The Ashes of Fate

Kael interlocks his fingers, placing his hands on the table. "Excuse me, but who might you be?"

The room is still at his words. A simple question, yet one that turns the weight of the conversation in his favor. The gathered nobles exchange brief glances, some furrowing their brows, others shifting in their seats. No one had expected to be questioned first—let alone by someone they did not recognize.

A man in his late fifties, dressed in a finely embroidered deep-blue coat, clears his throat. "I am Lord Castien Varrow, advisor to—"

Kael tilts his head slightly, his dark eyes unwavering. "Ah, Lord Varrow," he interrupts smoothly, his voice carrying the effortless authority of someone who belongs. "An advisor, I see. And the rest of you?"

One by one, the nobles state their names and titles, some more hesitant than others. The more perceptive among them shift uncomfortably, sensing something off.

Zarex and Thaddeus walk in, standing a ways away from Kael. Zarex remained quiet, observing the tension. He had seen Kael fight battles with a blade, but this—this was a different kind of battlefield, Kael was already winning.

Finally, when the last introduction is given, Kael leans forward, a ghost of a smirk touching his lips. "I trust you won't mind a fresh perspective in tonight's discussion."

A few nobles tense. Others nod, accepting the presence of a supposed noble whose name they do not recall.

But Kael knows better.

By speaking first, by making them explain themselves before he did, he had subtly asserted dominance. To them, he was no outsider begging for a seat at their table. He was a man of power, whose name they should have already known.

As the bell chimes, the nobles shift in their seats, adjusting their robes and straightening their postures. The tension in the room thickens, no longer masked by idle conversation. And forced pleasantries. Servants move quickly, closing the large wooden doors behind them, locking out any prying eyes or ears. This was where the true meeting would begin.

Kael subtly glances at Zarex, who gives a near-imperceptible nod. The real game was about to start.

Lord Varrow clears his throat and stands, commanding attention at the unofficial head of this gathering. His sharp gaze sweeps across the room, landing on each noble with silent authority. "Now that we are all present, let us begin."

The room quiets. Kael watches, taking in the subtle shifts in body language—the discomfort of the lesser lords, the way some grip the arms of their chairs too tightly. This meeting wasn't just about politics. So something deeper was at play.

"As you all know," Varrow continues, "Our lands face unrest. External threats loom, and within our borders, there are whispers of insurrection."

A few nobles shift uncomfortably. One of them scoffs. "Whispers are just that—whispers. Peasants complain as they always do. Nothing new."

"Complain?" Another noble, an older woman with silver-streaked hair, leans forward. "They riot in the streets, burn property, refuse to pay their dues. If left unchecked, these complaints will fester into something uncontrollable."

Kael listens, expression neutral, but his mind sharpens. So, the power struggle wasn't just between nobles. The people were beginning to stir. Interesting.

"Order must be maintained," another lord says, a large ring flashing on his finger as he gestures. A snake-like engraving.

Kael's eyes narrow slightly. Another one.

Zarex makes a show of leaning back, resting his arm on the chair's back while scanning the room. It was becoming clear—at least three individuals here bore symbols related to the Ouroboros, either through jewelry or the embroidery on their cuffs.

Lord Dorel clears his throat. "With all due respect, Lord Varrow, are we certain the situation is that dire? We hold the power here. These uprisings—they are nothing more than small flickers of rebellion. Nothing a show of force cannot handle."

And these people are supposed to be the foundation of the kingdom of Ormanthus. Pathetic but expected.

A murmur of agreement ripples through the room.

Varrow, however, does not look convinced. He folds his hands behind his back, his face unreadable. "A show of force only strengthens their resolve. What we need is a long-term solution. A means to remind them of their place."

Kael leans forward slightly, catching Varrows gaze. "And what would you propose, Lord Varrow?"

Varrow studies him for a long moment before answering. "Loyalty must be reinforced. Some among us have already taken measures."

His gaze flickers toward Lord Dorel and the other ring-bearing nobles. Dorel smiles thinly. "Measures that have proven effective. I trust no one here doubts the necessity of… firm guidance."

Kael rests his chin on his hand, hiding his amusement. So, they weren't even trying to mask their collusion. They believed they were untouchable.

