The air was different now.
Kael stood barefoot in the clearing behind their temporary shelter, surrounded by towering roots and stone pillars—relics of a forgotten age. Moonlight spilled between the canopy in streaks of silver, painting ghostly shapes across his pale skin.
A year had passed since he first touched the relic beneath the Vault.
And the fire hadn't stopped burning.
It pulsed beneath his skin like liquid metal. Ancient glyphs etched themselves across his forearms whenever he summoned mana, lines too perfect to be manmade, too wild to belong to any known spellcraft. He had spent the last year studying—training not only his body but taming the storm that surged within him.
Tonight, he would test it.
Across from him stood a stone golem, awakened from the depths by Lira's magical experiment. Its chest glowed with red cores, its hands the size of Kael's entire torso. Each movement shook the forest floor.
But Kael didn't flinch.
"Don't hold back," Lira warned from the edge of the glade, her staff glowing with stabilizing runes. "Its core can't be damaged with regular mana."
Kael exhaled slowly. His eyes shimmered with that eerie blue flame as mana coiled around his limbs like smoke.
He dashed forward.
In one blink, the distance vanished. His feet didn't pound the ground—they glided. The wind parted for him. He twisted mid-air and drove a punch straight into the golem's knee joint. Stone cracked, and the massive creature stumbled.
But then its palm came crashing down.
Kael raised his hand instinctively.
A glyph-circle unfurled from his palm, ancient and layered, glowing with a deep blue hue.
"Æther Veil."
The strike hit the barrier—and shattered. Both the golem's hand and the glyph exploded in a burst of raw force. Kael was thrown back, skidding against the grass—but he was smiling.
"I didn't say I was done," he whispered.
The glyphs on his arms flared.
This time, Kael called the fire. Not from his body—but from the air itself. Like some ancient agreement written in his blood, the mana responded. Blue flames formed a spiral around his fist, humming with impossible energy.
He leapt forward again.
"Ashrend."
The punch landed in the golem's chest. The world bent for a moment—then, with a thunderous boom, the entire torso of the stone beast cracked and splintered apart, its glowing core extinguished in a burst of embers.
Silence fell.
Even Lira was speechless.
Kael stood there, his breath ragged, his arms smoking with mana residue. Then, slowly, the glowing glyphs on his body began to recede, as though they had only borrowed his skin for a moment.
"...You're not just channeling mana anymore," Lira said at last, walking up beside him. "You're commanding it."
Kael didn't answer. He was staring at his own hand, the one that had burned through stone like it was parchment. A flicker of something passed through his eyes—not pride. Not fear. Something else.
Something older.
---
Later That Night
Kael sat by the fire, his back against an ancient root. His mother hummed a soft tune as she stirred a pot of stew. Despite everything—the fugitives, the Pale Hand's growing threat, and the whispers of the Firstborn's return—there was still comfort in small moments like these.
"I heard you cracked a golem today," she said without turning.
Kael chuckled softly. "More like shattered."
"I hope you remember that strength doesn't replace wisdom."
He paused, the flames reflecting in his eyes. "I do."
She nodded and served him a bowl. "You're growing into your power. Just don't forget why you wield it."
Across the fire, Lira and Arin were scribbling runes and cross-referencing old maps. The Vault had opened a thread—a fragment of a much deeper secret. The relic Kael held had symbols that matched ruins found across Elarion's forgotten regions. Some pointed east. Toward the Scarlands.
And they weren't the only ones who noticed.
---
Elsewhere… In the Depths of the Pale Citadel
A cloaked figure knelt before a throne of black thorns. The air crackled with silent magic.
"He has awakened," the figure whispered. "The boy who touched the Vault."
A voice, ragged and cruel, replied, "Then the hunt begins. Gather the Pale Hand. Send the Bonepriests. If the Firstborn returns… he will not reach the Scarlands alive."
The darkness swirled.
Far beyond Kael's camp, torches were lit. Seals were broken. Creatures not seen in centuries were unshackled.
The world was changing.
And Kael Nightveil was at the heart of it.