Kael Varos — Age 13
⸻
I. Seven on the Line — No One Runs
The Nightslayer stood again.
Barely.
His bone-white mask was split along a jagged diagonal from temple to jaw, a spiderweb of fractures radiating through its surface. The violet sigils etched along his arms guttered like dying embers, flickering, fading—
But his presence?
Still wrong. Still razor-edged. Still hungry.
He rolled one shoulder slowly, chains coiling back up his arms with a faint metallic hiss. His head tilted with an almost curious motion as he looked at the formation standing against him.
Kael at the center, lightning in his veins. Lyria to his right, water rings spiraling, eyes blazing. Serin bleeding, but blade still raised in his good hand. Ryven, fire licking across his knuckles. Korran, spear planted, muscles coiled despite the bruises. Nira, hands glowing with soft green life-source, jaw set. Princess Arion, emerald glaive poised, royal seal burning at the base of the blade.
Seven hearts, one line.
The Nightslayer's voice rasped through the broken mask.
"You should flee," he said softly. "Prey is not meant to stand."
Korran's voice rumbled low.
"We're not prey."
Ryven barked a raw laugh. "Yeah? Come closer and see how well we bite."
Serin stepped forward, even though his wounded arm shook. "Your mission failed," he said coolly, though his voice strained at the edges. "You did not touch the princess. You did not kill the storm. Retreat, assassin."
Nira's quiet voice cut through the wind.
"You can still walk away," she said. "We don't have to kill you."
The Nightslayer regarded her for a long, silent moment.
"How merciful," he whispered. "You heal. You offer exits. You do not yet understand this world."
His head turned toward Kael.
"We were only asked to taste you," he said. "But I am… curious."
He twisted his arm.
The chains trembled.
Violet light surged, faint but stubborn.
"Let us chase your limits."
Kael raised his battered practice sword—what remained of it—and felt the familiar storm coil under his skin.
He glanced sideways—at Lyria, at Serin, at everyone—and for the first time in a long time… he didn't feel like he had to stand alone.
He took a breath.
"Then we don't fight you alone," he said. "Not this time."
Valdyros glided overhead, wings beating the fog into ripples.
« Together, then, child. Show him. »
⸻
II. Storm Formation — First Coordination
Kael spoke quickly, voice low and controlled, echoing drills from the training cliffs.
"Formation Arclight—triangle variant," he called.
Korran's eyes sharpened. "Understood."
Serin straightened, ignoring the blood soaking his sleeve. "I can hold for one rotation."
Ryven cracked his neck. "I'll make it hot."
Lyria's water rings expanded, orbit widening. "I'll keep him off your blind angles."
Nira nodded, voice shaking but firm. "And I'll make sure no one dies."
Princess Arion raised a brow, a faint smile touching her lips. "You direct me as well, Kael?"
He swallowed, then nodded. "If you'll let me."
Arion's smile widened just a fraction. "Good. Give me an opening. I'll bind something he doesn't walk away from."
The Nightslayer tensed, chains warping into jagged, spinning halos around his forearms.
Kael dropped his stance lower, storm curling tight around his core.
"Ready?" he murmured.
Their voices answered as one.
"Yes."
He exhaled.
"Then move."
⸻
III. First Clash — The Triangle Locks
The Nightslayer vanished.
Chains lashed down from every angle—like iron fangs snapping at the formation.
Korran stepped forward into the center, spear planted, Body Gate flaring into a shield of raw force around his frame. He took the first hit—metal screaming against hardened muscle and Source.
"NNGH—!"
His legs trembled, but he held.
Chains skittered off his aura like sparks against stone.
Behind him—
Lyria spun.
"RING WALL—TIDAL SHIELD!"
Her water rings snapped outward, flattening into three overlapping arcs of liquid force. The chains that slipped past Korran slammed into the flowing barrier, their speed cut, their trajectories warped, angles bent.
Ryven moved next.
"MY TURN!"
He punched directly into the water shield.
Flame erupted through Lyria's arcs, blasting forward as scalding steam and liquid fire.
"FIRE JET—BOILING STRIKE!"
The rushing vapor obscured the Nightslayer's vision, warping light and twisting shadows. His chains pierced through the curtain, but their aim wobbled, timing skewed.
Serin stepped into that chaos like it was a ballroom.
Feet found sure footing on broken stone.Eyes tracked the smallest twitch of chain and shadow.
He ducked under one chain, parried a second with his remaining blade, and guided a third just wide of Korran's neck with a small twist of his wrist.
"You telegraph your left-hand attacks," he murmured. "How sloppy."
The Nightslayer's mask cracked further.
"Arrogant boy."
He yanked his arm—sending a chain whipping toward Nira, who stood just behind Korran, channeling healing through the entire front line.
Nira flinched—
But before it could reach her, Arion's glaive flashed.
She knocked the chain aside with a single, precise strike, movements far cleaner than any sheltered princess had a right to be.
"You will not touch my healers," Arion said calmly.
Kael moved.
He had waited, just as Eiran had drilled into him.
Feel the flow.Wait for the shift.Strike where the pattern breaks.