Zarex shifts, drawing Kael's attention for a brief second before nodding toward the far end of the room. There, against the dimly lit back wall, a tapestry hangs—rich in color, woven with intricate designs. And hidden among its patterns, barely noticeable, is the unmistakable mark of the ouroboros.

Kael forces himself to remain still. This was no ordinary noble gathering. This was something much deeper.

He exhales slowly, his gaze sharpening. Time to dig deeper.

Kael adjusts his posture slightly, maintaining the poised demeanor expected of a noble. His mind, however, is already working through possible angles. The Ouroboros was here, woven into their very fabric—both literally and figuratively. But just how deep did their influence go?

Varrow shifts the conversation toward political maneuvering, discussing trade disputes and border security, but Kael knows this is just a prelude. He and Zarex need more than hints. They need undeniable proof of what these men are planning.

Zarex casually swirls the wine in his glass, his voice nonchalant. "Lord Varrow, you mentioned measures already being taken to ensure stability. Forgive my curiosity, but could you elaborate? Some of us newer participants would benefit from the wisdom of our esteemed peers."

A few nobles glance at each other, measuring the weight of his words. Lord Dorel smirks. "A noble shouldn't need to ask such things. You either know, or you do not."

Kael taps his fingers against the table, feigning indifference. "Then humor us, Lord Dorel. If stability is such a fragile thing, surely it warrants discussion."

Dorel eyes Kael for a moment before chuckling. "You are bold." His fingers brush the engraved ring on his hand. "Very wel;. Some of us have taken it upon ourselves to… remove obstacles before they become problems. Rebellions do not start in a day/ They fester, take root. We merely prune them before they grow beyond control."

A few nod in agreement, while others look less convinced but remain silent.

Kael tilts his head, feigning curiosity. "And do these obstacles include members of our own noble class?"

The room stills slightly. It's a careful question—one that could provoke or reveal, depending on the answer.

Varrow clears his throat, controlling the atmosphere once more. "Of course not," he says smoothly. "Loyalty within our ranks remains strong. The real threat comes from the commoners who believe they can dictate their rulers fates."

Zarex leans back, eyes flickering toward Kael in silent understanding. Lies.

The tapestry at the back of the room suddenly seems far more significant. These men werent just suppressing uprisings. They were eliminating dissenters within their own circles as well.

Kael shifts his attention back to Varrow, speaking as if merely engaging in idle conversation. "It is fascinating, truly, how such efforts remain so… discreet. I have always found that those who wield true power do so in silence."

Varrows lips curl slightly, and almost imperceptible smirk. "Indeed."

Zarex takes the opportunity to pour more wine into his glass. "Silence is a virtue, but so is wisdom. And I imagine the wise among us know exactly when to speak and when to listen?"

Dorel eyes him with mild amusement. "And which are you now, Lord Caelum? Speaking or listening?"

Zarex smirks. "Both."

A few chuckles ripple through the room, breaking the tension slightly. But the exchange has done its job. They were being watched now—tested.

The meeting continues with mundane matters—grain shortages, taxation concerns—but Kael is no longer listening. His focus is on what comes next.

Because now, he and Zarex weren't just attending this meeting. They were being marked.

Kael leaned forward slightly, maintaining his poised demeanor, but beneath the surface, his mind sharpened like a blade. His dark eyes flickered between three men with the identical Ouroboros rings. They were seasoned politicians, their expressions unreadable, their movements measured. But Kael had learned that silence often spoke louder than words.

One of the ring-bearers, a man with graying hair and sharp, calculating eyes, casually adjusted his sleeve, revealing more of the ring as if to flaunt it. A subtle test. Did they recognize the symbol? Would they react?

Kael, unfazed, let out a small, knowing smirk grace his lips, as if he had seen it a thousand times before and was unimpressed. He traced his fingers against the rim of his glass, feigning boredom. Across from him, Zarex did the same, though Kael knew his companion was watching everything with razor focus.

Varrow continued his speech, droning on about Ormanthus's economic future, but Kael's focus had narrowed.The men with rings werent just participants in this meeting—they were watching, waiting. If Kael and Zarex made the wrong move, they would be marked as outsiders.

He exhaled quietly and shifted his attention to the room itself. The table was crafted from polished blackwood, its edges adorned with minute carvings that, at first glance, seemed decorative. But the longer Kael looked, the more he saw—tiny, almost imperceptible symbols etched into the wood. Some were simple geometric patterns, but Others?

