The wind howled across the Ash Plains like a pack of dying beasts, carrying grit and ghost-whispers across the forgotten bones of the world. Far beyond the cracked hills and dead rivers, ancient ruins pulsed beneath the earth — veins of lost power and forgotten gods, buried under centuries of silence.
Out here, even time moved slower. And yet… pain moved fast.
Kael Drayven hit the ground hard.
Again.
Dust exploded around him, stinging his eyes. He rolled to his back, staring at the blood-orange sky as the dirt settled on his skin. The metallic taste of blood crept onto his tongue, thick and hot. His ribs screamed. His knuckles burned. But he still had that crooked, reckless grin on his face.
"Round five?" he spat, teeth stained red.
Torr Varis, the village's golden boy and proud prick, stood over him. Tall, broad, with fire-scarred arms and a Soulbrand burning bright across his right cheek — proof of his early Flame Vein awakening.
He wasn't even winded.
Torr cracked his knuckles, looking down like a lion sizing up a half-dead deer. "You don't get it, do you, freak?"
Kael pushed himself to his knees.
"You're a curse," Torr said. "Not a fighter. Not a warrior. Just a walking timebomb."
Kael wiped the blood off his chin and grinned wider. "Funny. You sound scared for someone who brought backup."
Behind Torr, four other village boys watched with sneers and Soulvein sparks flickering across their hands — Air, Earth, even one with weak Ice threads. Trained. Authorized. Controlled.
Kael had none of that.
What he had was something worse.
Something raw.
And he could feel it twitching now — deep inside his chest. That familiar pressure, like something coiled around his heart… wanting out.
Not yet.
Not here.
Torr stepped forward. The ground beneath his feet cracked with heat as his Flame Vein flared — glowing crimson veins crawling up his neck like magma trails.
"You think you're funny," Torr muttered. "You're just a freak who should've been buried with your damn parents."
The grin vanished.
Kael's fists clenched.
He didn't rise to insults often — he'd heard them all before. Voidspawn. Curseborn. Collapser. But that one…
That one hurt.
His mother's face flickered behind his eyes for a second. Then it vanished.
Kael stood slowly.
"You've got a loud mouth," he said, voice low now. "Let's see if you've got a chin to match."
Torr's eyes narrowed.
No more words.
He moved.
Flame burst from Torr's fist as he closed the distance, fast and brutal. The heat cracked the air. Kael sidestepped, dropping low, his left hand grabbing dirt, right fist rising like a whip.
He connected.
Torr grunted, staggering back — just for a second. A second was all Kael needed.
He stepped in again, throwing a three-hit combo — low hook, elbow to the gut, rising uppercut.
Each strike came from memory, burned into muscle from years of self-taught survival. No teacher. No dojo. Just instinct and pain and the burning refusal to stay down.
But Torr adapted fast. He caught the uppercut, twisted Kael's wrist, and slammed a knee into his gut.
Kael wheezed and dropped.
Torr raised both hands, veins glowing bright red.
Kael saw it coming — the signature Flame Art: Scorch Burst.
He had maybe a second.
So he did the only thing he could.
He let go.
Let go of restraint. Of fear.
Of control.
⸻
The Void answered.
Kael's body locked, eyes wide. His right arm lit up — jagged black lines pulsed beneath the skin, twisting and cracking like glass under pressure. A strange silence fell over the courtyard.
Then—
BOOM.
The world exploded in shadow and fire.
Torr was blasted backward, hitting the stone wall with a curse. The onlookers stumbled, shielding their eyes.
And Kael stood alone in the center, smoke rising from his body.
His arm looked wrong.
Not broken.
Transformed.
It pulsed with dark energy, like it wasn't fully part of this world. His heartbeat slowed. Everything felt… weightless.
And terrifying.
He looked down, flexing his fingers.
The Void Vein had awakened.
Again.
⸻
The crowd backed away. Not in awe — in fear.
"You… you flared it…" one of them whispered.
"That's not possible," another muttered. "He doesn't have control—"
Kael didn't say a word. He couldn't. His throat felt tight. His body screamed to collapse. But he stood.
Torr pulled himself up, fury and fear mixing in his glare.
"You think that makes you strong?" he growled. "You'll lose control. You'll kill everyone like before."
Kael's eyes narrowed. "Maybe. But I'll start with you."
That shut him up.
The others stepped forward, unsure whether to stop the fight or run.
Kael turned his back on them.
Walked.
Past the courtyard.
Past the gates.
Past everything that ever held him down.
⸻
No one stopped him.
Not the elders.
Not the guards.
Not the kids whispering rumors in alleyways.
Because they were glad to see him go.
The Void Vein wasn't something they wanted in their village.
Kael didn't blame them.
But that didn't mean he'd forgive them either.
⸻
The plains greeted him like an open grave — wide, cracked earth stretching endlessly under a dying sky. Every breath out here felt dry and sharp. Every step echoed like footsteps on bone.
But Kael didn't hesitate.
He kept moving.
He didn't have a plan. No map. No food.
Just a pull.
A tug in his chest, deep and quiet — like a compass built into his Soulvein.
West.
It always pointed west.
He didn't know why.
Didn't care.
It was movement.
It was escape.
It was purpose.
⸻
Night fell like a broken curtain. The stars here didn't twinkle — they pulsed, like scars in the sky. Reminders that even heaven bled once.
Kael made camp near a jagged rock, knees tucked, cloak wrapped around his shoulders. His stomach growled. His bones ached. But he didn't complain.
He'd known hunger before.
He'd known worse.
He looked at his right arm. The glow had faded. The marks were still there, faint black lines like veins of obsidian.
The Void was always there.
Waiting.
Watching.
He closed his eyes.
And for the first time in years…
He didn't feel small.
⸻
He dreamed of shadow.
Not darkness. Not absence.
But presence.
It moved like a storm, massive and slow, pressing in around him. Whispering his name.
Kael.
Not in menace.
But in expectation.
Kael.
Then… a flash.
A symbol burned into the air — a ring of nine Soulveins circling a hollow center.
And a voice.
"Wake up, Voidborn. The path begins now."
⸻
Kael sat up with a gasp, heart racing. Sweat clung to his face.
The dream was already fading.
But the pressure in his chest remained.
Stronger now.
Like something ancient was stirring.
⸻
He rose to his feet.
Looked west.
And smiled.
Not because he was happy.
But because for the first time…
He wasn't afraid.