The days bled into one another.
The cold stone walls of the castle were a constant reminder of what Raden had become. No longer a child from the ghetto, no longer even the boy who once dreamed of a better life—he was now a Mage Breaker. A tool for the empire. His days were filled with endless drills and combat training, refining his skills until they became instinct, his mind growing colder with each passing moment.
Kacmebrow's presence loomed over him like a shadow, always watching, always judging. The other Breakers, his fellow soldiers in this silent war, were as detached as their leader. There was no camaraderie, no connection. They were all just parts of the same machine, interchangeable and expendable.
The first few days had been the hardest. Raden had barely slept, haunted by the image of Jay's lifeless body. He had tried to block out the screams, the guilt, but it was always there—waiting, festering, refusing to let him forget what he had done. The blood, the betrayal, the face of his old friend… it was impossible to erase. But each time the thought came to him, he forced it down, buried it deeper beneath the weight of his training. If he could just focus on his purpose, on the missions Kamebrow gave him, maybe the pain would start to dull. Maybe he could stop feeling.
But no matter how hard he tried, the emptiness never left.
One morning, as Raden sat alone in the cold, dimly lit room that served as his quarters, he looked at his reflection in the small, cracked mirror on the wall. His face was harder now—sharper, more angular. His eyes, once filled with hope, now had a dull, empty sheen to them. He barely recognized the person staring back at him. He had been forged into a weapon, and like every weapon, he was meant to be used until he broke.
A knock on the door broke his thoughts. He didn't need to look to know who it was.
"Enter," he muttered, his voice rough from disuse.
The door creaked open, and Kamebrow stepped inside, his usual air of authority suffocating the room. He looked Raden up and down with those piercing green eyes, appraising him like a piece of machinery. Raden didn't flinch.
"Ready for your next mission?" Kamebrow asked, his voice smooth, almost amused.
Raden didn't answer immediately. His throat felt tight, but he swallowed the lump down. He had to remain focused. Had to be cold. Detached.
"Of course," Raden replied, his voice flat.
"Good," Kamebrow said, moving toward him. "Your first real test as a Mage Breaker. A rogue mage has been wreaking havoc in the east. We've traced them to a small village. I'm sending you there to deal with them."
Raden felt a knot tighten in his stomach. "And the village?"
"Collateral damage is expected," Kamebrow said with a dismissive wave. "The mage's actions have put too many lives at risk. The mission is clear: eliminate the threat. Whatever it takes."
Raden's jaw clenched. He had heard stories about missions like this. Where the Mage Breakers didn't just kill the rogue mages, but the villages around them, leaving nothing but ash in their wake. The empire's iron fist was all that mattered. The lives of the common folk were disposable.
But he didn't have a choice. He couldn't show weakness. He had to follow through. He had to become the weapon they had shaped him into.
"Understood," Raden said.
Kamebrow nodded. "Prepare yourself. You leave at dawn."
The night before the mission, Raden couldn't sleep. The room felt smaller, more oppressive. The walls pressed in on him, the weight of what he was about to do threatening to crush him.
He had never wanted this. He had never asked to become a Mage Breaker. But now, here he was, part of a ruthless empire, bound by chains of his own making. He wondered, for the hundredth time, if there was any way out. If there was any chance he could escape the life Kamebrow had forced upon him.
But he knew the truth. There was no escape. Not anymore.
He lay on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, trying to block out the thoughts of Jay, of the red-haired mage, of the endless bloodshed that lay ahead. He had made his choice. There was no turning back.
The next morning, Raden stood in the castle's courtyard, fully equipped for his mission. His armor, dark and weathered, felt like a second skin. His sword hung at his side, ready for whatever awaited him. Kamebrow was already there, waiting, his arms crossed and his expression unreadable.
"Are you ready?" Kamebrow asked.
Raden nodded. There was nothing else to say. He wasn't ready. He would never be ready. But he had no choice.
"Good," Kamebrow said. "Your orders are simple. You find the rogue mage, and you kill them. Don't hesitate. Don't ask questions. Do it, and do it quickly."
Raden met his gaze. There was nothing left to say. He was already lost. But he had to follow through. He had to complete the mission.
Kamebrow's eyes softened for a moment, just for a fraction of a second, but it was enough for Raden to see it. There was no empathy. No care. Just a cold, calculating mind that had trained him, molded him, to be nothing but a tool.
"You will do well," Kamebrow added, almost as an afterthought. "Just remember: success is the only thing that matters."
Raden didn't respond. He didn't need to.
The wind whipped through the courtyard, and with a single motion, Raden turned and walked toward the stables. His horse was waiting for him. The path ahead was clear, the village he was to destroy now nothing more than a blur in his mind.
The journey to the village was a long one, the road winding through dense forests and barren fields, the air thick with the smell of wet earth. Raden barely noticed the passing scenery, his thoughts consumed with the mission at hand.
He had been given no details about the rogue mage beyond the basics: a powerful mage who had abandoned the empire, wreaking havoc in the eastern regions. They were dangerous, unpredictable—just like Raden once was. And now, it was his turn to hunt them down.
When he arrived at the outskirts of the village, his heart dropped into his stomach. The village wasn't a military target; it was just… a place. A place filled with people who didn't deserve to die. He could already see the smoke rising from the nearby homes, the remnants of what looked like a recent battle. The ground was scorched, and the air was thick with the scent of burning wood and flesh.
This was his mission.
He dismounted and walked toward the heart of the village, his sword drawn and ready. The rogue mage had left their mark here—he could feel it in the air, the distortion in the magic. But there was something else, something gnawing at him, something that felt wrong.
He stepped into the center of the village. Bodies were scattered across the ground, villagers who had paid the price for something they hadn't done. And at the center of it all, standing amidst the destruction, was the rogue mage. A young man, no older than Raden, with pale skin and blood-red eyes. His hands crackled with raw, uncontrolled magic, sending shockwaves through the ground beneath them.
Raden didn't hesitate. His sword was raised, and in a single motion, he closed the distance, the edge of his blade flashing in the sunlight.
The rogue mage, however, wasn't about to go down without a fight. He raised his hands, the magic flaring violently as Raden swung. But the attack was clumsy, unfocused. Raden's blade cut through the air with precision, and he struck, sinking the steel into the mage's side.
The rogue's eyes widened in shock, and he gasped for breath as his magic sputtered and died. His body crumpled to the ground, a heap of broken power.
Raden stood over him, his chest rising and falling with exertion, his hands shaking. The magic still lingered in the air, the feeling of power that was so familiar to him. But it didn't matter anymore.
He had done it. He had killed another mage. Another casualty of the empire's orders.
As the rogue mage's body lay still, Raden felt something twist inside him. Something dark. Something that hadn't been there before.
Was this all he was meant to be? A killer? A weapon?