Kael awoke to silence.
Not the silence of peace — but the hollow, ringing void that follows destruction.
The sky above him was gray, heavy with the scent of burnt soil. Around him stretched a wasteland — black trees twisted into glass, the ground scorched to bone-white ash.
He tried to move. Pain answered. His body felt heavy, wrong — as if something inside had been rearranged.
When he sat up, his vision blurred. The edges of the world pulsed faintly with dark light, veins of shadow threading through the air like cracks in reality.
He pressed a hand to his chest — and froze.
The sigil had changed.
It was no longer a simple mark. It had grown.
Lines of black script now spiraled outward from his heart, across his ribs, his neck, up to the side of his jaw — glowing faintly with a light that wasn't entirely his own.
"You survived," the whisper murmured.
Kael exhaled slowly. "Barely."
"Barely is enough. You fed me well."
He looked down. Beneath his hands, the ground trembled faintly — and from the soil, roots of shadow rose and receded, like breathing. The blast had devoured everything — light, life, matter — and left behind a scar that pulsed with his essence.
"What did you make me do?" he muttered.
"What you desired. To live. To win."
Kael's jaw tightened. He remembered flashes — the holy knight, the clash of steel, the blinding light. Then, nothing. But he could still feel that man's strength… burned into his memory like a wound that refused to heal.
He stood unsteadily. The air bent around him as if the world itself avoided his presence. His reflection in a pool of black water stared back — eyes rimmed with white fire, veins of darkness webbed beneath the skin.
For a moment, he didn't recognize himself.
Then the whisper deepened — no longer just a voice, but a presence, filling the air with quiet hunger.
"You're becoming more than human, Kael. Do not mourn what you lose. Power does not coexist with purity."
He looked toward the horizon.
Far off, faint plumes of smoke rose — a village, untouched by the blast. He could sense them now, their souls flickering like tiny lights in the dark. Fear, warmth, greed, hope — all visible to him as colors bleeding through the air.
He closed his eyes. "You want me to feed again."
"You need to. Your flesh burns because it is too weak to contain what I am. Feed, and you will evolve. Refuse, and you will rot."
Kael sheathed his sword, his tone flat. "Then I'll feed on those who deserve it."
The voice chuckled softly.
"All souls are nourishment, little vessel. You're the one pretending some taste better than others."
Kael ignored it. He turned toward the distant village and began walking.
Every step left faint trails of black mist that dissolved behind him. Above, storm clouds gathered — slow, deliberate, as if following him.
By the time the village bells rang in the distance, Kael's shadow was no longer just his own.
It was watching him.