The clouds had not lifted since the Trial of Fangs. A grayness hung over the sect, heavy with something unsaid. Something waiting.
Kael felt it the moment he stepped into the outer training yard that morning.
Eyes followed him. But they didn't glare anymore—they watched. With a mix of awe and dread.
"They don't know what I've become."
A Visitor in the Fog
The morning mist curled through the bamboo paths like wary spirits. Kael, barefoot and shirtless, trained alone—sharp, grounded, relentless.
His movements had changed. Less human, more... elemental. Muscle guided by instinct, motion guided by memory etched in pain.
Then he paused.
He wasn't alone.
"You move like prey," came a voice—female, mocking.
Kael turned.
A woman stood in the mist, clad in silver-gray robes, a veil over her lower face. Sleek twin daggers crossed at her back. No sect insignia. No sound when she stepped.
"And you smell like a hired knife."
She smiled beneath the veil.
"I am Silver Talon. And you, Kael, are worth more dead than trained."
She vanished.
Dance of Death
The first blade came from above—fast, silent.
Kael rolled, just as steel bit the ground where his head had been.
Instinct roared through him.
He turned low, catching a glimpse of her boots before she disappeared again.
A slash across his ribs. Blood. A whisper of wind. Then—
[Instinct Surge – activated]
The world slowed. The mist parted.
Kael felt her movement. Behind. High. Left blade.
He caught her wrist mid-strike.
"You're not the first to try."
"But I'll be the last," she hissed.
They crashed into each other. Fists, knees, elbows, blades.
Kael took a gash to the shoulder. She received a broken nose.
Both stepped back, breathing heavy.
"You bleed well," she said.
"And I learn fast."
A Different Kind of Victory
She lunged again—this time with rage. And in that, Kael saw it.
Emotion. Flaw. Fear.
He used it.
Slipping her blow, he twisted, knocked her off balance, and drove her into the dirt.
His knee pinned her chest, one hand around her throat, the other ready to crush her windpipe.
Silence. Mist curling. A hawk screeched in the distance.
"Do it," she spat. "End it."
Kael leaned close.
"Tell your masters. I'm not prey. I'm the thing they should've buried years ago."
Then he let go.
She gasped, stunned.
"You'll regret this," she whispered.
Kael walked away.
"No. You will."
Aftermath and Echoes
Later, hidden hands dragged Silver Talon away from the courtyard. She had failed. But the message was delivered.
Kael's name spread like wildfire—this time not whispered in doubt but etched in fear.
The elders heard.
The hidden factions took note.
And deep beneath the sect grounds, behind locked doors and burning incense, something stirred. Watching.
Waiting.
For the monster they thought they created.
But now could no longer control.