Chapter 4) "Burn the King"
I stayed lying there longer than I needed to.
I could move. I just didn't want to.
The rain started up again, soft at first, like a whisper. Cold. Filthy. I let it soak into me. Let it wash the blood from my face, the dirt from my hair.
Let it pretend I was clean.
But I wasn't. Not anymore.
Something in me had shifted.
It was like… like a crack in my reflection. Not wide, not deep, but there. Spreading. And I didn't hate it. I didn't try to stop it.
I just watched.
> Power. Pain. Growth.
That was the pattern. That was the rhythm.
I didn't choose this system. But it sure as hell chose me.
Eventually, I stood.
My knees ached. My ribs screamed. My mind was a cloudy swamp of half-formed thoughts. But I moved. Down the alley, through the rusted gates, past flickering mage-lamps and hushed dealers.
And then I heard a name.
I stopped walking when I caught it. Two guys on a corner, whispering in static breath.
", boss ain't gonna like it. That kid stirred up too much noise, "
"Marlo already made a call. The guy's untouchable now."
"Yeah? Why's that?"
"He's got handlers, dumbass. Not just the crew. The damn Arcane Division."
I didn't breathe for a moment.
Then I stepped out of the shadows.
"Say that again," I said.
They flinched. One of them reached for something under his coat.
I grabbed his wrist before he could blink and smashed it against the wall.
He screamed. The other ran.
I pressed the guy's head to the concrete.
"Marlo works with the Arcane Division?" I asked.
He whimpered. Nodded. "Yes… fuck, yes, okay? He's one of them. He owns this zone. You think he's just some street boss? He's the leash around every mage's neck here."
I let go.
He slumped like garbage.
I walked away.
And in that moment, the goal changed.
It wasn't just about survival anymore. Not just about getting stronger.
It was about removing him.
Marlo.
Not beating. Not hurting.
Erasing.
But deep down, I knew I couldn't do it like this. Not yet. I was still a mess of half-healed bones and secondhand rage. I needed more.
More fights. More trauma. More failure.
And as disgusting as it sounded, I craved it.
I craved the next punch, the next blade, the next loss, because I'd rise from it with something new.
Something stronger.
But I also knew if I kept going like this… I'd break.
Not my body. My mind.
Something inside me was slipping, and I felt it every time I smiled after a hit. Every time I didn't care whether I lived through the next fight.
> Is this what power does?
I forced myself to walk.
This time, toward home. A place I hadn't seen in three days.
---
It wasn't much.
A basement apartment under a collapsed mage-guild hall. Moldy walls. Flickering lights. One mattress. One chair. And a cracked mirror I didn't dare look into too often.
I collapsed into the chair.
Let the silence wrap around me like a blanket of knives.
And that's when I heard it.
Knock. Knock.
Soft. Two taps.
I froze.
No one ever came here.
I opened the door without a word.
A kid stood there.
Sixteen? Seventeen? A bit younger than me. Pale skin, shaved head, a long black coat with arcane runes that shimmered faintly in the dark.
His eyes… weren't normal.
Not mage eyes. Not human.
Silver. Reflective. Sharp like glass.
He smiled like he knew me.
"You're Cael Dray," he said.
I didn't answer.
He held up a hand. No threat. Just a gesture.
"I'm not here to fight. Just to talk. My name's Vey."
I narrowed my eyes.
"You know Marlo?"
He smiled wider.
"I know who owns this world. And I know you plan to break it."
Then his voice shifted. Lower. Colder.
"And I'm here to make sure you don't die before you do."
…
I didn't move.
Didn't blink.
I just stared at him , this kid who spoke like a prophet and looked like a weapon.
The rain behind him painted his silhouette like a stain on the doorway.
"…You followed me," I said at last.
He nodded, calm. "Since system day."
That made something in my chest hitch. I didn't show it.
"You noticed I didn't get one."
"Noticed? I obsessed over it," he said. "Everyone else got a screen. A path. A name. You didn't even glitch the grid. That's not normal. That's not random. That's… something else."
I stepped aside without a word. He took it as permission and walked in.
He didn't look around. Didn't gawk at the cracked ceiling or mold-eaten walls like most people would. He just moved to the center of the room and stopped like he'd already been here before.
"Why me?" I asked.
He tilted his head. "You talk to yourself."
I didn't answer.
"In complete thoughts," he went on. "Like you're arguing with someone. Like you're answering someone. I watched you stand in front of a broken mirror and laugh like it said something funny."
My jaw tightened.
"Most people with fractured minds collapse. You didn't. You grew stronger."
"Are you here to study me?" I asked. "Dissect me? Recruit me?"
"I'm here because I'm not the only one who noticed."
I stepped forward, slowly. "You work for Marlo?"
His expression darkened, just a flicker , like a shadow crossing glass.
"No," he said. "But I've… brushed his world. We all do, eventually. If you've lived long enough, bled enough, you touch the Division's leash whether you know it or not."
I said nothing.
The silence thickened. Only the soft whir of wind through the collapsed ventilation shafts.
Then I spoke.
"My parents died because of them."
His eyes flicked to mine.
I didn't lower my voice. "The Arcane Division."
He said nothing. So I kept going.
"They weren't rebels. Or terrorists. Or anything the state calls 'killable.' They were… good. Too good. My mother was a healer. My father scribed runes. Low-tier support mages. No threat. No power. No enemies."
I sat back into the chair, arms crossed.
"One night the Division paid my mother a visit. She patched up a rogue fireweaver. Just bandaged the wounds. Didn't even ask questions. But that was enough. That was sympathy. That was her crime."
