The forest near the East Region's outer roads was never truly silent.
Even at dawn, something always moved—branches creaked under unseen
steps, insects whispered warnings, and the wind carried the metallic scent
of old blood that never quite faded from these paths.
Kaelen sensed the disturbance before he heard it.
Voices—low, sharp, edged with desperation rather than confidence.
He stopped.
Not out of concern.
Out of habit.
Ahead, the trees thinned just enough to reveal a narrow dirt path. Three
figures stood there. Two men blocked the road, their postures tense,
weapons crude but reinforced with faint, uneven Kyz flow. Rank 9 at best.
Unofficial.
The third figure was a girl.
She was young—about the same age as the body Kaelen wore. Her clothes
were torn at the sleeve, one knee smeared with dirt and blood. She wasn't
crying. She wasn't begging.
She was gripping a short blade with both hands, knuckles white, breathing
uneven but controlled.
"Hand it over," one of the men said. "You don't need travel papers where
you're going."
"I do," the girl replied, voice tight but steady. "That's the point."
Kaelen watched.
He had seen this scene unfold across a thousand worlds, dressed in a
thousand different languages. Hunger. Fear. Power used where law failed
to reach.
Nothing about it was unique.
He took one step forward.
A branch cracked underfoot.
The two men turned instantly. Their eyes locked onto Kaelen—not wary,
not respectful, just irritated.
"Tch. Another one," the taller man muttered. "Kid, walk away."
Kaelen didn't answer.
The girl's gaze flicked toward him, sharp and assessing, not hopeful.Good, he thought distantly. Hope gets people killed.
"Didn't hear us?" the second man said, Kyz flaring slightly around his
weapon. "We're busy."
Kaelen stepped fully onto the path.
The air around him shifted—not visibly, not violently—but enough that the
girl felt it. Her grip tightened.
The men didn't feel it.
Yet.
"Last warning," the taller one said, already raising his weapon. "We don't
want—"
They moved first.
That was the mistake.
Kaelen reacted on instinct, not intent.
For a fraction of a microsecond, he stopped suppressing the internal
pressure of his soul.
Not power.
Weight.
The world buckled.
There was no explosion. No sound. No dramatic flare of light.
The men simply ceased.
Their bodies collapsed inward, bones failing before flesh, organs crushed
by a pressure the air itself could not bear. One fell to his knees, eyes wide
in confusion, before his spine disintegrated. The other never finished his
step—his weapon clattered to the ground beside a body that no longer
functioned as a body.
The ground cracked beneath them, shallow fractures spidering outward
before stopping, as if reality itself refused to let the damage spread further.
Silence rushed back in.
Kaelen stood where he was, chest rising slowly.
Too much, he noted calmly. Still too much.
The girl stared.
Not at the bodies.
At him.
Kaelen looked down at his hands. They weren't shaking. The vessel had held. BarelyThey were human.
The thought surfaced uninvited.
So was I. Once.
"Are you hurt?" he asked, voice flat.
She hesitated before answering. "No."
A lie. But not a weak one.
She lowered her blade slowly, eyes never leaving him. "You killed them."
"Yes."
There was no pride in it. No apology either.
"Why?" she asked.
"They were in my way," Kaelen replied.
The words tasted wrong. He knew it. He used them anyway.
The girl flinched—not from fear, but from something closer to unease.
"They were unofficial," she said after a moment, glancing at the corpses.
"Criminal Kyz masters."
"I know."
"If you hadn't intervened, I might've—" She stopped herself. "Never mind."
Kaelen turned away from the bodies. He didn't look back.
They resumed walking together—not side by side, but not apart either.
After several minutes, the girl spoke again. "You don't have a crest."
"No."
"You know that makes what you did illegal."
"Yes."
She exhaled sharply. "Then you're either reckless… or new."
"Neither."
She gave him a sideways look. "That wasn't an answer."
"It was sufficient."
Despite herself, she let out a quiet, humorless huff. "You're strange."
"So I'm told."
They walked in silence until the trees thinned and the forest's Kyz density
shifted—thicker, more structured. Territory closer to civilization.
"I'm Kyle Snow," the girl said eventually. "I'm heading to Swizz City."Kaelen nodded. "So am I."
"I'm going to register," she added. "Official Kyz master trial."
"Why?"
"Because if I don't," she said simply, "someone like them decides whether I
live."
Kaelen considered that.
"I can guide you through the process," she continued. "You should register
too. Without a crest, every patrol will treat you like a criminal."
"I don't need help."
Kyle looked at him. "Then let me pay my debt."
He didn't refuse.
Swizz City rose from the horizon like a scar reinforced with steel—high
walls etched with Kyz circuits, watchtowers humming with detection
arrays, banners marking authority rather than pride.
As they approached the gates, Kaelen felt it.
The scan.
Not power probing power—but systems searching for flow.
For circulation.
For something that wasn't there.
The air tightened. Guards stiffened.
One of them frowned. "That reading—"
Kaelen took a breath.
The vessel held.
For now.
Behind the walls of Swizz City, something had noticed him.
And it did not understand what it was sensing.