Kael Varos — Age 13 First Horseman Encounter
⸻
I. The Moment After Death
Helda's bisected body hit the dirt with a wet, final thud.
For a heartbeat, the world forgot how to breathe.
No one moved.No one screamed.Even the wind stood still.
Kael stared, frozen.
Her upper half lay twisted, eyes glassy with unfinished fury. Her lower half lay a few feet away, boots still braced in the charge that never landed. Blood crawled in slow, obscene rivers through the dust, soaking into the earth like the world itself was ashamed.
Lightning trembled weakly across Kael's skin—reflex, not control. His lungs refused to pull in air. His heart pounded in his ears, too loud, too far away, like it belonged to someone else.
Valdyros' voice exploded through his skull, ragged with a fear Kael had never heard from him:
« CHILD—THIS IS NO BEAST.
THIS IS ANTI-SOURCE.BACK AWAY—NOW! »
But Kael didn't move.
Because in the moonlit clearing, wrapped in charred, tattered black cloth, impossibly tall and skeletal-thin, bone-white animal mask grinning with jagged teeth—
Stood Famine.
A Horseman.
A walking absence.
A hollow in the shape of a man.
The world around him dimmed. Colors leached into gray. The Silver Road's faint glow withered wherever his shadow touched, as if the night itself was retreating.
He tilted his head toward Kael—too slowly, joints creaking like old branches.
Empty mask.
Dead sockets.Hunger staring straight into Kael's soul.
"Bright…"The voice was wrong—dry, multi-layered, like ten starving throats whispering through one mouth."…little… spark."
Lyria's fingers clamped around Kael's arm, shaking.
"Kael, don't—" Her voice broke. "Don't move. Please. Don't—"
But Kael was already stepping forward.
Lightning cracked under his heel.
His teeth ground together.
"You killed her…"
Famine tilted his head the other way, mask creaking.
"She was warm."
⸻
II. The Second Guard — What Anti-Source Really Does
Dolsen broke.
The quiet, bow-strong guard who'd survived two attacks on this road snapped like dry wood.
He screamed—a raw, human sound—and charged with his spear leveled.
"MONSTER!" he roared. "I WON'T LET YOU—"
Kael reached for him. "DOLSEN, STOP—!"
But Famine was already there.
He didn't lunge. Didn't rush. He simply appeared in Dolsen's path, arm drifting up with lazy inevitability.
His hand closed around Dolsen's throat.
Gently.
Almost tender.
Dolsen kicked and thrashed, fingers clawing at the bony grip.
Famine leaned close, bone mask inches from the man's reddening face.
"Shhhhh…"
Tendrils of black smoke slithered from Famine's hand, spreading into Dolsen's chest.
The change was instant.
Dolsen's skin sank against his bones.
Veins blackened like ink dragged through parchment.
His muscles collapsed, armor hanging loose as his body lost substance.
Nira choked on a sob.
"His Source— it's—"
She couldn't finish.
Kael watched in horror as faint, luminous strands—Dolsen's life, his Source, everything that made him him—were pulled out through Famine's fingers like threads of light being unraveled.
The glow dimmed.
Dimmed.
Died.
A few seconds later, Dolsen was little more than a rattling framework of bone inside collapsing skin—
Then crumbled into gray ash that blew away on a wind that wasn't there.
Lyria screamed.
Nira fell to her knees, hands over her mouth.
Ryven stumbled backward, face bone-white.
Korran's hands tightened around his spear until the skin split and blood smeared the shaft.
Serin's breath came too fast, sword quivering just enough to betray him.
Valdyros' wings flared, every scale standing on end.
« ANTI-SOURCE, » he spat. « PURE UNMAKING. IT DOESN'T JUST KILL—IT ERASES. »
Famine straightened.
Two lives gone as casually as brushing away dust.
He turned his mask toward Kael again, studying him like a butcher assessing a cut of meat.