Others resembled the serpents shape.

His fingers brushed over the design near his seat, and he could feel the faint indentations beneath his touch. A hidden code? A marker for those in the know?

Zarex, still slouched lazily in his chair, ran a hand through his hair and exhaled. But Kael saw the small gesture—his fingertips briefly tapped the edge of his sleeve in a rhythmic pattern. A quiet signal. We aren't alone. Others are watching us.

Kael didn't move, but his heartbeat steadied, his breathing slow and even. Good. Let them watch. Let them think they hold the advantage.

One of the men with the Ouroboros ring finally spoke, his voice rich and deep, laced with the confidence of someone accustomed to authority.

"You've been rather quiet, Lord Duskviel," the man said smoothly, addressing Kael's fake identity. "One would think a young noble of your… standing would have strong opinions on Ormanthus' economic affairs."

A test.

Kael chuckled lightly, tilting his head in feigned amusement. "Forgive me, my lord, but I find it amusing how often these meetings circle the same concerns. Power shifting hands, alliances made and broken. It is all rather… predictable."

The man raised an eyebrow. "Predictable?"

Kael leaned forward, resting his chin on his clasped hands. "The strongest always take what they desire. The weak either serve or perish. That is the nature of power. The question is never who will win, but who has the will to shape the outcome."

For a moment, silence settled over the table. Then, the man with the ring chuckled, a deep, knowing sound.

"Well said, Lord Duskviel." He raised his glass slightly in Kaels direction, a gesture of subtle recognition.

Kael clinked his own glass against it, his lips curving ever so slightly. A move made. A promise given.

It was a game. And Kael had just placed his first piece on the board.

They both take a sip, the tingly wine sliding down their throat. As they drink, Kael feels his aura flare inside him, but he quickly compresses it. He places the glass down, keeping his firm expression on his face. He quietly lets out a breath, his eyes gazing over the 3 people with the Ouroboros symbol.

He was drugged.

They couldn't have known about me beforehand, so they must have done it to everyone. I lightly tap on the table, subtly getting Zarex's attention. To warn him.

Kael's limbs felt heavier by the second. His vision blurred slightly at the edges, but his mind, sharpened by sheer willpower, fought against the creeping exhaustion.

A sleeping drug. Not immediate, but gradual. Just enough to lull the nobles into a false sense of security until they were too weak to resist.

His fingers tapped the table again—slower, deliberate. A warning, and a question.

Zarex shifted, lifting his cup again but making no move to drink. His eyes flicked toward the three Ouroboros-marked members, lingering a moment too long.

He sees it too.

Kael forced himself to remain upright, his breathing controlled. The murmured discussions continued around them, but he could feel the weight of the situation settling in.

The pieces fit too well. The hooded figure, the war construct attack—Ormanthus wasn't their only target. This was bigger. A long-term plan.

And tonight, the nobles in this room were the next offering.

Kael clenched his fist beneath the table, channeling his aura into his bloodstream. He had burned through poisons before, but this was different. It wasn't about resistance—it was about time. How long could he hold out before the drug overtook him?

Zarex suddenly let out a quiet chuckle, leaning back in his chair. "You know," he said lazily, "this is quite the crowd tonight." His fingers drummed against the wood. Five taps.

They'll move soon.

Kael's eyes narrowed slightly. If they waited too long, they'd be unconscious before they could act. If they moved too soon, they'd tip their hand before knowing the full extent of the Ouroboros' plan.

One thing was certain.

They had to stop this sacrifice.

Kael exhaled slowly, his grip tightening under the table. His body felt heavier, his limbs sluggish—but his mind refused to falter. He could feel his pulse, steady and controlled, as he fought against the creeping haze of the drug.

Across the table, Zarex continued playing the part, lounging back with a smirk as if the conversation still interested him. But Kael knew better. He saw the flicker of calculation in his gaze. Zarex had picked up on the danger.

The three Ouroboros-marked individuals were patient. They were waiting—letting the drug take full effect before making their move. That meant one thing: they needed every noble unconscious before they struck.

Kael traced the rim of his glass with a single finger, his eyes sweeping the room again. More and more of the nobles seemed to be sinking into their chairs, their conversations growing sluggish, words slurred. Some were blinking rapidly, trying to fight the haze, while others had already gone eerily silent.

