Kael stared at the swirling vortex inside the Veil Gate.
It now pulsed with a dark red glow, almost like dried blood, and the air around it had grown suddenly heavy, as if the whole world were holding its breath.
He felt a wave of frustration and irritation rising inside him—
Not his own, but an echo coming from the Veil itself.
This was the Veil of Wrath, and he knew this battle would be different, harsher.
He had always tried to keep his anger in check, to stop it from taking over.
Here, that would be tested.
Anya stepped closer, her face tightened with caution.
"This Veil is pure confrontation, Kael. It won't try to trick you or drain you. It will try to make you angry, push you, provoke you until you strike. The Ash will use everything that irritates you, everything that makes you feel powerless."
She placed a hand on Kael's shoulder, her eyes narrowing as she studied him.
"The key isn't to avoid anger, but to not let it consume you. Use it. Shape it. Turn it into fuel, not poison."
Lyra, on his other side, kept her hands clasped tightly. Her silver eyes reflected a very real concern.
"Your inner strength will be tested differently here. Don't fight anger with anger. The Ash's rage is blind. Yours must have a target. Don't strike wildly. Strike with purpose."
Kael nodded, taking a deep breath that filled his lungs.
As always before facing a Veil, he thought of his Dream Garden—almost like a ritual.
The flame at its center was now a small but sturdy brazier, and the golden roots had spread further, enriching the soil.
If the Veil of Wrath wanted to enrage him, he would turn that anger into something useful.
He stepped into the vortex.
The air grabbed him with brutal force, as if an invisible fist had slammed directly into his chest.
Heat flooded around him—not the warm, steady heat of his Sleeping Fire, but the wild, scorching fury of an uncontrolled blaze.
His ears filled with a deafening roar: metal twisting, stone shattering, screams of pure frustration and rage.
Kael found himself standing, but not on solid ground.
He was in a place that resembled an endless battlefield—but not made of earth.
The ground was formed from jagged slabs of cooled lava, black and sharp, crackling under his steps. The sky above was a dark, oppressive red streaked with crimson lightning that, now and then, revealed the ruined landscape.
The air was thick with bitter smoke and the stinging smell of sulfur and burnt metal.
There was no life—only destruction.
He looked around, trying to make out shapes through the red glow.
The rocks hissed with hot steam, and small cracks in the ground revealed an orange glow beneath them, like the heart of a volcano. Anger boiled inside him, a wild fury that felt as if it wanted to tear him apart from within.
Every flash of lightning, every groan from the shifting ground fed that sensation.
It was the Ash's rage.
Then, shapes began forming from the lava stones—not transparent like in the Veil of Loss, but solid and threatening.
They were creatures of dark rock and smoke, their eyes burning with red fire.
Not truly shaped—more like physical forms of raw anger.
These were the Demons of Wrath, projections of the Ash, answering to the deepest frustration inside him.
"Destroy! Burn! Tear apart!"
Their voices were a chorus of guttural roars mixed with the sounds of the battlefield.
They charged toward Kael, moving surprisingly fast, their arms shifting into sharp blade-like claws.
Kael felt the primal urge to strike, to unleash his Sleeping Fire with all his strength.
That was exactly what the Veil wanted.
But Anya's and Lyra's words echoed in his mind:
Don't let it consume you. Shape it. Don't strike blindly. Strike with purpose.
His Sleeping Fire churned inside his chest, but Kael didn't let it explode.
He focused, shaping that fury into controlled heat—like a forge ready to shape metal.
He drew in a breath, eyes locked on the approaching Demons.
When the first one lunged at him, Kael did something unexpected.
He didn't shield himself or fire a blast.
He slipped to the side, dodging the sharp claw.
Then he reached out and brushed the Demon's shoulder.
His golden flame jumped from his palm to the demon's rocky surface.
There was no explosion.
The Demon froze, its form flickered—and Kael felt a surge of burning frustration flood into his mind.
It wasn't blind rage.
It was the anger of something that tried to destroy, but could not.
The fury of helplessness.
Kael pulled his hand back, his head throbbing from the sudden emotion—but his Sleeping Fire protected him.
The Demon turned with a louder roar, but Kael understood now.
It wasn't about breaking anger.
It was about finding its source and loosening its hold.
Then a figure rose from a crack in the lava ground.
A woman—wrapped in smoke and shadow, her posture imposing, almost royal.
Her eyes burned with bright red light, not the cold red of the Guardians, but a blazing red filled with ancient, endless fury.