"Warm…" he rasped. "Brighter."
His empty gaze bored into Kael.
"You will fill me nicely."
⸻
III. Kael Charges — A Storm Against the Void
Something in Kael snapped.
Fear boiled into fury.
His Soul Gate flared—painful, too bright.
His Body Gate roared to life, muscles surging.
His Mind Gate snapped into brutal clarity.
He moved.
Lightning detonated from his skin as he Flash Stepped—The world stretched—Sound blurred—
He reappeared behind Famine, cracked sword raised for a killing strike.
"GET AWAY FROM THEM—!"
The blade began to descend—
—and stopped.
A hand—thin, corpse-pale, cold—rested against Kael's chest.
He hadn't even seen Famine move.
"Too slow, spark."
The words brushed his face like ice.
Kael's lightning flared wildly, then sputtered.
Cold seeped through his ribs where Famine's fingers touched.
Not cold like winter.
Cold like an empty grave.
His Gates lurched.
Soul Gate flickered, light dragged toward that touch.
Mind Gate shuddered, vision warping at the edges.
Body Gate cracked, strength bleeding out of his limbs.
Anti-Source seeped into him like black frost.
Pain ripped through him—too deep to be flesh, too heavy to be bone, an ache in the very pattern of who he was.
Kael screamed.
His knees hit the ground.
He clawed at Famine's wrist, but his fingers had no strength.
Famine leaned in, empty sockets inches from Kael's eyes.
"Let me taste your light."
Kael felt it.
His Source—All three streams—Being pulled toward that hand.
Not just his power.
His possibility.
The path the Architect had laid.
It tore at his core like hooks in his soul.
Valdyros launched himself with a roar that tore the air.
The little dragon's body exploded with light, scales blazing like a newborn star as he slammed into Famine's shoulder.
A lesser foe would have been vaporized.
Famine turned his head a fraction.
His free arm flicked.
Backhand.
Just a lazy swat.
Valdyros shot across the clearing like a comet, smashing through a tree with a bone-cracking impact and vanishing in a cloud of splinters and dust.
"VALDYROS!" Kael shouted—
—or tried to.
Blood spilled from his lips instead.
His vision doubled.
Not again…Not like this…Not after I was given another chance… not before I—
A flicker of white-gold flashed in the corner of his eye.
For a heartbeat, he saw a massive dragon-shaped silhouette rising behind him, forged of storm and fire and something older than both.
A fragment of what he might one day become.
It surged—
—and fizzled under the black frost gripping his core.
Kael collapsed onto his side, gasping, fingers clawing weakly at the dirt.
Famine reached again, hand curving toward Kael's chest with slow, terrible certainty.
"Come," he whispered. "Be hollow."
⸻
IV. The Earth Trembles — The Masters Arrive
The world answered first.
The ground shook like something enormous had struck the far side of the hill.
A shockwave of power rolled through the trees—Sapphire. Teal. Silver. Orange.Four colors slamming into the night like a crashing tide.
A voice like a war drum thundered:
"STEP. AWAY. FROM MY STUDENT!"
The earth exploded beside Kael.
Captain Daen Reth hit the clearing like a meteor—shield first.
Stone shattered beneath his boots. Gold runes flared across his arms and chest as his Body Gate roared to full armament—muscles swelling, skin mapped with glowing lines of reinforced Source.
Valdyros wheezed weakly from the fallen tree, eyes wide.
« BODY ARMAMENT… STAGE TWO… » he rasped. « That fool is going to break his own bones to hit harder… »
Daen planted himself between Kael and Famine, shield raised, fist clenched.
He radiated raw, physical dominance.
"Touch the boy again," he growled, voice vibrating the air, "and I'll rip that mask off your skull and feed it to you."
Wind screamed.
Master Eiran Thalos descended behind Daen, robes whipping in a cyclone. The air around him sharpened into whirling discs—blades made entirely of compressed wind, orbiting his body like a halo of invisible knives.
