The Rift boiled with light and gravity.
Kael knelt, chest heaving, sweat rolling down his face as the memories surged. They weren't just dreams or echoes anymore. They were him. Lives he'd lived. Worlds he'd shaped. Destruction he'd caused.
He saw himself as the First Vessel—crowned in halos of gravitational fire, commanding galaxies to kneel. A god among mortals. Loved. Feared. Alone.
"You were never meant to be small," the echo of his past whispered, speaking now from within him. "You were born to rule the laws themselves."
Kael's hands shook.
The throne behind Elarys pulsed, its pull magnetic—inviting. His gravity responded unconsciously, reaching toward it. The two versions of Kael—past and present—were beginning to merge.
Elarys stepped forward, her song softening. "Kael. You can end the chaos. Become what you were always meant to be. A god doesn't fear the past."
"Maybe not," Kael murmured. "But I'm not a god."
Inside the Collapse
Kael shut his eyes and dove inward—into the place where memory, soul, and power intertwined.
He found himself in a white void.
Standing before him was himself, fully formed as the First Vessel — regal, perfect, terrifying.
"Do you see now?" the Vessel asked. "The world needs strength. You have it. Why reject it?"
Kael stared at him. "Because strength without choice is just another kind of prison."
"They will betray you. Use you. Fear you."
"Then I'll fight through that. As myself. Not you."
The First Vessel tilted his head. "You are me."
Kael smiled sadly. "No. I'm the one who walked away."
The Breaking
Kael opened his eyes.
Gravity exploded outward—not as destruction, but as clarity. His aura no longer flickered—it pulsed in rhythm with his will.
Blue and black. Past and present. Balanced.
"I won't become you," Kael said. "But I won't deny you either."
He raised his staff.
"I'll forge a third path. Mine."
Final Clash
Elarys screamed—not in rage, but in desperation.
"You fool! You'll fracture the harmony! You'll become unstable—"
"Then let me shatter first," Kael said.
Their powers collided — her pure resonance against his gravitational melody.
But now, Kael sang back.
A deep, primal hum erupted from him — not spoken, not formed by voice, but drawn from the core of his soul. A counter-melody.
The throne behind Elarys cracked.
The First Vessel's soul fragment cried out — not in pain, but in release.
And in a surge of light, the throne shattered.
Silence
The Rift fell still.
Elarys collapsed, unconscious. The Choir's presence vanished, dispersed like smoke on wind.
Kael stood alone in the crater, his staff scorched, his body bruised — but whole.
Not as a god. Not as a vessel.
Just as Kael.