One of the Ouroboros members, a man with sharp, birdlike features, leaned forward. His fingers drummed against the table—three slow beats, then a pause.

A signal.

Kael didn't wait.

With a subtle flick of his fingers, he knocked over his glass, the crimson liquid spilling across the tablecloth. A noble to his right jolted at the noise, but his movements were slow, barely registering what had happened before his head lolled forward, unconscious.

Zarex took his cue. He coughed into his fist—masking the sound of him slipping a small blade from his sleeve. His fingers barely moved, but Kael caught the motion beneath the table.

Good. We're moving.

The birdlike man across the table smiled. "Ah, Lord Duskviel, it seems the wine was a bit too strong for you." His voice was smooth, practiced.

Kael met his gaze, his expression unreadable. "Perhaps," he murmured. "Though I imagine that was intentional."

For the first time, the man's smile wavered.

Kael moved.

His hand shot forward, seizing the man's wrist with crushing force. A flick of his aura surged through his limbs, forcing his body awake even as exhaustion clawed at him. The man gasped, his other hand jerking toward his coat—toward a hidden weapon, no doubt—but Kael was faster.

He twisted the man's wrist, forcing him onto the table with a dull thud. The room, still half-lulled by the drug, barely reacted—only Zarex moved, fluid and precise, slipping behind the second Ouroboros member before they could react.

A dagger pressed against their throat.

"Try something," Zarex murmured. "Give me a reason."

The third Ouroboros member—a woman with sharp green eyes—stood abruptly, her chair screeching against the floor. But before she could even reach for her weapon, Kael's glare pinned her in place.

"Sit."

The single word was like a command carved from stone. She hesitated—then, as if some unseen force had gripped her, she obeyed.

The birdlike man beneath Kael struggled, his breath ragged. "You… you don't understand what you're interfering with."

Kael's grip tightened. His voice was ice. "No. You don't understand what kind of mistake you just made."

Zarex chuckled under his breath, his blade pressing just a fraction deeper into his hostage's skin. "Now, why don't we have a little chat? About sacrifices, gods… and just how deep this little conspiracy of yours goes?"

The air in the room was thick, heavy with the drug's lingering effects, but Kael's mind cut through it like a blade. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, his aura flaring in controlled bursts to keep him alert. Every breath was measured, every movement deliberate.

The nobles around them were sinking, their bodies slumped in their chairs, breathing slow and shallow. If Kael and Zarex had been any later in realizing the trap, they would've been among them—helpless prey for whatever ritual the Ouroboros had planned.

The birdlike man struggled beneath Kael's grip, his wrist pinned to the table with unrelenting force. His sharp features contorted in pain, but his eyes—dark, calculating—never lost their arrogance.

"You think you've won," he rasped, forcing a smirk despite the pressure crushing his bones. "But you don't see the whole picture."

Kael didn't blink. "Enlighten me."

The woman with green eyes shifted, her fingers twitching towards her coat. Zarex moved instantly, his dagger dragging lightly across his captive's skin—a warning.

"Don't," he whispered, voice almost playful. "Unless you want to see how fast I can open a throat."

She froze.

Kael applied more pressure to the man's wrist, the crack of bones popping making the woman flinch. The man gasped but refused to cry out.

"Start talking," Kael ordered. "What are you planning? Who else is involved?"

The birdlike man chuckled weakly. "You think I fear pain?" He spat blood onto the table, smirking up at Kael with a twisted sort of amusement. "What we serve is far beyond pain. You should be honored, Lord Duskviel—tonight, we planned to offer you as tribute alongside the others. A gift to something greater than any of us."

Kael's fingers twitched.

A sacrifice.

His mind flashed back to the hooded figure—the one who had orchestrated the war construct's attack on Ormanthus. If the Ouroboros had been involved in that, then their influence ran deeper than he'd thought.

Zarex whistled lowly. "You hear that, Kael? They were gonna serve us up on a silver platter. Now I almost feel bad about ruining their big night."

Kael ignored him, his dark eyes never leaving the man pinned beneath him. "Which god?"

The woman with green eyes exhaled sharply, a smirk creeping onto her lips. "You're already marked by fate, aren't you? You've felt it. The shift. The chains breaking."

Kael didn't react, but inside, something twisted.

The God of Fate was dead. He had made sure of that. But these people—these Ouroboros zealots—they weren't talking about the past.