Vey didn't interrupt.
"They didn't warn her. They just… erased us. Bombed the block. 'Power-core malfunction,' the record said. I was out scavenging. I came home to concrete dust and a melted stairwell."
My voice had gone quiet. Barely a rasp.
"I found her pendant in the rubble. That's all they left behind."
I felt something pull at the corners of my mouth. Not a smile. Not exactly.
"So yeah," I whispered. "I don't want justice. Or peace. I want to burn the king. I want to bury every suit who wears that symbol."
A pause.
Then: "And after?"
I looked up.
"After?"
"After you've killed them all. The Division. The captains. The ghosts behind the glass."
I swallowed.
"Then I leave the Zone."
He raised an eyebrow.
"You know what's beyond?"
"No," I said. "But it's not this."
He nodded, slow.
"Most people never ask," he said. "They're born in a cage and die in it. They memorize the walls. Paint them pretty colors. Pretend they're free. But you… you want out."
"So do you," I said quietly.
He looked surprised.
"You wouldn't be here otherwise."
A pause stretched. Heavy. Real.
Then he sat on the floor, legs crossed.
"I do," he admitted. "I want to know what's outside. The Zone's just a corner. A containment system. You can feel it, can't you? The way the sky bends wrong. The way comms cut at the edges. The border isn't just a wall , it's a lie."
His voice had gone soft. Strangely reverent.
I leaned forward.
"So what do you know?"
"Not much. But more than most."
He looked at me now, really looked.
"The Division doesn't govern the world. They govern access. Everything here is curated. Memory. History. Even the spells we're allowed to use , they're filtered. Approved. But the truth? The raw magic? The ancient code? It's out there. Beyond. And they're hiding it."
I exhaled. Slow.
"…You want truth," I said.
He nodded.
"I want blood."
He met my eyes.
"Different aims. Same road."
For a long moment, neither of us spoke.
Two strangers. Two shadows. Sitting in a moldy ruin, talking treason like it was casual.
And somehow, it wasn't strange.
It felt inevitable.
"…Then we work together," I said.
He didn't smile. Just offered a quiet nod.
"I won't stop you from killing them," he said. "But I won't help you unless it helps the mission."
"Same," I said. "I don't care what you find out there. Just don't get in my way."
A mutual promise.
Unspoken, but iron.
After a while, he leaned back against the wall, hands behind his head.
"You want to know something funny?" he said. "I lost my parents too. Arcane Division erased them when I was eight."
My throat tightened again.
"But… I don't want revenge," he added. "They were bastards. Cold. Smart. Dangerous. They built weapons. Sold them to whoever had a sigil and enough coin. I hated them before the Division got there."
He looked down at his fingers.
"They deserved it."
"…But it still hurts."
He looked up.
And for once, I saw it , the crack under the armor.
"Yeah," he said softly. "It does."
I looked away.
The silence returned.
This time, it didn't cut.
It held.
---
I broke the silence.
"So what do they actually do? The Division?"
Vey didn't answer right away.
He leaned back against the mold-flecked wall and looked at the ceiling like he was watching stars through rotting beams.
"They control the gates," he said. "The flow. The narrative. You get a System? First thing they do is tag you. Doesn't matter if you asked for it or not."
I narrowed my eyes. "What happens then?"
"If you're weak, you break. Simple as that. If you're strong? You go to the Academy. At least, if your Zone has one."
"Academy?" I echoed. "Like... school?"
He snorted. "More like indoctrination. Combat theory, rune logic, dungeon simulation. Think of it as a place where they don't teach you how to survive, they teach you how to serve. Every skill is geared toward control. Every mission a test."
My knuckles cracked unconsciously.
"Then they send you into dungeons," he continued, eyes flat. "Real ones. No resets. No safeties. If you survive, you rank up. Enough ranks, and they send you beyond."
I tensed. "Beyond the Zone?"
"No," he said. "Worse. Into other Zones."
I blinked. "Why would they do that?"
"Scouting. Suppression. Espionage. Pick your poison. You become their ghost. Their arm. Their leash. They don't tell you where you go, or why. Just that you're needed. And most obey. Because once you've lived with a System long enough... it changes you."
I stared at him. "How do you know all this?"
He didn't blink.
"Because I was supposed to be one of them."
The air in the room shifted.
"You have a System," I said.
He didn't deny it.
He just said, "That's not the question you should be asking."
"Then what should I ask?"
His gaze finally met mine, sharp as glass.
"You should ask why I haven't used it."
I felt something cold coil behind my ribs. He was holding back. Not because he feared me , but because he didn't need to use it yet.
"So the Division," I said carefully. "They monitor everyone who gets a System?"
He nodded. "Every ping, every cast, every surge , logged. Flagged. Categorized. The moment you step out of line, they know. Some Zones are more lenient. Some... are bloodthirsty. But all of them report up."
"And the ones who don't follow orders?"
He exhaled slowly.
"They disappear. Sometimes physically. Sometimes mentally."
I leaned forward, elbows on my knees.
"So, this... whole setup. The Systems. The training. The dungeons. The rules. It's all to create what, soldiers?"
"Soldiers," he repeated. "Spies. Assassins. Wardens. Their goal is simple: keep the Zones fractured and compliant. Make sure no one remembers what real freedom feels like."
My fingers curled.
"And you just walk around with all this knowledge in your head?"
He tilted his head slightly. "That's why I keep moving."
A shadow passed over my thoughts.
"Is there a way out?" I asked.
Vey didn't answer.
Which told me everything.