The newly-claimed fragment of the ancient Valeryan Mask settled perfectly upon Kael's face, clicking into place with an almost living precision. A faint hum followed, a vibration that crawled beneath his skin and into his bones like lightning on a warm night. His staff responded instantly. Runes spiraled alive across its wooden grain, glowing in a soft turquoise pulse. Kael inhaled sharply. For the first time since he left his homeland, he felt a surge of genuine power simmering inside him.
He wasn't just Kael anymore.
He was a Valeryan walking a destiny forged centuries before he was even born.
No time to waste. He turned his boots westward. The sand-filled breath of the Westlands greeted him like a furnace. Winds, sharp as insults, tossed grit against his cloak. The land here wasn't friendly to wanderers or heroes. The sun was a merciless supervisor, yelling at him from the top of the sky. His throat begged for water. His spirit? For purpose.
Hours passed. Then he spotted a miracle: a hot spring. Steam rose from a pool of crystalline blue trapped in a cocoon of rocks. Kael raised a brow. He sniffed his cloak. Battlefield plus sweat plus travel? He smelled like a horse died inside a dragon. Shower time.
He dropped his cloak and gear beside the pool and dove in with zero hesitation.
Water embraced him like an old friend he'd forgotten. Warmth seeped into his muscles, undoing knots crafted by exhaustion and heartbreak. He closed his eyes briefly, letting the world disappear into silence.
Erik's face still haunted him.
The memory hit like a punch.
His friend… gone because of thugs and greed.
Kael clenched his jaw and emerged from the water, determination replacing fatigue. He strapped on his cloak, tied his boots tight, and resumed his march.
The dusty horizon revealed a small, worn-down village. Cracked houses. Thin crops. People with the kind of hopelessness that sticks to the air like smoke. Kael's instincts sharpened. He tapped his staff, transforming it into a simple hiking stick. No need to flaunt weapons.
He approached slowly.
Then the comedy started.
"Yo, he got a nice cloak!" a thug screamed to his crew.
Their eyes flashed with money. Kael kept his head down, stepping forward like they didn't exist. But inside, a storm was forming.
Thugs rushed him, circling like sloppy wolves thinking they caught a lamb. One yanked the staff from his hand.
"Gimme the cloak and you walk away alive," the leader mocked.
Kael smirked slightly. "Nah."
His heel slammed into the ground. He dropped low, sweeping legs like a spinning blade. Half the gang smashed into dust before they could blink. Kael surged up, elbowing one thug in the throat and kneeing another in the ribs. He grabbed his staff mid-air as if it was magnetized to his hand.
Then he slammed its tip into the ground.
Boom.
A shockwave burst outward like a thunderclap trapped beneath the dirt. Bodies flew backward, lifeless. Dust swallowed screams. Silence lingered.
Kael stood over the dead thugs. No hesitation. No remorse. That era where he showed mercy to criminals? Dead right along with them.
Villagers peeked out. Slowly, applause followed. Not loud or joyous. A desperate thank you. A last bit of hope in a hopeless place.
A man stepped forward, carrying a tiny box wrapped in cloth. "Please accept our village's legacy pendant," he said with shaking hands.
Kael looked at the man's bare feet. Children hiding behind skirts. Too much suffering just to exist. He pushed the gift back gently.
"You need your legacy more than I do," he said.
His tone carried respect, but also truth. The man nodded with tears in his eyes. Kael turned away and kept walking.
Hunger growled loud enough to wake a spirit. The air smelled faintly sweet. Kael followed the scent into a small, enchanted grove hidden like treasure behind thorny bushes. The trees shimmered with silver leaves and berries that glowed like pocket-sized moons.
He plucked one.
That's when a tiny silver blur tackled his hand.
Kael froze, staring at the cutest nightmare ever created.
A ball of fluffy silver fur with button-sized eyes but the attitude of a demon cat. It chomped at his fingers like they were made of cheese. Kael lifted the creature carefully. It kept swiping and biting with heroic commitment.
He chuckled. "Alright, I'm not taking the berry."
The creature paused. Its anger meter reset instantly, ears lowering in apology. Kael gently set the berry back. The little guardian tilted its head, studying Kael like a schoolteacher judging a late assignment.
"You're protecting this place, huh?" Kael whispered.
The creature blinked. Then… nodded. Literally nodded.
Kael raised a brow. "Mind if I take you with me?"
It considered him. Maybe it sensed kindness beneath the scars. Maybe fate whispered to it. Maybe it just liked the guy's hair. Who knows.
But the fur-ball nodded again.
The silver guardian climbed onto his shoulder, fluff gleaming with natural light. Kael smiled and carefully picked a few berries. Permission granted.
Night fell like a curtain. The creature illuminated the path ahead, its fur glowing like starlight wrapped in cotton. Together they crossed the desolate silence of the Westlands.
Then something unexpected appeared:
A shrine.
Ancient architecture that belonged in eastern lands, not here. Lanterns flickered faintly even though there was no wind. The air smelled of incense and history. Kael's instincts tingled.
A man sat within the shrine's shadows. Broad hat hiding his face. Silent. Still as a statue.
Kael stepped closer.
The man slowly lifted his head.
His eyes were milky white.
Not blind. Different.
Dead calm. Dead focused. Deadly.
"Taira Fujimura…" the man introduced in a voice sharp enough to cut iron.
Kael didn't speak. Listening felt like the only right choice.
"I know what you seek, Valeryan," Fujimura continued. "Fragments of the Mask of Eternum."
Kael's mind raced. How does this random stranger know his quest?
He cleared his throat. "And you are here to help me?"
Fujimura nodded once. He drew a weapon. Not just any sword. A katana forged in stories where heroes break kingdoms and villains lose their heads.
The blade gleamed with a presence that demanded respect. It hummed like it remembered every soul it ever tasted.
"This is Hoshikage," Fujimura said. "Star-Shadow. It has spilled blood of tyrants and warriors beyond counting. It chooses who wields it."
He extended the handle toward Kael.
Kael hesitated. The sword radiated weight heavier than mountains. Responsibility. Expectation. Power with a price.
"Why me?" Kael asked honestly.
"Because you will face enemies your staff cannot save you from," Fujimura replied. "Steel and sorcery together are your path now."
Kael reached out. The moment his hand wrapped around the hilt, light surged. The blade's aura roared alive. Colors warped. The shrine shook like it recognized a new master.
Fujimura's voice echoed one last time.
"Find the second fragment. Head South… toward the Tomb of Iron Echoes."
Kael's eyes widened. "Wait. Who exactly are yo—"
But Fujimura was gone.
No footsteps.
No dramatic smoke.
Just "poof". Like a ghost bored of being alive.
Leaving Kael alone with a legendary sword, a glowing fur-creature, and a destiny that kept leveling up whether he liked it or not.
Kael exhaled.
"Great," he muttered. "Now I'm collecting magical pets and ghost swords."
But inside?
His heart pumped with fire.
He strapped the katana to his side.
Hoshikage.
That name echoed like thunder inside him.
The silver guardian hopped back to his shoulder and squeaked, basically saying: "Bro, we ride."
Kael chuckled. "Yeah… we do."
He looked south. An endless stretch of darkness and danger.
No more hiding from fate.
No more waiting for destiny to knock.
Kael would chase destiny himself.
And whatever monster guarded that next mask fragment?
It should probably start writing its will.