Smoke on the Horizon
The wind carried the scent of steel, dust, and blood. Kael stood at the edge of a craggy ridge beyond the burned auction grounds, watching smoke trail upward in long, bitter ribbons. The fires had died down, but the silence left behind felt heavier than flame.
He hadn't struck a victory. He'd only torn open a warning.
Selene stepped beside him, her white hair shifting with the wind, expression unreadable. Her wounds had healed, but the hardness in her eyes hadn't. She stood closer now than she had in days.
"They'll retaliate," she said flatly.
Kael didn't look at her. "Good."
"You want them to come?"
"I want them to bleed," he replied.
The old manor creaked with every gust of wind. Varn had led them through forgotten pathways to reach it, a place cloaked in rot and ivy, tucked in the forest's crooked mouth.
The twins were asleep, wrapped in torn wool and each other's arms. Selene sat against the far wall, sharpening a small blade she'd taken off a slaver. Kael watched the fire dance inside the hearth, its heat unable to touch the cold that curled at his bones.
Varn broke the silence.
"You've caused a fracture."
Kael remained still.
"The Crimson Coil will send more. Stronger. Meaner."
Kael's voice was low. "Then I'll break them too."
"You're picking a war you don't understand," Varn said, turning to face him now. "You think the Coil is a monster. It's not. It's a disease—everywhere, inside everything."
Kael's eyes met his. "Then I'll devour the world."
The Map of Bloodlines
Varn laid out a brittle parchment over the floorboards. Its edges were burned, sigils marked in dark ink like veins and fractures spiraling from a center point. It wasn't a map of geography—it was a map of blood.
Kael and Selene leaned in, curiosity breaking through exhaustion.
"This is stolen from one of the inner circles," Varn whispered. "Each mark is a bloodline, a known one. Some noble, some outlawed. All dangerous."
He pointed to one near the edge—an incomplete symbol with jagged overmarks.
"That's the twins' line. Spliced hybrid variants. Banned under the old laws. Makes them a target."
Kael studied the parchment with growing interest. "What about me?"
Varn hesitated. "You're not on it."
Kael smirked. "Good."
Night fell harder than usual, bringing a biting cold that the manor's broken windows couldn't keep out.
Selene found him outside again, seated on an overturned barrel beneath the stars. She said nothing at first, just stood beside him, arms crossed tightly, shivering.
"They're safe now," she said eventually, nodding back toward the house.
"For now," Kael murmured.
She turned to him. "What about you?"
"What about me?"
"Do you even know what you're becoming?"
Kael didn't answer. His fingers gripped the edge of the barrel until they turned white.
"You've changed," she continued, softer now. "Since the forest. Since the boy."
Kael shut his eyes.
"You think the more you devour, the clearer you'll become," she said. "But I think you're just… hollowing out."
"I'm not hollow," he said finally.
Selene crouched beside him, searching his face. "Then what are you?"
Kael looked at her.
"Hungry."
Understanding the Pattern
He sat alone on the manor floor, cross-legged, eyes half-lidded in meditation.
Not to count his gains. He already knew them.
He wanted to understand.
From the crimson beast: raw instinct—movement, survival, senses sharpened beyond human thresholds.
From the blacksmith: ability manipulation—the power to extract and reforge natural abilities, to bend talents into tools.
From the slavers: reflex, savagery, pack logic. Scattered strengths, but no true discipline.
Kael saw the pattern.
These weren't just powers. They were worldviews.
Each one whispered a different truth about strength.
Each one told him how the world justified cruelty.
And Kael, in turn, took their truths and burned them down.
"I am not here to balance this world. I'm here to unmake the lie it clings to."
The Threads Are Pulled
Before dawn, Kael moved through Hollowrest's ruins like a shadow.
He left behind a trail of false signs: burned sigils, false messages, planted coins from rival factions, twisted hints that painted a picture of betrayal inside the Crimson Coil itself.
Let them doubt each other. Let their own factions turn inward.
He climbed to the roof of the highest ruin, the rising sun casting gold along the forest edge. Behind him, Selene and the twins still slept. Varn stood watch by the broken gate, half-hidden.
Kael watched as the first Coil scout emerged from the woods, eyes wary, weapon drawn.
The bait had been taken.
"Let them hunt ghosts," Kael whispered.
"By the time they realize, they'll be bleeding in circles."