The System didn't punish Kieran immediately.
That was the worst part.
The hours after the Inquisition's departure passed with an eerie normalcy. The city resumed its noise. Training resumed. Death resumed. Crossreach Bastion swallowed the interruption like it always did—efficiently, without ceremony.
Kieran sat on the edge of his slab, staring at his hands.
They were steady.
Too steady.
[STATUS CHECK]
AUTONOMY: 92%]
RESTRICTION ACTIVE]
"What does that even mean?" he muttered.
The Voidblade lay across his knees, dark and quiet. Nihra no longer whispered. It didn't hum. It didn't respond when he brushed his thumb along the hilt.
That terrified him more than the pain had.
Lyra arrived without announcing herself.
She stopped just inside the doorway, arms crossed, eyes sharp as ever—but there was tension in her shoulders now, a tightness that hadn't been there before.
"You should be resting," she said.
"I am," Kieran replied. "Apparently."
She studied him for a moment. "…Can you stand?"
He nodded and rose to his feet.
Nothing felt wrong.
That was wrong.
"Come with me," Lyra said. "We'll test it."
They went to the lower training ring—the one used for rehabilitation and "adjustments." The floor was smooth, unbroken by old scars, because damage here was repaired instantly by embedded runes.
Lyra stepped onto the ring and activated the field.
"Attack me," she said.
Kieran blinked. "What?"
"Slow," she clarified. "Controlled."
He hesitated, then drew the Voidblade.
The moment his intent shifted toward hostility—
Pain lanced through his skull.
Not sharp.
Corrective.
Kieran gasped, knees buckling as invisible pressure crushed down on his chest.
[RESTRICTION ENFORCED]
ACTION DENIED]
He dropped the blade.
It clattered uselessly against the floor.
Lyra swore under her breath. "Again," she said. "Think about striking. Don't move."
Kieran clenched his teeth and focused.
The instant the thought fully formed—
Agony bloomed behind his eyes, stronger this time, accompanied by a sickening sensation of loss, like something had been gently removed from his mind.
[CORRECTION APPLIED]
EMOTIONAL INTENT SUPPRESSED]
Kieran collapsed to one knee, retching.
Lyra was beside him instantly—not touching, but close enough that he could feel her presence.
"…It's targeting intent," she said quietly. "Not action."
Kieran laughed weakly. "So I can fight monsters, but not people."
Lyra didn't answer.
She didn't have to.
They both knew who decided what counted as a monster.
It got worse.
Over the next two days, Kieran learned the boundaries of his leash.
He could enter dungeons—but only those flagged as approved threats. When he attempted to stray off-path, his vision blurred and his legs locked.
He could train—but only within parameters the System deemed "efficient." Improvisation triggered migraines. Creative combat styles caused nausea and vertigo.
Most insidiously—
He couldn't linger on faces.
When he tried to focus on Lyra's expression—really focus, on the lines of strain around her eyes, the way her jaw tightened when she was angry—his thoughts slid away like water off glass.
[EMOTIONAL DEPTH REGULATED]
"Stop looking at me like that," Lyra snapped one evening.
Kieran frowned. "Like what?"
"…Like you're trying to remember something you're not allowed to," she said.
That night, he dreamed of nothing.
The breaking point came in the lower tiers.
A riot erupted—Freebound clashing with Vanguard patrols over access to a newly opened dungeon gate. Civilians were caught in the middle, crushed against walls, trampled underfoot.
Kieran saw a child fall.
Without thinking, he moved.
The System reacted instantly.
[UNAUTHORIZED INTERVENTION DETECTED]
Pain ripped through his body, locking his muscles mid-step. He fell hard, vision exploding into white static.
The child screamed.
Someone else didn't make it in time.
When the riot was finally suppressed, Kieran lay shaking on the stone, teeth chattering despite the heat.
Lyra knelt beside him, fury radiating off her in waves.
"That wasn't combat," she said tightly. "That was restraint. Why did it—"
"Because it wasn't efficient," Kieran finished.
The words tasted wrong.
Too easy.
Lyra stared at him. "What?"
Kieran swallowed. "It didn't help the most people. It didn't improve survival metrics. It just… felt right."
The System chimed softly.
[BEHAVIORAL ALIGNMENT IMPROVING]
Lyra recoiled as if struck.
"…It's changing how you think," she whispered.
Kieran looked at his hands again.
They were still steady.
That night, the Voidblade spoke again.
Not in whispers.
In clarity.
This is what it takes first, Nihra murmured—not with sound, but with certainty. Not strength. Not memory.
Choice.
Kieran sat upright, heart pounding.
"You're awake," he breathed.
I was never asleep, the blade replied. I was restrained.
"What happens if this continues?"
Nihra hesitated.
You will still fight, it said. You will still win.
You simply will not care why.
Kieran pressed his forehead into his palms.
"I won't let that happen."
The System flickered.
[NOTICE]
RESISTANCE DETECTED]
The air in the room warped.
A familiar pressure descended—clean, cold, absolute.
Seraph Noct stepped out of nothingness.
"Ah," Seraph said pleasantly. "You noticed."
Kieran surged to his feet, pain flaring instantly—but Seraph raised a hand, and the restriction eased just enough for him to stand.
"Relax," Seraph said. "This is a conversation."
Lyra burst into the room moments later, blade drawn.
Seraph didn't look at her.
"This phase is always the hardest," Seraph continued calmly. "When you realize what's being taken—and why."
"You're wrong," Kieran said hoarsely. "This isn't correction. It's control."
Seraph nodded. "Yes."
The simplicity of the answer was horrifying.
"I didn't come to kill you," Seraph said. "I came to warn you."
"About what?" Lyra demanded.
Seraph's gaze shifted to her at last.
"About the next thing the System takes."
Kieran's stomach dropped. "Which is?"
Seraph smiled—thin, almost regretful.
"Attachment."
The System chimed.
[PREDICTIVE FLAG RAISED]
BOND DESTABILIZATION IMMINENT]
Seraph stepped back into the distortion.
"When the time comes," he said softly, "you'll be given a choice."
His eyes met Kieran's.
"Obey—and forget why you cared."
"Or resist—and lose the person entirely."
The air snapped back into place.
Seraph was gone.
Lyra stood frozen, staring at the space he'd occupied.
Kieran looked at her.
For a terrifying moment—
He couldn't feel anything at all.
Then, slowly, painfully, something pushed back against the numbness.
Fear.
Real fear.
"…Lyra," he said quietly.
She met his gaze.
For once, neither of them looked away.