They were waiting for something.

He pressed harder against the man's wrist, another sharp crack echoing through the chamber.

"Which. God?"

The man let out a pained chuckle, his breath ragged but filled with some twisted satisfaction. "The one that comes after. The one that devours."

Kael's grip loosened slightly. "What?"

The woman leaned forward slightly, her green eyes glinting with something almost fanatical. "You think breaking fate meant you were free?" Her voice was softer now, almost pitying. "No, Lord Duskviel. All you did was unseal the door."

Kael's blood turned cold.

The Ouroboros weren't mourning the death of the God of Fate.

They were waiting for something worse to take its place.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Kael furrows his brow slightly.

The woman chuckled, slow and measured, her green eyes glinting with something between amusement and reverence. "You truly don't know, do you?"

Kael's grip tightened on the birdlike man's wrist, the sickening crack of another bone snapping cutting through the air. The man choked on a pained gasp, but the woman's smirk only widened.

Zarex tilted his head, his dagger still hovering near his own captive's throat.

"Gotta say, I don't like the way you people keep talking in riddles." His voice was light, but Kael could hear the sharpened edge beneath it. "Maybe start making some sense before my hand slips."

The woman exhaled, shaking her head. "You broke the chains, Kael. The moment you slew the God of Fate, you severed the last thread holding it back."

Kael narrowed his eyes. "It?"

The birdlike man groaned, but his lips curled into a twisted smile. "The Devourer."

Something inside Kael coiled tight. That name—he had never heard it before, yet it carried a weight that sank into his bones, into the very core of his being. It was something ancient. Something hidden.

"The gods locked it away long before your time," the woman continued, her voice softer now, almost reverent. "Bound it behind fate itself. But with fate dead…" She spread her hands. "The door is opening."

Kael felt his pulse slow, steady, controlled. "And you want to let it out."

The woman smiled. "It will be freed, whether we want it or not. We simply aim to be on the right side when it happens."

Zarex scoffed. "So what? You're just rolling out the red carpet?"

The birdlike man wheezed a laugh. "The sacrifices are merely preparation. You can't stop it, Lord Duskviel. No one can." His eyes flickered with something almost gleeful. "You of all people should understand—what is stronger than fate?"

Kael's fingers twitched.

"Will."

For a moment, silence stretched between them. The candlelight flickered against the polished wood of the meeting table, the air thick with the scent of spiced wine and something darker—an undercurrent of something ancient, waiting.

Kael exhaled slowly. "Where?"

The woman blinked. "What?"

Kael's expression darkened. "Where is this sacrifice happening?"

The birdlike man merely grinned, even as Kael's fingers hovered over his throat.

"The same place you killed fate." His voice dropped into a whisper.

"The Ruins of Orwyn."

It's been weeks since he was last there. The last time he went there was to kill him and absorb his power on the...the altar. Kael's eyes go wide slightly. The altar wasn't there to offer to the god of Fate, but it was there as a seal used by the God of Fate. And he had killed the one thing holding it back—The Devourer is now breaking free.

Kael's mind raced, the pieces clicking into place with brutal clarity. His thoughts flickered back to the ruins, to that altar. The stone slabs soaked in the remnants of divine power, the twisted markings that now felt far too ominous. He had assumed it was a place to offer tribute to the God of Fate, a relic of rituals long forgotten. But that altar wasn't built to honor fate. It was built to contain something.

The weight of that realization hit him like a hammer.

"The Devourer." The name echoed in his skull, chilling every thought, every heartbeat. He had severed the chain holding it back, shattered the delicate balance with his defiance.

His grip on the birdlike man's wrist tightened, the bones cracking audibly beneath his fingers, but Kael barely noticed. His mind was elsewhere, racing toward the future—and the inevitable consequences of his actions.

The Devourer, some primal, malevolent entity, was now breaking free. It would feed. It would consume. And nothing in this world—nothing—could contain it once it was unleashed.

He straightened slowly, his face a mask of cold fury. The woman before him, the one who had been so smug in her cryptic riddles, finally seemed to sense the shift in Kael's presence. The confidence drained from her features, replaced with a flicker of hesitation, but it was too late. Kael had already placed himself in motion.