He stepped into place without a wasted movement, eyes narrowed to storm-silver slits.
"You overstep, abomination," he said, voice like a blade drawn from a sheath. "Leave the child."
The air dimmed.
Then brightened in cool teal.
Master Sylara Veylon stepped into the moonlight, silver-white hair drifting as if underwater. The ground around her softened with ghostly light—Soul Source manifested and focused, flowing through intricate sigils that unfolded at her feet.
Her gaze fixed on Famine, eyes glowing with otherworldly depth.
"You bring Anti-Source into the Architect's realm," she said, voice layered with echo. "That is a trespass."
Last came the flame.
Guildmaster Vessa Rynn strode down the slope, spear blazing with orange fire that licked up toward the clouds. The heat of her presence washed over them, chasing back the chill Famine had brought.
She slammed the spear into the soil.
Flame veins burst outward through the dirt, forming a ring around the camp.
"You like hunting caravans?" she snarled. "Try hunting people who hit back."
Four masters.
Four different manifestations of power.
Body.
Mind.
Soul.
Flame.
Between Kael and death, they formed an unbreakable line.
⸻
V. The Horseman Reacts
For the first time since he appeared, Famine hesitated.
He tilted his head, taking them in one by one.
"Four anchors of the Architect…" he murmured, voice crackling with faint amusement. "Flesh. Wind. Spirit. Flame."
His aura… shifted. Not weaker—warier. Calculating.
Daen stepped forward, arm muscles blazing with golden sigils.
"You picked the wrong road," he said.
He moved.
No technique.
No pretty form.
Just a straight, savage punch that carried enough reinforced mass to crater a boulder.
His fist hit the ground where Famine had been—
KRAK—
The earth split in a jagged trench. Dust and stone erupted.
Famine was already gone, weightless as smoke, his form blurring a few paces back. The air where Daen's fist had passed smelled faintly of char and something rotting.
Eiran thrust his hand forward.
A blade of compressed wind—so dense the air screamed—shot toward Famine, followed by three more in rapid succession, each cutting lines in the earth where they passed.
Famine simply… parted.
His outline stretched, body twisting in ways that made Kael's stomach lurch. The wind-blades carved through him—but instead of cutting, they tore off chunks of shadow that simply drifted away like ash.
Sylara lifted her staff, teal light blooming.
Circles of soul-script unfolded around Famine's feet, trying to bind his essence—chains of luminous energy snapping toward him from all directions.
He paused.
The chains touched his aura—
—and began to rot.
Teal light blackened where it met him. The sigils dimmed, lines breaking as Anti-Source ate at their pattern.
Sylara's eyes narrowed. She poured more power into them, teeth clenched.
"Interesting," Famine said, sounding almost pleased. "You see the pattern, little soul-weaver. And still…" He tilted his mask. "…you cannot rewrite this one."
Vessa moved in the moment his attention shifted.
Her spear spun, trailing arcs of flame. She lunged, thrusting for his mask with enough speed to roar the air into a trail of fire.
The tip of the spear hit.
Light flared—Fire and darkness clashing in a violent burst.
For an instant, the mask resisted—then cracked, a hairline fracture running down from one hollow eye.
Famine went utterly still.
The camp fell silent.
Vessa's eyes widened in brief triumph—
Then the crack sealed, the mask smoothing itself out as if time rewound over it.
Famine looked down at the scorch mark on his chest.
Slowly.
"Four anchors," he repeated. "And still… you cannot kill one mask."
Shadows thickened around his feet, coiling like snakes.
His hunger focused again on Kael, still gasping on the ground, Sylara's teal light struggling to hold back the black frost in his chest.
"The spark has guardians," he said softly. "How… disappointing."
Daen's aura flared gold. "Keep talking and I'll—"
Famine was already drifting backward, steps not quite touching the ground.
