The Director and Igor watched through a crystal ball, their faces impassive as the battle unfolded before them. The magical projection reflected Cale's desperate struggle—facing Varra, Alden, and a dozen armored metal mages all at once.

  Despite the overwhelming odds, despite being outnumbered and overpowered, Cale was still standing.

  A losing fight.

  But the stubborn boy refused to fall.

  Cale’s movements grew sluggish, his breath bored, his body battered and bruised. Yet he fought on. Still, he pushed forward.

  His gaze flickered toward the edge of the castle wall.

  The Director’s eyes narrowed. His fingers tapped idly against the armrest of his chair, his mind already calcuting the next move.

  "He must have realized he is overwhelmed." His voice was calm, analytical. "He pns to escape."

  Igor stared at the crystal ball that was reflecting off his sunken features. His voice came slow and rasped, like wind scraping across dry bone.

  "He will not get far. The ring of bones around his heart will do its work."

  The Director hummed in thought, still focused on the projection. "Even if we capture him, he has become useless. He will not listen to us."

  Igor tilted his head. "Has the search for his parents been a failure, then? What about his friends? He will yield if he sees them with a dagger at their throats."

  The Director did not answer immediately. He simply stared at Cale, watching him through the magical projection. His face was unreadable, but something akin to regret flickered in his eyes, barely there, before he buried it beneath cold calcution.

  "What use is a powerful weapon… if you cannot wield it?" His voice was quiet, almost disappointed. "He could have been magnificent."

  Then his gaze shifted to Igor.

  "Increase the restraint to the maximum."

  Igor hesitated for only a moment before retrieving a cylindrical piece of bone from his robe. The surface was engraved with glowing runes, pulsing with eerie energy.

  Cale focused, the shards of metal surrounding him whipping through the air, intercepting another ruthless strike from Varra. His vision blurred, his skull throbbed, but he forced himself to fight. For them.

  Varra’s bdes cut through the air, a whisper of death, and Cale barely managed to deflect them with the metal swirling around him. His body screamed for relief, but he clenched his teeth, pushing forward, shing out with every ounce of strength he had left.

  Then he felt it.

  A sudden, sharp agony deep in his chest. Not like a wound. Not like a strike.

  Something inside him was breaking.

  His breath hitched.

  His vision dimmed. His pulse staggered.

  He stumbled. His knees buckled.

  A horrific, wet gurgle escaped his lips as blood burst from his eyes, nose, and mouth.

  A metallic taste flooded his throat. He choked, coughing violently, his lungs drowning in red.

  His body convulsed. He lurched forward, retching violently, vomiting blood onto the cold stone. His arms buckled beneath him, the ground tilting in his vision.

  Panic cwed at his mind.

  What was happening?

  His fingers twitched, struggling to reach the metal around him, but his control faltered. The once-responsive steel hung motionless in the air, the connection between him and it flickering like a dying fme.

  He colpsed.

  His cheek struck the ground, his body trembling violently as agony seared through his veins, like molten iron had been poured into his very bones.

  And then—

  The pressure in his chest reached a breaking point. Something cracked.

  A sickening rupture echoed within him, sending a final pulse of unbearable pain radiating outward.

  His heart exploded.

  A wave of silent destruction erupted inside his chest cavity, a moment of white-hot agony so sharp and pure that it erased all other sensations.

  Then came the silence. A hollow, endless silence.

  His fingers twitched once—

  Then stilled.

  His breathing faltered.

  Then stopped.

  Cale was gone.

  He was dead.

  Varra strode toward the fallen boy, her boots crushing dust and bloodstained stone beneath her. She nudged the body with her foot, rolling it onto its back.

  Cale’s face was a mask of death, smeared with dirt and crimson, his lifeless eyes wide open, staring bnkly into nothingness. His lips were parted slightly, as if caught in the midst of a final, unfinished breath.

  She exhaled sharply, then raised her hand in a silent command.

  "Grab his body. And follow me." Her voice was firm, unyielding.

  A heavily armored mage stepped forward, his metal-cd form gleaming faintly under the dim light. He knelt beside the corpse, reaching out to lift it—

  Cale’s eyes snapped open.

  He was standing.

  But not in the battlefield. Not in the castle.

  A white void stretched infinitely around him, vast and consuming. There was no sky, no ground, only endless nothingness.

  His hand rested on his chest. His fingers trembled as they pressed against his ribs, feeling the absence of a heartbeat.

  "I… died…" he murmured, the words fragile on his lips.

  His breath caught as his gaze shifted forward.

  Something—someone—stood before him.