"I've made a mistake," Kael murmured, more to himself than anyone else, his voice low but intense. His mind buzzed with the realization that his actions—his desperate need for freedom—had unwittingly allowed something much worse to rise from the shadows. The gods had their own plans, and in killing the God of Fate, Kael had unwittingly played his part in a much larger scheme.

Zarex's voice cut through the tension, rough and sharp. "Kael, what's going on?" He could sense the shift, too. His hand was still on his dagger, though now his attention was fully on Kael. "What's all this about the Devourer?"

Kael turned his gaze to him, his face hardening. "The altar in the ruins wasn't just for the God of Fate. It was the prison of an ancient force—an entity too dangerous to be allowed to exist in this world. I… I thought I was freeing myself. But instead…" Kael's voice trailed off as he realized the full scope of the disaster that had just been set into motion. "I've just set it free."

A low growl rumbled from Zarex, his expression hardening. "Great. Just great."

Kael's gaze snapped back to the woman, the one who had been so eager to speak about the Devourer as if it was all some elaborate game. His tone turned ice-cold, calculated. "You knew. You knew all along."

She faltered under his gaze, but the same twisted smile returned to her lips. "We didn't know for sure. Not until you killed him. But we've been waiting, Lord Duskviel." Her voice softened, now laced with something darker, something almost reverent. "Waiting for the moment when fate could be undone. When the God of Fate would fall. It was always part of the plan."

Kael didn't flinch, though his insides churned with anger. The webs of manipulation were thick, far thicker than he had anticipated. The realization stung—he had been played. All this time, he thought he was rebelling against the gods, but in truth, he had just become a pawn in their game, playing right into their hands.

The woman's eyes glimmered with a strange satisfaction. "Now, you'll see. The Devourer will bring an end to all of this. To the gods, to the mortals, to everything."

"Not if I stop it first," Kael growled, his voice low and filled with resolve.

The woman's laugh was soft, almost mocking. "You can't stop it. No one can." Her gaze flickered briefly to Zarex, then back to Kael. "We were never going to let you stop it. We just needed you to make it happen."

Zarex's grip on his dagger tightened, his eyes narrowing. "You're out of your mind."

Kael's eyes flashed as his aura crackled to life around him, though he kept it in check, his anger palpable. "I didn't ask for this. But I will fix it."

The air in the room grew heavy with the weight of the truth settling in. The Devourer wasn't some distant threat. It was real, and it was rising now, fed by the very chaos Kael had unleashed. The altar wasn't just a symbol of divine power; it was the boundary between worlds, between mortal and something far worse.

Kael's mind turned to the ruins, to the place where it all began—and where it was about to end. He had to go back. He had to undo what he had done, even if it meant facing the horrors that awaited him.

"Zarex," Kael said quietly, his eyes never leaving the woman's. "Get the others. We're heading to the ruins. Now."

Zarex nodded once, turning to head for the door without another word. His steps were heavy, purposeful, his mind already racing with the implications of Kael's plan.

The woman, however, stayed rooted to the spot, her smile fading into something colder. "You're wasting your time," she said quietly. "You can't undo what's already been set in motion. The Devourer will feast on this world. Your world. And no one can stop it."

Kael's lips twisted into a grim smile. "Maybe not. But I'll be damned if I don't try."

With that, he turned, stepping toward the door. His mind was already calculating the fastest route to the ruins, his thoughts consumed with the urgency of stopping the Devourer before it was too late.

The door slammed shut behind him, and the woman's laughter lingered in the air, a haunting reminder of the game that was far from over.

Kael's footsteps were quick, but controlled, each step echoing in the hall as he moved with purpose. His mind raced, calculating every second, every move. The Devourer was breaking free, and he knew it wouldn't stop until the world was consumed by its endless hunger. The thought of all those innocent lives being turned to dust twisted his stomach into a knot, but there was no time for hesitation. No time for doubt.

The palace was bustling with activity, unaware of the impending storm Kael was racing toward. But he wasn't heading for the palace gates. No, he was heading straight for the ruins—the site of his last encounter with the God of Fate. He remembered it well, the cold stone of the altar, the unbearable weight of the God's power as he stood on the brink of death and life. He had killed the God, absorbed its power, and freed the Devourer. Now, he had to fix the broken seal before the destruction became irreversible.

As Kael rounded a corner, he saw Zarex emerge from the shadows, his dark figure standing still as if waiting for Kael's arrival.