"Three masks walk this land besides me," he said. "They hunger too."
His head turned slightly, as if listening to some distant call.
"We will dine soon, Architect's toy. Try not to break him before we arrive."
The shadows surged up around him like a rising tide.
In a blink, he was gone.
No teleport flash.
No flare of magic.
Just absence.
Like he'd never been there at all.
⸻
VI. Aftermath — Price of Survival
The silence that followed felt heavier than the battle.
Kael's body finally gave out.
He slumped fully to the ground, eyes rolling back. His breath came in shallow bursts, chest trembling.
"Kael!" Lyria dropped to her knees beside him, hands shaking as she tried to lift his head. "Kael, hey—come on, stay with me—"
Nira staggered closer, tears pouring down her cheeks. She tried to summon healing light—
Nothing.
Her Source wouldn't flow, like something inside her was afraid.
"I—I can't— It's not—" Her voice broke.
Sylara knelt opposite them, movements calm but urgent.
"Anti-Source wounds are mine," she said. "Normal healing will only give it more to devour."
She pressed a glowing hand to Kael's chest.
Teal light poured into him, threading through his body like gentle rivers, searching out the patches of black frost Famine had left behind.
Kael's back arched with a choked gasp.
Sylara's jaw tightened.
"Easy, child," she murmured. "We're taking back what he tried to steal."
Little by little, the black residue burned away under her touch, dissolving into motes of light that vanished into the air.
Valdyros limped over, wings drooping, scales scorched where he'd hit the tree. He curled protectively against Kael's neck, tail wrapping around his shoulder like a living anchor.
His telepathic voice trembled:
« Child… you nearly ceased. Anti-Source does not just kill. It devours destiny. What you might become. »
He looked at the masters, then at the others.
« Hear me. You must never face the Horsemen alone. Not now. Not even when you are grown. They are not foes for solo glory. They are storms that require armies. »
Ryven stood nearby, fists clenched so hard his nails dug bloody crescents into his palms. "He just… walked through us," he whispered. "Like we were nothing."
Korran stared at the ash pile that used to be Dolsen, jaw tight, eyes cold. "We lived because he let us."
Serin's hands still gripped his blades. He hadn't even realized the metal had begun to rust where Anti-Source had brushed it. Blood ran from his palms where he'd squeezed too hard.
Daen stayed between the team and the tree line, shoulders squared, aura still humming just beneath his skin—as if daring Famine to come back.
Eiran's gaze swept the carnage, every line of his face carved in hard stone. "We train them harder," he said quietly. "Or next time, there won't be pieces to pick up."
Vessa planted her spear into the soil near Helda's body—what was left of it.
Her usual smirk was gone.
"Two dead under my charter," she murmured. "Three attacks this week. And a Horseman hunting children." She exhaled sharply. "The guild will not like this. Good. They need to wake up."
Sylara's teal glow faded as she finished. Kael's breathing steadied, lightning along his arms softening to faint glimmers.
"He'll live," she said. "For now. His Gates are bruised, but intact. The Architect's mark resists being eaten."
Lyria bowed her head, shoulders shaking with relief. "Thank the Source…"
Nira wiped her eyes, sniffing. "I thought we'd lose him. I—I couldn't do anything."
"You stayed," Korran said quietly. "That matters."
Valdyros closed his eyes, pressing his head against Kael's cheek.
« Rest now, storm child, » he whispered. « The void saw you tonight. It will not forget. But neither will we. »
The night felt colder.
Smaller.
Sharper.
The Silver Road still lay ahead.
But now they knew.
Monsters, they could handle.Corrupted beasts, assassins, rival prodigies—these were problems of the living.
This was something else.
The Anti-Architect had Horsemen on the board.
And Kael Varos—bleeding, exhausted, barely clinging to consciousness—
was no longer just a prodigy.
He was prey the darkness had marked.
A spark the void intended to swallow.
A storm that would have to growor be eaten.