  A colossal figure, cd in dark, jagged armor, loomed in the void like an ancient specter of war. Its form was immense, towering at least a dozen meters high, its sheer presence suffocating.

  Then, the void warped.

  The whiteness fractured around him like shattering gss, and suddenly—

  Cale was elsewhere.

  The air was thick with the stench of scorched earth and metal. He stood in the heart of a ruined battlefield, surrounded by the scars of war.

  There were no bodies—only the echoes of destruction left behind.

  The ground was fractured, torn apart by some unfathomable force.

  Craters littered the expanse, their jagged edges smoking faintly.

  Deep trenches sliced through the terrain, as if some monstrous beast had raked its cws across the earth.

  And at the center of it all—

  The colossal armored figure loomed amidst the devastation, its presence unearthly.

  Its form was wrapped in bckened metal, segmented and barbed like the exoskeleton of some primordial warbeast. Every inch of it radiated death and ruin, a being forged from battle itself.

  Cracks lined its massive frame, pulsing with an otherworldly blue-white light, leaking an ethereal mist that coiled into the air like the spirits of the fallen.

  Its helmet was crowned with wicked, bded protrusions, a twisted mockery of a king’s crown, the emblem of a warlord who reigned over nothing but destruction.

  Its face was hidden in shadow, but from the darkness of its helm, two burning eyes glowed—a piercing, bluish-white fire.

  Cale’s breath hitched.

  It wasn’t just a warrior.

  It was something far worse.

  It was destruction incarnate. The harbinger of ruin itself.

  The air shuddered around him, the ruined battlefield trembling beneath his feet.

  Cale swallowed hard, his throat dry. The sheer weight of the being’s presence was crushing, but still, his voice found a way through his lips, small and hoarse:

  "Who… are you?"

  A booming tremor rippled through the air, shaking the very fabric of reality. The sky—if there even was one—cracked like thunder, as if the heavens themselves recoiled from the presence of the entity before him.

  Then, the voice came.

  It wasn’t just sound.

  It was power itself.

  A voice that did not speak but commanded.

  It came from everywhere and nowhere at once, resonating in his very bones.

  "STAND!"

  The battlefield roared in response, the wind howling through the shattered ndscape, as if the world itself was obeying the command.

  Varra spun around sharply, her breath catching in her throat as her gaze locked onto the boy she had just seen die.

  Cale was rising.

  Slowly, unnaturally, his body lifted from the ground as if pulled by unseen hands. Blood and dirt smeared across his skin, yet it did nothing to mask the unnerving transformation that had taken pce.

  His eyes met hers.

  Her stomach twisted.

  His rich brown eyes were gone.

  In their pce burned an unearthly bluish-white glow, flickering with a cold, spectral fire. It was not the light of life—it was something far older, far more unnatural. A pulse of raw power radiated from his gaze, drilling into her like a bde piercing her very soul.

  A shudder ran down her spine.

  This was not the same boy she had fought moments ago.

  This was something else.

  Cale’s hand rose slowly, his fingers curling into a fist.

  A chilling silence fell over the battlefield. The air itself seemed to hold its breath.

  Then—

  A horrific scream shattered the stillness.

  The dozen armored mages convulsed violently, their bodies spasming as if their own armor had turned against them. The metal that once protected them now crushed inward, their limbs snapping, their torsos imploding with grotesque wet cracks. Blood burst through the seams of their armor, spraying in crimson arcs.

  And then—

  They exploded.

  A shower of gore and twisted steel rained across the battlefield, painting the ground with blood.

  Varra swallowed hard, forcing herself to remain composed. She was a veteran; she had seen horrors beyond count, but this—this was something else entirely. The sheer brutality of it sent ice through her veins.

  This wasn’t the way he had fought before. Even when he had been cornered, even when he had known he was losing, he had held back. He hadn’t fought to kill.

  A heavy thud beside her made her snap her head to the side.

  Alden had nded from his stone ptform, his stance tense, his eyes locked onto Cale’s shifting form. His fists clenched at his sides. He did not flinch, but there was something tight, cautious in his posture—something that had not been there before.

  "Do you have any idea what’s happening?" Alden asked, his voice uncharacteristically grim.

  Varra swallowed, her pulse hammering against her ribs.

  "No," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "But we should retreat."

  She moved fast. Her hands lifted, arcane symbols forming in the air as mana swirled violently around her, coiling like a serpent about to strike. The moment the spell was complete, her form blurred, and then—

  She was gone.

  Alden wasted no time. He stomped his foot against the ground, the earth responding to his command. A stone ptform erupted beneath him, hurling him skyward in a desperate retreat.

  But Cale was not finished.

  The battlefield trembled, the ground groaning under the weight of an unseen force.

