The city blinked with notifications.
Kael hadn't stepped outside in over a day, but the headlines were unavoidable — streaming across the airpanels in his apartment, coded into the ambient light displays of passing trams, whispered through the Network like a virus.
[Breaking]: Rex Marlow challenges Patch Corruptor to open duel.
[GuildNet Exclusive]: Sanctioned under High Table Protocol. Full-spectrum stream access granted.
[Dominion Editorial]: "If Kael Varin believes he is a hero, let him prove it."
Kael leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, staring at the pulsing glyph on the center panel.
❖ Challenge Received
❖ Duel: Rex Marlow vs. Kael Varin
❖ Terms: Public arena. No external interference. Full sync permissions.
❖ Spectator Limit: None
❖ Reason for Challenge: "Corruption of the System."
Liora stood nearby, arms folded tight. "This is a trap."
He nodded. "Of course."
Aria's voice crackled through the encrypted channel. "Don't go, Kael. Rex is good, but this isn't about winning. They want a spectacle. They want to push you into patching where everyone can see it. If you glitch the system during a public match…"
"I become exactly what they say I am," Kael finished.
Aria paused. "…So you're going anyway."
He looked at Senna's latest drawing, pinned to the wall beside him — a circle, interrupted by a jagged line, and an X across its heart.
"It's not about Rex," Kael said. "They want to own the narrative. Force me to act like a monster. But if I don't go… I lose everything anyway."
He tapped the panel.
❖ Challenge Accepted
❖ Response Term: "No time limit. No delay sync filters."
Liora stepped closer. "You really think you can win without glitching the system?"
He smiled faintly.
"No."
He turned toward the window.
"I'm going to break it."
The duel arena wasn't just a field — it was a stage.
Holo-screens floated like constellations above the plaza, each locked onto the sanctioned battlefield below. Around the perimeter, guild banners rippled with digital wind: Dominion, Silverhollow, Red Chain, even a few rogue syndicates, all watching.
Kael stood still at one edge of the arena — hood drawn, left arm wrapped in obsidian-threaded cloth. His right palm, partially exposed, shimmered faintly. Glyphs pulsed beneath the skin like faint circuitry.
Across from him, Rex Marlow radiated confidence.
Golden hair, glinting in the artificial sun. Custom Dominion uniform. Reinforced gauntlets glimmering with kinetic glyphs.
The announcer's voice echoed across the plaza.
"Today's match is bound by High Table Protocol.
Duelists: Kael Varin vs. Rex Marlow.
Victory Condition: incapacitation or glyph-tap submission.
Begin."
The crowd roared.
Rex lunged first.
Lightning-fast. A blur of motion. A clean left jab, glyph-enhanced, designed to lock Kael's movement through spatial inertia.
Kael had already moved.
His body slipped to the side a heartbeat early — not reacting. Pre-moving.
Rex's punch sliced air.
Another swing. Another dodge.
Kael wasn't just avoiding attacks — he was ghosting around them like a man watching echoes of the future.
Commentators scrambled.
"We're seeing… a perfect read from Kael Varin."
"Is this enhanced reaction speed or rollback adaptation?"
"Wait—frame match shows Kael shifted before Rex began his wind-up—"
Rex frowned.
He pivoted, spinning into a leg sweep. Kael stepped back before the kick even started.
A moment of silence fell across the arena.
Rex's voice rang out. "What are you doing, Varin? You can't cheat this time. Not with everyone watching."
Kael didn't answer.
He simply turned, and for the first time — moved toward Rex.
Three steps. One blink. A palm raised.
He didn't strike.
But the moment Kael's hand hovered near Rex's shoulder, the golden prodigy flinched.
Hard.
The crowd saw it. So did the cameras.
Rex was afraid.
Because Kael knew what he was going to do before he did it.
Elsewhere — Aria sat alone, watching the feed.
She didn't breathe.
"...He's not syncing with Rex," she whispered.
She zoomed in. Glyphs shimmered under Kael's skin, pulsing like a heartbeat.
"He's syncing with the system."
Back at the Varin apartment — Senna sat cross-legged, crayon in hand.
She wasn't drawing shapes.
She was drawing Kael.
One figure, standing alone… while lines of code circled him like orbiting stars.
She smiled. "Papa's glowing again."
Rex was panting now.
Sweat trailed down his temple despite the stabilizing glyphs embedded in his uniform. His blows had grown erratic — desperate. Each one imbued with rage, frustration, a flicker of fear.
Kael had yet to land a single hit.
But he hadn't needed to.
Because every blow Rex threw had missed.
"Fight me!" Rex snarled. "Stop ghosting around like you're better than—"
Kael stepped in. Quiet. No flourish. Just one smooth step forward.
Rex flinched.
A silence fell over the crowd. The holo-feeds crackled.
And then—flicker.
For a single frame, the arena bled light. Glyph traces surged around Kael like circuit veins, visible for the briefest moment.
Rex staggered.
His eyes widened—not in pain, but recognition.
Because what he saw wasn't Kael.
It was himself.
Not here.
Not now.
In a future.
Kneeling in a Dominion cell, arms broken.
Then again — alone in a scorched battlefield, blood on his hands, civilians beneath rubble.
Then again — old, forgotten, watching a broadcast of Kael's daughter stabilizing a global rollback while his own name was long erased.
Then—
"Stop," Kael said softly.
Rex gasped.
The flickers faded.
Kael's voice was like a whisper against metal:
"I've seen this pattern. In every thread, you become a weapon. You win… and lose yourself."
He didn't raise his hand. Didn't cast a glyph. Just stood there.
"This is your one chance to walk away."
Rex stood frozen.
The crowd waited.
A few gasps echoed as he slowly… lowered his fists.
He looked at Kael, shame overtaking fury.
Then he raised his hand — and tapped his own glyph tag.
"Forfeit confirmed," the system intoned.
A wave of silence hit the arena.
Then, uproar.
Commentators went speechless. Dominion cut the main holo-feed. Spectators were left with static. But the image remained burned into memory:
Kael Varin — standing tall, untouched.
Rex Marlow — head bowed, defeated by choice.
Backstage, in a dark command room…
The Guildmaster turned off the screen.
"He's breaking the threads."
No one responded.
The Guildmaster leaned forward, hands clasped.
"Begin countermeasures."