"My turn," Kael said again, his voice no longer just his own—it carried something older, darker, layered beneath it like a whisper from the Void.
He didn't move like a man anymore.
He vanished.
The first warrior didn't even scream. His body crumpled in the snow, head rolling free with wide, frozen eyes that would never close. Death came like a whisper.
The second tried to cry out, but Kael was already behind him. The void dagger slid across his spine with surgical grace. Not slicing—devouring. The blade drank his essence like it had been starved for centuries.
Mana spilled from their bodies in vaporous trails, curling through the air like fog lit by moonlight. Kael inhaled it deeply. It filled him, tightened every muscle, ignited every nerve.
"I didn't want this..." he murmured, striding through the snowfall, eyes distant, almost regretful. Then he slashed one throat—then another. "But you wouldn't stop."
Five warriors remained. They came together, blades drawn, teeth clenched in unity.
Too late.
Kael moved like a storm unchained. The dagger bent mid-air, shifting forms—first a curved sword, then a jagged spear of crackling frost. He danced between them, carving arcs of red in the snow. One by one, they fell like dominoes, their blood warm and steaming in the cold.
Nyru appeared beside him—not in flesh, but as a luminous spirit. The bear's massive form rippled like silver mist, eyes glowing, maw wide with rage. A warrior tried to drive a blade into the phantom beast—only for Kael to grab him by the head and slam it against stone.
"No one stabs my brother," Kael whispered, his voice a dagger itself.
A thunderous roar split the forest.
Senestro Scar Face charged, his warbear thundering forward beneath him, sword lifted high.
"YOU ARE A CURSE, BOY!"
Kael didn't flinch. He waited until the last heartbeat, then launched himself into the air, flipped over the beast's head, and drove the void blade deep into its spine. Black mana burst from the creature's back in a scream of light. It collapsed beneath its master in a heap of fur and shattered bone.
Senestro rolled free, covered in blood, his fury incandescent. He came up slashing, striking with all the wrath of a seasoned killer. Their blades clashed violently. Kael staggered back as the force cracked his dagger at the edge. Blood erupted from his shoulder.
He didn't even flinch.
"You were always jealous of me," Kael spat, slashing low, his fury bleeding through his teeth.
"You were always a mistake!" Senestro bellowed.
Again they clashed—savage, primal. Sparks flew. Then Kael twisted suddenly, ducked, and drove his knee into the man's jaw. Bone crunched.
Senestro dropped.
Kael loomed over him, panting, streaked in blood—some his, most not.
"And now you'll rot in the snow."
He raised the dagger, shadows licking the air around it.
Then—he froze.
There. A sound.
Soft. Shaky.
Breathing.
Kael's gaze scanned the field. Among the mounds of corpses and steaming blood, a small figure lay tucked beneath the body of a fallen warrior. Blood smeared across his cheeks, arms limp at his side.
But his chest still rose and fell.
Kael stared at him—too young, too afraid, too clever to die.
He lowered his weapon.
Let him live. Let the tale grow in the telling. Let fear carry his name across the ice like wildfire.
Kael turned, the void dagger fading into the folds of his cloak.
Snow began to fall again, silent and clean—too clean for what had just happened.
He didn't look back.
---
Let him live.
Let fear spread.
The snow settled once more, soft and cold, blanketing crimson like nature trying to forget what had just occurred. The silence returned, heavy and unnatural, broken only by the soft crackle of melting blood against frozen stone.
Kael stood amidst the aftermath, breathing slow, shallow. His eyes lifted toward the slate-gray sky. The wind screamed through the trees like mourning spirits, hollow and endless.
"I didn't kill my father," he said quietly—whether to the sky, to himself, or to the dead, even he didn't know. "But maybe... maybe I am becoming what they fear."
A shimmer of silver appeared beside him.
Nyru.
The great bear's spirit flickered like frostlight in shadow, his translucent eyes watching Kael not with judgment, but something deeper—loyalty, sadness, love.
"You're not," Nyru rumbled. His voice was low, ancient, and soft as snowfall. "But you are changing. And you can't go back now."
Kael didn't answer right away.
He let the silence stretch between them—between who he was, and what he had done.
