent of scorched earth lingered behind him, smoke dancing into the early morning wind like a fading whisper of judgment. Kael Vorrin moved with precision, not speed—each footfall pressed against damp soil as though testing the world's response to his presence. The slaver corpses behind him had offered no meaningful resistance, nor had their deaths stirred satisfaction. Only silence. Only ash.
His farewell to Mera had been brief, etched into a piece of paper.
There were no illusions now. The village had always been a cage masquerading as safety, and the world beyond the treeline offered something crueler—but honest.
As Kael pressed deeper into the woods, a trail began to form. Not one of footprints, but of chaos. Snapped branches, faint blood spatters, discarded shackles—the kind only used for nonhumans.
He crouched beside a split root, where a small handprint was half-smeared in mud. A child's. The fingers had trembled, slipping as they tried to push upward. Desperation, not strength.
Kael narrowed his eyes.
They passed through here not more than an hour ago.
And among them—someone else. Someone older. Not one of the slavers. Not human either.
His pulse slowed.
A shift in scent. A faint chemical bitterness on the wind. Burnt oil and hot iron. There were more of them. And someone…running.
Selene: The Caged Storm
Perspective Shift – Selene
She ran.
Not for freedom. Not for hope. Those had died months ago—killed in cages with names she didn't remember.
Selene ran because she refused to kneel. Again.
Her lungs burned with every breath. Her silver-white hair, tangled with dried leaves, clung to her sweat-slicked back. A slaver's chain still hung from her wrist, broken at the joint, the iron biting into skin where her body had tried—and failed—to heal.
They had captured her for her bloodline, or what remained of it. A hybrid. The kind noble houses paid extra for. Not because they wanted her, but because they wanted her tamed. She had bitten the last one who tried.
Behind her, shouts rose.
"Get the girl! She's worth more than the rest!"
Selene ducked low and slid under a cluster of exposed roots, mud coating her arms and face. Her pale eyes shimmered faintly in the shadow, glowing silver where the light kissed them.
Keep moving.
She had almost reached the second ridge. If she could just—
Her foot caught on a buried root.
She fell hard. A crack. Pain burst in her ankle.
"No—no, no, no—"
She tried to rise, but her leg gave way. Breath caught in her throat. The woods were silent again. Too silent.
She reached for the jagged metal shard she kept tucked in her makeshift belt. If this was where she died, she wouldn't let them have her alive.
Then—
Snap.
A branch broke nearby.
Not heavy enough for a slaver. Too deliberate.
She twisted to look—
And saw him.
Section III – The Moment They Met
Kael stood still, just beyond the curtain of vines. His shadow cut long lines across the moss. His eyes locked on hers, not with pity or disgust, but something colder.
Calculation.
Selene's hand tightened on the shard. "You gonna stare or help?"
Kael stepped forward, silent.
Her breath hitched. She expected chains or mockery, maybe even a weapon. What she got was a brief glance at her ankle, followed by Kael kneeling beside her.
"You're not one of them," he said, almost disappointed.
"Good eye," she muttered. "Now unless you plan on dragging me back, step aside."
He didn't move. "I've killed three patrols this morning. You were with the second?"
"I escaped," she said quickly. "They were going to—"
"I know," Kael cut in. "They always do."
Selene stared at him now. There was something…wrong about him. Not in his eyes, but beneath them. Like a fire covered in glass—still burning, but unseen. She didn't trust him.
But she hated the slavers more.
Kael looked around, then back at her. "I'm going to break the rest. Stay quiet."
"You… what?"
He was already gone.
The camp was well-guarded. Hidden in a sunken basin, with makeshift fences of jagged scrap and two wooden towers manned by crossbowmen. Inside were three large tents—one for holding prisoners, one for supplies, and one for the handlers.
Kael didn't attack at once. He waited. Observed. Counted.
Ten men. Two dogs. One Forgemaster.
That last one was important.
The Forgemaster was no ordinary slaver. He carried a massive hammer across his back and wore a long leather apron stained with black soot and blood. Around his neck hung a chain of teeth—some human, some not.
Kael waited until twilight.
Then he moved.
Silent. Precise. No warning.
The first crossbowman never saw the blade that pierced his throat. The second died with his mouth open, gurgling on his own cry. Within moments, Kael dropped into the basin like a phantom.
By the time the alarm rose, four men were already dead.
The Forgemaster emerged from the central tent, dragging a warped axe, a grin splitting his charcoal-stained face.
"I was wondering when they'd send someone."
Kael didn't answer. He simply stepped forward.
"You think killing me'll stop the trade?" the man spat. "Boy, I've broken men stronger than you—"
He stopped.
Kael's eyes had begun to change.
Something ancient stirred behind them. Something hungry.
"You're not here to rescue anyone," the Forgemaster said slowly.
Kael tilted his head. "No. I'm here for you."
The fight was brutal.
The Forgemaster had been Enhanced—a rank above most soldiers. His strikes could dent steel. His bones had been reinforced through years of alchemical rituals.
But it didn't matter.
Kael devoured him.
Not just his body, but his essence. The man's forging ability—his knowledge of breaking natural abilities and re-shaping them into weapons—poured into Kael's mind like molten metal.
It was violent. Euphoric. Blinding.
When the light faded, Kael stood alone.
The remaining slavers, disoriented and terrified, fled before his shadow.
He didn't chase them.
Instead, he walked into the tent where the children were held.
The Children
Selene limped alongside Kael, staying near the doorframe. She didn't trust him, but she trusted the silence he carried.
The children inside—ten in total, between five and twelve—were chained to the walls, gagged, and blindfolded. One stirred at Kael's footsteps and whimpered.
Kael stared at them. He remembered the silver-eyed boy. The one who had died in his arms.
That wound hadn't closed.
Selene said nothing as he knelt and began unlocking them one by one, his hands moving gently, as if unsure they still deserved that word.
A small beastling girl clung to his wrist after he freed her.
"Are we going to die?" she asked.
Kael didn't lie.
"Not today."
Section VII – The Ideology Questioned
That night, Kael sat beside the campfire, the children asleep in a wide circle. Selene sat across from him, her eyes flicking between the embers and his expression.
"You didn't kill them all," she finally said.
"I didn't need to," Kael replied.
Selene scoffed. "You're soft."
"No," he said quietly. "I'm efficient."
A silence stretched. Then Kael looked at his hands.
"I've started wondering," he murmured, more to himself than to her. "Why does the world hate strength when it doesn't belong to the right bloodline? Why is devouring called monstrous… but owning people isn't?"
Selene tilted her head. "That's the world we live in."
Kael's voice hardened. "Then the world is wrong."
He stared into the fire, his reflection dancing between the flames.
"If morality is only written by the victors, then I will write my own."