"It's worse than we thought, isn't it?" Zarex asked, his voice steady but filled with concern.

Kael didn't hesitate. "It's already happening. The constructs—they're part of it. We've got to stop the Devourer from feeding, or it'll consume everything. And if that happens... the gods won't have the power to stop it either."

Zarex met his gaze, the weight of Kael's words sinking in. The gravity of the situation was no longer a distant thought. It was real. And it was happening now.

"We'll need more than just our strength to stop this. The power coming from the altar—it's beyond anything we've ever faced,"

Zarex muttered, his brow furrowing.

Kael clenched his fists, the weight of responsibility settling heavily on his shoulders. He'd already pushed himself beyond his limits, fought against gods, manipulated fate itself—but this was different. The Devourer was an ancient force, something born from the very chaos that could devour everything they had worked for.

He couldn't afford to fail.

He took a breath, his lips tightening. "We'll figure it out when we get there. We'll destroy the seal. If it's broken, then we put the pieces back together."

Zarex's eyes narrowed. "And if you can't?"

Kael didn't answer at first. His mind was already on the move, calculating their next steps. There was no plan B. No retreat. If he didn't stop the Devourer, nothing would matter.

"We don't have a choice."

The two of them moved swiftly through the palace, silent as shadows. Kael could feel the weight of his power, the remnants of the God of Fate coursing through him like fire and ice. It was a double-edged sword, one that burned bright with possibility but threatened to consume him from within. He clenched his teeth, forcing the power to stay contained.

Kael's breath was steady, but his pulse thundered in his chest. He wasn't sure if the pounding in his ears was from the urgency of his mission or the pressure of the power he was forcing into the boat's engine. But right now, there was no time to worry. Persia was the only place that mattered.

He stood at the bow, gripping the edge of the boat with one hand as the other pressed firmly against the engine. His aura surged into the machinery, a torrent of concentrated willpower that made the boat shudder beneath him. The engine hummed violently, its gears screaming as it struggled to accommodate the unnatural surge of energy.

But Kael didn't let up. He pushed harder, ignoring the burning sensation in his veins as he flooded the engine with more of his essence. The sea, dark and endless beneath him, seemed to part like a veil as the boat tore through it, the wake left behind churning with frothy white waves.

Kael gritted his teeth, his eyes fixed on the horizon. He wasn't just racing the clock now—he was racing against something far darker. The Devourer. He had killed the God of Fate, unknowingly unleashing this ancient hunger, and now he had to stop it before it consumed everything.

He couldn't fail.

Each wave that struck the side of the boat felt like a warning, but he only pressed forward, the salty air stinging his skin. His muscles were tight with the strain of maintaining his aura's flow, but he couldn't let himself falter. Persia lay ahead, the place where everything had started and where it was about to end.

The boat surged forward, its speed pushing the water into frothy curls behind it. The moonlight reflected off the dark waves, casting an eerie glow across the sea. Kael could feel the weight of every second passing, like the sands of an hourglass slipping too quickly through the neck.

He'd left Zarex and the others in Ormanthus to handle the aftermath. Their world was in chaos, but Kael knew that they could handle themselves. Zarex was more than capable of organizing the defenses, of ensuring the worst didn't happen in his absence. His only job now was to stop the Devourer, and that meant getting to Persia—getting to the ruins—before the Devourer could fully break free.

His grip on the boat tightened, his knuckles white as the engine's vibrations increased. He felt the boat fighting against the water's resistance, but it was too slow. He needed more. I need to get there faster.

The boat responded to his command as he willed it. The engine groaned, rattling in protest, but Kael's aura infused every inch of it. The boat leapt forward, tearing through the water with blistering speed. The night air whipped past him, pulling at his clothes, but he barely noticed. The only thing on his mind was the altar.

The closer he got to Persia, the heavier the air seemed to grow. There was something wrong about the sea tonight, like the very water around him was alive with dark energy. The remnants of the Devourer's influence lingered on the horizon, pulling him forward with an inexorable force. Kael could feel it now, a tremor in the air, an unseen weight pressing down on him. The seal was weakening. The Devourer was rising.

But he wasn't going to let it win. Not this time.

The boat's engine roared louder, its hull vibrating as if the water itself was resisting. The further he pushed, the more strain it put on him, but Kael ignored the burning sensation in his chest, the headache pulsing at his temples. All that mattered was getting to the altar, stopping the Devourer, and putting an end to the madness he had set in motion.