Then he nodded once. Slow. Firm.
"Then we go forward."
And with that, Kael turned from the bodies, from the past, from the pain—and began walking, footprints red at first, then fading back into white.
---
LATER THAT DAY – EDGE OF THE SLAUGHTER-FIELD
The wind howled low as Sari rode hard along the ice ridge, her moon-colored elk gliding over the snow with grace. Her war braids whipped in the wind, beads clicking softly against her armor. Beside her rode two companions—Jeyin, her blade-sister, cloaked in furs, and Rol, the quiet seer of the Cheetah Tribe, his face painted with dark lines that shimmered faintly under the dimming sun.
They crested the hill.
And stopped.
Below them, scattered across the white like discarded dolls, were the corpses—torn, frozen, painted with blood. The snow around them had melted into deep, jagged hollows where hot life had spilled.
Jeyin dismounted first. Her boots crunched in the red slush.
"My gods…" she whispered, eyes scanning the bodies. "What happened here?"
Rol crouched beside a half-buried figure, pulling aside the furs. His voice was flat. "These aren't bandits. They're elite Ice Warriors."
Sari rode down slowly, her elk snorting nervously, then she slipped from the saddle. Her eyes moved from face to face—until they landed on the scarred one.
Her breath caught.
"That's Senestro Scar Face," she said, voice low and full of weight. "Kael must've been here."
Jeyin turned to her, slowly. "Then it's true. He did kill them."
"No," Sari snapped—sharper than intended. Her voice trembled, not with fear, but fury. "He wouldn't do this… not unless they forced him. He was exiled, not hunted. Not like this."
Rol stood, brushing blood from his fingers. "Then why spare one?"
He pointed.
A faint trail of uneven footprints led away from the field—bloody, panicked. One of the corpses was gone. A warrior had survived… and fled.
Sari stared at the trail.
Her heart twisted.
Kael had been here. Kael had done this.
And still, something deeper in her refused to let go.
She closed her eyes for a moment, breathed in the bitter cold, then opened them again—focused.
"He's alive," she whispered.
Rol looked at her. "You still trust him, after this?"
Sari said nothing at first.
Then:
"I don't know what happened here. But I will not believe he's a murderer—not until I look him in the eyes and hear it from his lips."
Jeyin stepped beside her. "Then we find him."
Sari's grip tightened on the reins.
"We will."
And with that, they turned from the dead—and began to follow the trail Kael didn't bother hiding.
---
MEANWHILE – KAEL, FAR FROM THE FIELD
The wind had grown quieter.
Kael moved through the wilds alone now, boots crunching softly beneath layers of untouched snow. The sky above was iron-gray, and the trees rose like silent watchers around him. Each breath curled from his mouth in a ghostly wisp.
Beside him, Nyru walked—not in flesh, but in spirit. The great bear shimmered with faint blue light, each step silent, each movement calm and weightless, like smoke shaped into memory.
"You'll need allies," Nyru rumbled, his voice echoing softly through the air, more thought than sound. "The dagger burns hotter each time you kill."
"I know," Kael murmured.
He stopped.
Snowflakes clung to his hair, melting on the heat of his skin. From his satchel, he drew the void blade, still slick with the blood of warriors. It pulsed faintly in his hand—dark, alive, hungry.
Kael stared at it.
The edge looked sharper than before. Hungrier.
He wrapped it tightly in a length of cloth, folding it again and again, until the glow vanished. Then he buried it deep into his satchel, as if distance alone could keep the madness at bay.
"I can't lose myself," he said. "Not to this."
Nyru didn't speak at first. The wind moved around them both.
"Then find those who'll hold you steady," the bear said at last. "Before this thing consumes more than your enemies."
Kael looked to the south.
Past the forests. Past the mountains.
Toward the forgotten lands—the places that had once spoken his name in prophecy, before the world turned silent.
"I will," he said. "I'll find the others. The guardians. The old ones. The ones who still believe in truth."
Nyru padded closer. His glowing eyes flickered.
"And if no one does?"
Kael smiled—sharp, bitter.
"Then I'll make them believe."
Without another word, he turned and walked on, into the deep unknown.
---