The fragment pulsed inside him like a second heartbeat.
Kieran stood at the edge of the city, atop one of Varneth's hidden rooftops. Below, the ever-shifting city moved with its usual illusion—streets that looped in on themselves, shadows that lingered even when no one stood beneath the moonlight. But now, something was different.
The Eye had opened within him.
And it saw.
What the Eye Reveals
When Kieran focused, the world changed.
Not visually—not with his eyes—but through something deeper. He could feel the weight of words unspoken. The lies people wore like armor. The hatred tucked behind painted smiles.
The Eye did not grant vision.
It granted insight.
The kind Sylas must have wielded when he walked this world without a weapon.
Kieran stumbled as a memory not his own flashed through his chest—a vision of Sylas standing on a battlefield, blood dripping from his knuckles, a thousand corpses around him. Not one sword lay drawn. Not one enemy left breathing.
"You don't need a blade when you are the storm."
The Dagger's True Nature
He sat in silence later that night, fragment resting in front of him. It glowed faintly—a soft hum resonating in his bones. Kieran thought back to the letter, to what Cael had said.
"The dagger was never meant to kill," he whispered to himself.
It was meant to sever fate.
The Eye pulsed.
Suddenly, images raced through his mind:A throne cracking. A sword splitting a chain. A constellation weeping.And finally—the dagger, whole, awakened.
Its edge didn't shimmer with magic or flame.
It shimmered with will.
That was the secret.
It was only as powerful as the conviction of the one who wielded it.
It could defeat a low-level constellation not because of its craftsmanship—but because it obeyed only those who refused to be bound.
Sylas never needed it. He fought with his fists because his will alone was already a weapon sharper than any blade.
Testing the Eye
Kieran closed his hand around the fragment.
He focused.
A shadow stepped into the alley behind him. A thief. No—a spy. Someone tracking him since he left the Eye's chamber. But before the figure even moved, Kieran already saw it:
The twitch of fear in their fingers.
The moment of hesitation.
The lie forming on their lips.
Kieran turned before the dagger ever left its sheath.
"I suggest you leave," he said calmly.
The spy froze.
Then ran.
Kieran stood alone beneath the stars.
This was never about collecting power.
Never about vengeance.
The dagger, the fragments, the guardians—Sylas hadn't scattered them to protect the blade from others. He'd done it to test the will of those who sought it. It was a tool not to destroy the world—but to remake it, for those strong enough to bear that responsibility.
And now, for the first time…
Kieran understood what it meant to be Voidborne.
Not cursed.
Not damned.
But chosen to cut through fate.