While Arhaan sat in silence beneath the stars, another fire burned elsewhere in the sect—one fueled not by destiny, but by envy.
Kael's quarters reeked of bitter medicine and crushed pride. His arm still throbbed from where the crimson chains had seared through his qi, leaving scars deeper than flesh. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw them again—those burning shackles coiling around him like serpents, reminding him of his helplessness.
It gnawed at him.
"No…" Kael snarled, slamming his fist into the floor. "I will not live under his shadow. Never."
---
The Gathering of Wolves
He summoned his closest allies—disciples who had tasted privilege and feared losing it.
"You saw it," Kael said, his voice low, sharp as a blade. "The sect trembles before him. Even the elders hesitate. If we allow this rootless stray to rise, we will all kneel beneath his heel."
One disciple swallowed nervously. "But… Kael, you saw those chains. Even you—"
Kael's glare silenced him instantly.
"I was unprepared. He caught me off guard. But power like his cannot come without weakness. No one holds heaven's fire without cost."
His lips curled into a cruel grin.
"We will find that cost. And when we do… I'll drag him down in front of the entire sect. Not even the heavens will save him then."
---
The Hidden Hand
But Kael was not finished.
That night, he slipped from his quarters, moving like a shadow through the forested cliffs beyond the sect's walls.
There, waiting in the gloom, stood a cloaked figure—eyes glimmering with unnatural light.
"You seek power to overcome the boy," the figure rasped.
"And I'll have it," Kael spat. "Name your price."
The figure's grin split the darkness, teeth too sharp, too cold.
"The heavens already watch him. To stand against him, you'll need strength… not of this sect, nor of this world."
Kael's heart pounded, half with fear, half with anticipation. He didn't hesitate.
"Then give it to me."