  The shattered armor of the fallen mages lifted into the air, their twisted remains reshaping. The metal scraps, the broken weapons, even the debris of the castle itself—all of it flew toward him.

  Cale’s skin tore open, but instead of blood, molten metal flowed beneath, fusing seamlessly with his body.

  The earth itself split apart, as veins of buried metal erupted from the ground, ripped from the depths as if summoned by an unrelenting force.

  The ground shook violently, deep tremors rolling beneath the battlefield like a storm had been birthed within the very bones of the earth. The castle itself groaned, its once-proud towers beginning to crumble, its ancient stonework shattering as the metal embedded deep in its foundations ripped free, drawn toward its new master.

  A maelstrom of metal surrounded Cale, twisting and shifting like a living thing, bending to his will. Spears, chains, swords, armor—fragments of a thousand weapons past—all of it belonged to him now.

  And at the eye of the storm, Cale stood, absorbing it all.

  "My research…" Igor murmured as his eyes snapped back to the crystal ball.

  The Director was staring at it too, his sharp gaze locked onto the chaotic maelstrom unfolding within the magical projection. The castle was colpsing.

  His next words cut like a bde.

  "Forget about it. All we can do now is leave this pce before we’re buried with it." The Director’s voice was cold, final. He didn’t hesitate—he stood and turned sharply, heading toward the door that led out of the chamber.

  Igor's blue eyes started at him as he left, hesitating for only a fraction of a second before grabbing the crystal ball and hurrying out.

  Across the castle, in the canteen, Mirelle sat at the edge of a long table, idly poking at her food, though she had no appetite.

  She had just heard the news—

  Davion had been sent to the Forge.

  Her fingers tightened around the spoon in her hand.

  "Why did he tell us it was today…?" she murmured under her breath, frustration curling in her chest. There had been no warning.

  Then—

  The ground beneath her trembled.

  Not a light shake.

  A deep, rolling quake that sent ptes cttering and utensils rattling against the wooden tables. Mirelle’s head snapped up.

  The entire canteen had fallen silent.

  Every child had stopped eating. They sat frozen, wide-eyed, gncing around at one another in confusion. Something was wrong.

  Then, without warning, the doors smmed open, and a gray-robed man stepped inside. His face was unreadable, but his voice was sharp and unwavering.

  "Everyone, follow me. We are evacuating. Now!"

  They didn’t hesitate. They moved instantly, forming tight, orderly lines as if they had trained for this moment their entire lives.

  Mirelle followed, her stomach twisting with unease. She wanted to ask what was happening, but she bit her tongue. The gray-robed figures never answered questions.

  As they stepped out of the canteen building, Mirelle’s eyes widened.

  The main courtyard was in ruins.

  The once pristine stone ground was now a shattered ndscape of upheaved earth and jagged mounds several meters high. Massive cracks ran through the ground like scars, and the air was thick with dust.

  Chunks of metal—doors, weapons, armor, even iron reinforcements ripped straight from the stone—whirled through the sky, all of them converging toward a single point within the ruins of the courtyard.

  Mirelle’s heart pounded.

  What was happening?

  She wanted to ask. She wanted answers. But she knew—

  No one would tell her.

  The robed men kept moving, leading them toward the outer wall that surrounded the castle. The tremors in the ground were growing stronger, shaking beneath their feet like something was alive beneath them, struggling to break free.

  At the base of the wall, the lead robed man stepped forward, pressing his hand against the stone. He whispered something low and guttural—words that crackled with magic.

  The stone groaned.

  Then—

  The wall slid open.

  A hidden exit.

  Beyond it, in the open field, a row of simple wooden carriages stood waiting, their massive draft horses barely restrained, eyes rolling in panic, hooves pawing violently at the trembling earth. Their panicked whinnies pierced the air, their instincts screaming at them to flee.

  Mirelle and the other children were rushed into the back of the carriages. The moment they were inside, the wheels lurched forward, the drivers snapping the reins as the horses bolted, desperate to escape whatever horror was consuming the castle behind them.

  But Mirelle couldn’t stop staring back.

  She watched in horror as entire towers colpsed, massive chunks of stone breaking apart, sending plumes of dust and debris billowing into the sky.

  Something terrible was happening back there.

  She clenched her fists, her mind racing with only one thought.

  Cale…

  She didn’t know what, but—

  "Cale, I hope you’re all right…" she whispered, her voice barely audible over the rumble of destruction behind them.

  Then—

  Something shot through the sky.

  A silvery streak, like a meteor bzing toward the heart of the crumbling castle.

  Mirelle’s breath caught in her throat.