It was Solara, in her most corrupted form—the living embodiment of the Ash's Wrath.
"Anger is the only truth!"
Her voice boomed across the battlefield, shaking the air.
"Destruction is the only way! If you can't stop the pain, burn it! Burn everything!"
Solara raised her hands, and jagged pillars of black fire shot up from the ground.
This fire wasn't like his.
It burned without consuming, leaving only emptiness behind.
The Fire of Wrath.
Kael moved, dodging the slow but massive pillars.
His chest burned—Solara's rage was immense.
"I feel your anger, Keeper!" Solara roared, summoning more fire.
"Your frustration! Your helplessness! Let it flow! Join me! Together we will burn this world of weak dreams!"
Kael felt the pull of her rage.
He had felt that anger so many times—the frustration of not being able to save Elara.
He could give in.
He could let that fury merge with his own and unleash an eruption of Sleeping Fire that would incinerate everything.
But that wasn't his way.
"No!" Kael shouted, his voice echoing through the battlefield.
He dodged another blast, his flame burning brighter.
"Anger isn't the truth! It's a lie! You don't erase pain—you spread it!"
Kael focused.
He wouldn't fight Solara with brute strength.
He would use his anger—but not as poison.
His golden flame extended into small pulsing spheres around him.
They didn't explode—they pushed outward with a steady warmth.
The Demons attacked again.
Kael moved among them with speed, letting the small golden spheres attach to their bodies.
Each sphere pulsed, warming the Demons—and each Demon trembled, cracks of light breaking through their dark forms.
Their rage was being released, not unleashed.
Solara roared, furious, sending a wave of black fire.
"You cannot stop me! I am the world's Wrath!"
"You're its wound!" Kael answered.
He kept moving, placing his flames on the Demons.
His anger was not blind.
It was focused—the anger of wanting to fix what was broken.
As Kael spread his golden fire, the battlefield transformed.
The lava cooled, the lightning dimmed, the roaring quieted.
Every Demon touched by his flame dissolved into swirls of gray smoke—
Not shattered, but soothed.
Solara's form flickered, wrapped in thicker smoke.
"Noooo!"
Her scream cracked into a choked sound of pure frustration.
Her black flames went out.
Her power, dependent on rage, was fading.
"You… can't… silence… anger…" she whispered, voice raw.
Her body lost shape—not gone, but retreating.
Then the battlefield dissolved—not into pieces, but into something new.
The lava became smooth, cool stone.
The sky turned deep blue, filled with distant stars.
Kael stood on solid ground again.
The smell of sulfur was gone, replaced by clean, cold mountain air.
In front of him was a portal of pure ice, glowing with a sharp, crystalline light.
Through it, he could see a world made of ice and silence.
It was the exit.
Kael felt exhausted, but a new surge of energy ran through him.
His anger hadn't vanished—it had been purified.
It had become a determination.
His mind felt clearer than ever.
He returned to the Deep Foundation, landing more steadily this time.
Anya and Lyra rushed to him, relief on their faces.
"Kael!" Lyra cried. "You endured! Your flame was like a healing weapon!"
Anya bent toward him, eyes sharp.
"You shaped your anger, Kael. You didn't let it break you. That's a rare gift."
Kael lifted his head.
He felt lighter.
His Sleeping Fire was now a steady, bright flame in his chest.
In his Dream Garden, it had grown—golden roots forming a dense network across the ground.
And beside the flame, Kael noticed something new:
A tiny green gem, pulsing faintly.
A promise of growth.
Master Elian approached.
His old face was marked, but his eyes shone with something Kael had never seen in them before.
Respect.
Hope.
"You have passed the Veil of Wrath, Kael. And you eased a part of Solara's suffering, even if only for a moment. No Keeper has ever done that. Mastering your own anger is one thing. But softening Solara's one… that has never been done."
Kael stood, gaze steady.
"Master," he said, "what comes next?"
Elian pointed toward the icy portal now blazing with white light.
"Next is The Veil of Oblivion. You will face absolute emptiness—the absence of everything, the fading of memory. Oblivion is silence. It is forgetting. It will be your quietest test, but also the most dangerous. And Solara will be there again, ready to make you forget… even your mission."
Kael turned slightly to the right, inhaling deeply before letting out a slow breath, as if releasing a weight.
Forgetting.
It sounded more terrifying than any rage or madness.
But the small green gem in his Dream Garden pulsed—
a reminder of the life he could not forget.
Then a thought struck him:
What if I really forgot?
What if I forgot… everything?
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