A gentle breeze brushed across the face of a young man,
coated in the ebony dust of ancient decay.
He lay beneath a canopy of black-leafed trees,
hands empty.
Breath escaped his parted lips—
soft, shallow.
His chest rose. Barely.
Then—
he shot upright.
A ragged gasp tore from his lungs,
as if he'd surfaced from drowning in fire.
His heart pounded.
His body screamed.
But the pain wasn't the worst part.
No—
everything felt wrong.
His limbs.
His thoughts.
Even his emotions—
alien, feral, not his own.
Something coiled behind his ribs.
Not grief.
Not fear.
Something darker.
A hunger.
He wanted to burn the world down.
To make someone suffer.
To hold a life in his hands—
and crush it.
It thrilled him.
Torture...
How divine that might be.
And the world heard him.
A blade shimmered into being.
Black steel.
Veins of red pulsing beneath the surface.
A weapon not forged—but remembered.
It trembled in his grip, eager, alive.
Starving for violence.
Then—
a pain like a hook through his soul.
Kael dropped to his knees.
His heart seized.
His spine arched.
His scream—
choked off halfway.
Inside him,
two forces collided.
One—gentle, steady, unyielding.
The other—boundless, vicious, wild.
"W-What's happening?!"
He clutched his chest.
"No—this isn't me. I don't want this!"
But another voice stirred—
not external, but buried somewhere beneath his skin.
"Or maybe...
it seems fun.
This world tried to kill you first."
"Maybe it deserves to burn."
Kael shook.
Eyes wide.
On the edge of something he couldn't name.
Then—
A hand.
Gentle. Steady.
Pressed against his back.
Not restraining.
Not fighting the flame.
Just… reminding him he could breathe.
A voice followed—soft as cinders:
"Breathe, Kael. Let it pass."
"You are far more than destruction."
The rage didn't vanish.
But it softened.
Coiled inward.
The sword dimmed—
and disappeared.
Kael turned.
But the forest behind him was empty.
Still,
he knew.
Elijah had touched him.
He lowered himself to the ground.
Each movement deliberate.
Ritualistic.
Legs crossed.
Spine tall.
Palms resting open against his knees.
And then—
he breathed.
Slow.
Measured.
Like the breath could anchor him to something real.
With every exhale,
the rage unraveled.
The wildfire dimmed,
drawing back from his limbs,
from behind his eyes,
from the hunger beneath his skin—
Coiling inward,
back to its source.
His chest.
He closed his eyes.
And saw them.
Three flames.
Each one dancing within the furnace of his soul.
The first: light blue—calm, lucid, steady as moonlight on water.
The second: black—heavy, pulsing, slow as a heartbeat buried beneath centuries.
The third: red—brilliant, volatile, alive with defiance.
The red flame shuddered as he looked closer—
its edges curling blue,
then black,
then both.
Like it couldn't decide what it was…
or didn't want to.
Kael watched them.
Silent.
Still.
He didn't understand them fully.
Didn't need to.
Because beneath the strangeness, the danger—
He felt it:
They were all his.
And though he felt more like himself than moments before,
the truth pressed close, whispering behind his ribs:
If he lost himself to any one of them…
he might never come back.
[System Whisper]
Emotional convergence detected.
Source: Internal resonance — Fragmented Echo Alignment.
Active Skill Unlocked — Ashreaver
Manifests a soulflame weapon forged from layered emotion.
Form adapts to dominant emotional state.
Draws strength from pain, fury, and grief.
Highly volatile.
Warning:
Overuse may induce echo instability or emotional bleed.
He let out a long, theatrical sigh.
Rolled his eyes toward the shadowed canopy.
"Thanks for the heads-up, System.
Fashionably late as always."
He looked at his palms.
One trembled slightly.
"Well, I guess I'm part paragon of kindness...
and part evil overlord of death and despair now."
A dry laugh.
"Yay me."
He blinked slowly.
"Y'know what they say—no use crying over split blood."
A beat.
"Or was it water under the bridges of bones?"
He chuckled. Once.
"Yeah. My humor's gotten darker."
A pause. Then:
"Well..."
"No time like the present for WORLDDDD DOMINATIONNNN."
He rose to his feet—slowly, joints protesting.
Then, with exaggerated precision, he patted his clothes clean of ash and bone.
Top to bottom.
The air still smelled of fire and rot.
But he was standing.
He looked around—
and spotted it.
A trail of smoke in the far distance.
Thin. Wandering.
Someone else was out there.
He narrowed his eyes, shielding them from the dying light.
The smoke curled upward—thin, silvery, rising from somewhere just past the tree line.
A camp? A ruin? Something else?
Kael shifted his weight and winced.
His body still ached from the fall, from the chase, from… everything.
But something about that smoke—
It meant shelter.
It meant warmth.
It meant answers.
Or danger.
Probably danger.
"Please don't be another growth opportunity," Kael muttered.
"I'm sick of passing out, getting my ass beat, dying…
oh right—yeah, I got my head chopped off.
…by myself?"
He blinked.
"Nope. That's enough processing for one day."
He waved it off like smoke.
"Let's leave that one for futureeee Kael."
He sighed, dragging one foot forward.
"Well… let's see who else got cursed with a story."
And with that—
he began walking.