  Before she could say anything, a violent jolt rocked the carriage.

  The wooden frame groaned. The children around her gasped, gripping whatever they could to keep from tumbling over.

  Then—

  The carriage stopped.

  The earth trembled beneath them, and silence followed.

  A silence that felt wrong.

  Mirelle peeked through the small opening at the back of the carriage, her heart pounding.

  She heard it before she saw it—heavy footsteps, each one deliberate, crushing against the dirt with an eerie weight.

  Then, a dark-armored figure appeared, stepping into view. The light barely reflected off his obsidian-pted armor, its surface lined with faint engravings, runes she couldn’t recognize. His face remained hidden behind a visor, a cold, expressionless mask that revealed nothing of the man beneath.

  A deep voice cut through the tense air.

  "Is there a girl here called Mirelle?"

  Silence filled the carriage. The children stiffened, eyes darting toward her.

  Mirelle felt every nerve in her body tighten. The way he spoke—it wasn’t a question. It was a command.

  She took a shaky step forward.

  "Y-yes, sir. It’s me." Her voice wavered slightly.

  The armored figure gave a small nod. "Come with me."

  Something cold settled in Mirelle’s gut. Her fingers curled into fists at her sides.

  This felt wrong.

  She stepped out of the carriage cautiously, gncing around—

  And froze.

  The gray-robed men who had been escorting them y motionless on the side of the road.

  Dead.

  Pools of dark crimson spread beneath their limp bodies, staining the dirt. Their lifeless eyes stared up at the sky, mouths slightly parted as if in shock.

  A chill ran through Mirelle’s spine. She wanted to ask what happened, but her throat felt like it had closed shut.

  The armored figure moved toward a massive, muscur horse, standing beside the carnage unbothered, its dark coat gleaming. He mounted swiftly, then turned his head slightly to gnce down at her.

  "Hop on." He motioned toward the space behind him.

  Mirelle’s heart raced.

  She hesitated for just a second—then forced herself to move.

  She climbed onto the horse, gripping onto his armor as she settled into pce.

  Without a word, the armored man extended his hand, revealing a thick, metallic bracelet. It wasn’t delicate like jewelry—it was heavy, closer to a shackle than an ornament.

  "Put this on your wrist." His tone left no room for refusal.

  Mirelle gulped. She obeyed. The cold metal snapped shut around her wrist with an unsettling finality.

  The moment she secured it, the armored man lifted the reins.

  The carriage behind them lurched forward, continuing its journey.

  But the armored man’s horse turned in the opposite direction.

  Instead of following the road, he steered it left—straight into the dense forest.

  Mirelle’s breath hitched as they plunged into the trees, the branches whipping past them as the horse galloped forward.

  She clung tightly to his armor, her grip knuckles-white as the powerful beast tore through the underbrush.

  They rode in silence for what felt like an eternity—the world around them growing darker, quieter, swallowed by the endless trees.

  Then—

  The horse slowed.

  Through the shifting shadows, Mirelle spotted something—a cave, barely visible through the thick curtain of vines and vegetation.

  The entrance was small, unassuming, half-hidden by nature itself.

  The armored figure dismounted, his boots hitting the ground with a heavy thud.

  He strode forward into the pitch-bck mouth of the cave.

  And then—

  He disappeared.

  Mirelle stiffened.

  What—?

  She took a hesitant step forward. The cave was completely dark inside—so dark it looked like a solid wall of shadows.

  Then, suddenly—

  A hand emerged from the darkness, waving her forward.

  Mirelle froze.

  The fingers curled, beckoning. Waiting.

  She sucked in a shaky breath.

  And then—

  She stepped through.

  The moment she crossed the threshold, the darkness peeled away like mist, revealing the inside of the cave.

  Mirelle’s eyes widened.

  "Davion?!"

  She couldn’t believe her eyes.

  Davion stood leaning against the cave wall, his arms crossed. Alive.

  His face was pale, but there was a faint relief in his expression as he lifted a hand in greeting.

  He had the same metallic shackle on his wrist.

  Mirelle took a shaky step forward, still struggling to process what she was seeing.

  Then—

  The armored figure reached up—

  His hand moved to his helmet.

  A slow, deliberate motion.

  He untched it—

  And pulled it free.

  Davion’s eyes widened in shock. Mirelle felt her heart stop.

  The man turned toward them, the dim glow of the cave’s magical stones reflecting in his silvery eyes—piercing, almost luminous in the dark.

  A smirk curled on his lips.

  It had been years since they had st seen him. But despite the short time they had spent together, his presence had left a sting mark.

  Mirelle’s lips parted, barely able to whisper his name.

  "Kaelthar…"