The Training Begins

The air was sharp on the Southern District Training Grounds. Morning fog coiled low, disturbed only by the shifting weight of five warriors standing in silence. In front of them, Kael exhaled slowly, arms folded. His hair stirred in the breeze, and behind him—twelve clones emerged from spirals of Essence.

Each bore a different fusion of his own affinities: Flame-Kinetic, Lightning-Storm, Storm-Flame, pure Kinetic, and combinations layered so intentionally they crackled with destructive synergy. They didn't stand idly. They studied the students in return—just as Kael did.

"These are your lessons," Kael said quietly. "Living. Breathing. Unforgiving."

He pointed to Reyne Talmaris. "Precision. Timing. But you hesitate before a decisive blow. This one—" a Storm-Kinetic clone surged forward, scattering a blast of pressured wind "—won't let you overthink."

Reyne reacted immediately, conjuring a rotating veil of ice shards and sweeping wind. It deflected the first strike, but the clone vanished and reappeared behind her. Kael's voice rang out. "No tunnel vision!"

She twisted mid-air, redirected her own gust, and barely dodged the follow-up. Kael nodded.

To Gorran Drehl, Kael barked, "Your weight is your weapon—but also your anchor. Move too slow, and this Flame-Storm clone will leave you scorched before you ever counter."

The clone rushed him, encased in an expanding cyclone, feet igniting the earth with each impact. Gorran raised slabs of earth and tried to fortify the ground, but Kael's voice cut through: "Don't defend. Command. The battlefield is yours. Seize it!"

With a growl, Gorran stomped hard, gravity Essence flaring. The cyclone wavered. Then he brought his fist down, slamming both elements together—Earth and Gravity forming a crushing, downward press that halted the clone cold.

Kael's gaze moved.

"Seris Vel'Nira," he called, "your illusions are surgical—but too soft. The enemy won't care about your artistry unless it hurts."

A Lightning-Flame clone blurred toward her, already mid-cast. She split into five echoes, sound and light refracting across the field. The clone struck two fakes before Kael's voice intervened again.

"You're hiding in your illusions. Use them to command the rhythm!"

Seris inhaled sharply—and the music changed. The third echo pulsed, and the clone froze for a half-second, just long enough for her true self to appear behind it and unleash a cutting arc of harmonic light across its spine.

It dispersed in a burst of heat.

Kael turned to Thorne and Velura.

"Chaos," he said to Thorne, "is your nature. But right now, it's uncontrolled fire. Let's shape it into directed destruction."

A Flame-Kinetic clone hurtled toward Thorne in a punch-sprint barrage. Thorne laughed and met it head-on, sparks exploding as he clashed, blow for blow.

"Good," Kael murmured, watching the boy slide back on scorched boots. "But think. Channel, then detonate."

And to Velura—

Kael's tone shifted. Quieter. Not gentler.

"You fear your own strength. That fear will kill you when the Gate opens."

He raised a finger—and three clones surrounded her. Shadow, Flame, and Lightning—all dancing in flickers.

"No hesitation. Kill or be consumed."

Velura's pupils shrank. The clones lunged.

Then the shadows split—her own blood magic flared, tendrils forming a razor net as her body blurred low. The first clone vanished in a shriek of tearing pressure. The second dissolved into black flame. The third… grazed her cheek before she drove a knife through its neck.

Kael watched her wipe the blood from her face and stand tall.

"Very good," he said. "All of you—progress."

The clones dissolved. The ground was cracked and scorched. The trainees were gasping, trembling, but alive.

And Kael… still looked calm. Still burning just beneath the surface.

"This is just the first of many sessions," he said. "We have less than three months. I don't expect you to become Radiant. I expect you to survive something worse."

Elsewhere – Beneath the Gate

The chamber was dark. Always dark. Not because there was no light—but because light feared it.

The Varnok Sovereign knelt by a slab of obsidian—etched with markings so old, the world had no memory of the language. Beside him, cloaked in writhing Essence and silent thunder, Arkzen stood with arms folded.

"They've begun training," Arkzen said. "He's growing faster than projected."

The Sovereign didn't reply at first. Instead, he dipped a claw into the obsidian, and a pulse of unnatural Essence flowed from it like blood.

"Let him grow," the Sovereign said finally. "Let him burn. His rise is necessary."

Arkzen's eyes shimmered faintly. "You're certain this will shape him into what we need?"

"No," the Sovereign replied. "But it will break the world in the right way."

They turned toward the center of the room. Suspended in the air—held by chains of voidlight—was a form. A cocoon. Pulsing with rhythmic, unstable energy.

The final key?

A weapon?

A sacrifice?

None knew.

But Arkzen smiled faintly. "We only need to wait. He'll reach the truth soon."

The Sovereign nodded once. "And when he does... the sky will forget its stars."

Later That Night – Elandor

Kael sat alone beneath the training trees, the moonlight slicing down through branches like judgment.

His hand hovered near his chest.

The Essence within him was perfect. Transcendent. Controlled. And yet…

Still.

Still… the gate to Primordius would not open.

"What am I missing?" he whispered.

A wind passed, and for a second—barely a flicker—he thought he heard a voice in it.

Not yet.

Kael opened his eyes, glowing dimly in the dark.

"Then I'll tear the truth from the silence itself."