Persia was finally within sight, its silhouette rising against the dark sky. The ruins—the source of all of this—lay just beyond the outskirts of the city, nestled on the edge of the continent. His mind raced through the plan: destroy the remnants of the altar, re-seal the Devourer, and stop whatever force had broken it free.

As the boat neared the shore, Kael could hear the waves crashing more violently, a foreboding sign that the power was stirring, that the Devourer was drawing nearer. But he didn't slow down. His eyes never wavered from the distant shore. He wasn't about to let his world fall apart.

With a final surge of energy, the boat slammed against the shoreline, grinding to a halt in the soft sand. Kael leapt from the boat, his boots sinking into the wet ground. Without a second thought, he turned and began sprinting toward the ruins, his body a blur as he charged forward.

The seal had been broken.

But Kael would put it back together. He had to.

Kael's legs pumped harder, the world around him blurring as he pushed his body to its absolute limits. Each stride felt heavier than the last, like the weight of the world was pressing down on him with every step. His breath came in ragged gasps, and his mind was a storm of frustration, guilt, and regret.

Why did I do it? His thoughts circled in endless loops, the questions gnawing at him, pulling him deeper into the abyss. Why did I kill him? Why did I think I could defy fate itself and come out unscathed?

The energy that surged through him from the God of Fate's essence was both a blessing and a curse. His power was a double-edged sword—stronger than anything he had ever known, yet tainted by the cost of taking a god's life. The truth of that knowledge clawed at him every moment, reminding him that the freedom he had so desperately sought had come at a terrible price.

His feet splashed against the wet sand, the ruins growing closer with every heartbeat. But the deeper he ran, the more he felt it—the weight of his choices. The devastation he had caused. The lives that had been shattered because of his actions. Ormanthus. The town. It all came crashing down on him, the guilt biting deeper with every memory.

This was supposed to be my path.

I was supposed to be free.

But now, that false freedom had become his prison.

He could feel the crackling energy in his veins, the essence of the God of Fate swirling within him like a poison, infecting every thought, every action. Kael had always believed in his own strength, in his ability to control his fate. But now? Now, he was no different from the gods he had once despised. The power he had absorbed had consumed him, and in doing so, had blurred the very line between god and man.

He remembered the attack on Ormanthus—the way the Construct had torn through the city, unleashing destruction, because he had killed the one thing that was holding that power back.

Was this my doing, too?

And the attack on the town, the one that had started it all. His mind flickered back to that moment—the moment when everything had changed. The fire, the screams, the blood. His family. The people he had loved. All gone because of a battle he had no part in, yet still felt responsible for. The Gods. Their champions. It all felt so pointless now.

Would they have died if I hadn't made my move? Kael's fists clenched, the guilt almost unbearable.

But it wasn't just the guilt—it was the anger.

The anger he had carried with him, a constant companion ever since that fateful day. I should've never killed him. I should've never tried to take control of something that was beyond me.

His chest tightened as he thought of the Devourer, the ancient force that now stirred in the shadows of his mind. He could feel it—its hunger, its will to consume everything.

The fact that he was responsible for releasing this horror onto the world gnawed at him like a festering wound. And now, with every step, the weight of his decisions dragged him closer to the inevitable conclusion: there would be no escape. No redemption.

He had killed the God of Fate, but in doing so, had unknowingly opened the gates for something far worse.

His breath hitched as his foot hit the ground with a force that sent a ripple through the sand. He had known, deep down, that this would happen.

But even knowing that didn't ease the pain or the regret. He had wanted to be free. But what did freedom mean when you had lost everything?

What kind of freedom was there when all you could do was watch the world burn and know that you were the one who lit the match?

Kael stopped in his tracks, his chest heaving as he stared at the ruins before him. The altar. The source of all this suffering. The place where the seal had been, where the Devourer had been bound—and where it would now break free.

He had to stop it.

He had to try.

Even if it meant he would burn with it.

With one final surge of determination, Kael set his jaw, wiped away the doubt that clung to his heart, and started forward again. His steps were no longer hesitant, no longer weighed down by guilt or anger. He was going to end this. Whatever the cost.

He wasn't going to let the Devourer consume everything. Not this time.

Kael would make sure of it.