Chapter 16
Months passed in the Dead World.
The village that had once cowered behind broken walls now moved with purpose. Children as young as fourteen sparred in the training yard, their eyes fierce, their strikes sharper. Kael's methods were harsh — every mistake was punished, every weakness exploited — but those who endured began to climb the ranks.
By the fourth month, a handful of them had reached C-rank, and three had pushed into B-rank. They could fight, they could defend, and most importantly… they could survive.
Vaelor trained alongside them, though more often than not, he ended up facing Kael directly in the arena.
"You've gotten faster," Kael remarked one afternoon, sidestepping a heavy strike.
"And you've gotten more insufferable," Vaelor grunted, swinging again.
Nyx, perched on a fence post, grinned. "Boys, boys. Try not to kill each other before the next apocalypse."
It was on the first day of the sixth month that Kael stood at the village gate, Astrili at his side, Myros leaning on his scythe.
"It's time," Kael said simply. "We head for the Circle."
Vaelor's jaw tightened. "And if the path back opens?"
"Then we'll return. If not…" Kael's eyes flicked toward the village behind them. "Defend it. Until the last breath."
The farewell was short. No speeches. No promises. Just the cold understanding that the next time they saw each other, the Dead World might look very different.
The road to the Circle was not a road at all — only a shifting expanse of black stone and mist that seemed to move when one wasn't looking. It was there, walking between nothing and nowhere, that Kael began to shape his new power.
At first, it was small: a fragment of space folded into itself, a pocket where time slowed to a crawl. Then he pushed further — creating entire fragments of frozen worlds, sealed in glassy stillness, and pulling them into the real world to ensnare enemies.
When he fought, these worlds became weapons — places where monsters found themselves trapped mid-strike, their bodies suspended while Kael tore them apart piece by piece.
But each time he used it, a little more of his expression faded. His voice grew quieter. His gaze, colder.
Astrili noticed first.
"You're slipping," she said one night, as they camped by a river of pale fire.
Kael didn't answer.
Nyx, however, smirked from the shadows. "Slipping? No… he's evolving."
The deeper they went, the stronger the creatures became. Vast, skeletal serpents that could swallow towers. Beasts whose bodies seemed stitched from multiple realities. Kael cut them down, piece by piece, absorbing fragments of their essence — and with each victory, his aura warped further toward something inhuman.
Myros, who rarely spoke, muttered once under his breath: "If the gods feared what you're becoming… they had reason."
By the end of their second month on the road, the terrain began to change. The black stone gave way to roots — thick, ancient roots that twisted high into the air like towers. Mist hung low, clinging to the ground, carrying the faint sound of whispers.
A forest.
But not like any they had seen.
The trees moved when no one watched.
Shadows took human form, then dissolved when approached.
And somewhere deep within, a voice — honey-sweet and cold — called to them.
Nyx's smile widened. "Well. Looks like we've found our Illusionist."
Kael stepped forward, the dim light catching in his now faintly glowing, inhuman eyes.
"Let's see," he murmured, "if illusions can kill."