He saw it—
The Nightslayer's weight tipping,balance shifting to his back foot after the overcommitted strike at Nira.
Kael Flash-Stepped.
Lightning exploded from his heel.
He reappeared above the Nightslayer, blade raised, storm coiling down his arm.
"STORM STEP—DIVERGING THUNDER!"
He struck downward.
The Nightslayer raised both chain-wrapped forearms to block.
Kael's lightning crashed into them—
KRRR–THOOOOM!
For the first time, the assassin was driven backward.
He skidded a full meter along the stone, boots gouging trenches in the earth.
His chains sagged.
The sigils dimmed.
The fog rippled like a disturbed pond.
Valdyros roared with fierce pride.
« YES, CHILD. AGAIN! BUILD PRESSURE! »
But the Nightslayer only chuckled, low and rattling.
"Better," he said.
His chains tightened again.
"More."
⸻
IV. The Nightslayer's Last Gambit — Death Net
The sigils along his arms flared one last time.
Damaged.Drained.But not dead.
He spread his arms—
Every chain shot skyward.
Not at them.
Straight up.
Serin's eyes widened. "DOWN! NOW!"
Kael didn't need the warning.
He felt it—
A pressure overhead,like the air itself becoming a closing fist—
He tackled Lyria and Nira to the ground.
Korran grabbed Ryven and dragged him down.
Princess Arion dropped into a low crouch, glaive crossed before her.
Serin went to one knee, using his good arm to shield his wounded side.
Then the world turned into metal teeth.
The chains slammed down from above—
A net of blades, sigils, and anti-light—
Not to stab.
To shred.
Trees were sliced into fragments.Boulders carved into neat slabs.The wind itself screamed as it was torn.
If they had been even half a beat slower—
None of them would still be breathing.
As it was—
Thin red lines bloomed where stray links grazed exposed skin.
A slice along Kael's ear. A nick on Lyria's cheek. A cut across Ryven's knuckles. A line across Korran's shoulder. A shallow slash on Arion's arm.
Serin's injured arm took another hit; he hissed through his teeth but refused to cry out.
Nira whimpered quietly—but her hands never stopped glowing as she stabilized bleeding and kept their Source from leaking.
The chains retracted, clattering back to the Nightslayer.
He stood there—
Chest rising and falling faintly.
Mask fractured.
Sigils nearly burnt out.
But his posture?
Still composed.
"Almost," he said. "Almost. You learn. You adapt. That is why we were sent."
Kael rose slowly, jaw clenched.
"Who sent you?" he demanded. "Say it. Say a name."
The Nightslayer's head tilted.
"Names are for the living."
Lightning crackled weakly along Kael's arms.
He was exhausted. Gates aching. Bones ringing.
And so was everyone else.
He looked around—Lyria, panting but ready; Ryven, bruised but still grinning; Serin, pale but steady; Korran, swaying but planted like a cliff; Nira, shaking but focused; Arion, eyes burning like glass over fire.
I can't do this alone.
He looked up.
"Valdyros," he whispered. "You said… together."
The dragon's golden eyes narrowed.
« Then listen carefully, child.
You have one strike left before your body collapses.
Do not waste it. »
"I'm listening."
« I will open a path.
She— » Valdyros flicked a glance at Lyria « —will lance the crack.
And you will hammer it open.
Signal her.
Trust her. »
Kael nodded once.
"Lyria."
She turned, still breathing hard. "Yeah?"
"If I open him," Kael said, "can you put water through the gap in his mask?"
She blinked. "You mean like a pierce shot? I've never—"
"You can," he cut in.
How can you be so sure? hovered in her eyes.
"Because you've never failed me," he said.
Her face flushed.
"Then open him."
⸻
V. Dragon Signal — The Opening Blow
Valdyros rose higher, wings spreading wide against the shredded fog.
He inhaled deeply.
« CHILDREN OF THE STORM, » he roared into their minds,« MAKE WAY. »
He released a pulse—not just of sound, but of pure storm-light.
It expanded from his body, smashing into the sigils along the Nightslayer's arms. For a heartbeat, they twisted—
And desynced.
The assassin shuddered.
His chains lagged—
barely—
but enough.
Arion felt it instantly.
She planted her glaive, emerald light erupting from the sigils at its base.
"ROYAL DECREE—BINDING FIELD!"
A circle of emerald glyphs spread under the Nightslayer's feet, locking the air around his ankles and shins, turning space itself viscous.
He tried to move.
For the first time—
He couldn't.
His eyes widened behind the fractured mask.
Kael Flash-Stepped.
Lightning tore from the ground where he'd just stood.
He appeared right in front of the assassin—
So close he saw his own reflection in the cracks—
And drove his fist into the fracture.
No named technique.No flourish.
Just everything he had left.
His Soul Gate flared—
KRRAAA–THOOM!
The mask shattered.
Bone-white shards exploded outward like broken teeth.
For a heartbeat, everyone saw the face beneath—
Pale. Gaunt. Eyes like dead candle flames. Bloodless lips twisted in something that wasn't quite a smile.
Then Lyria moved.
⸻
VI. Lyria's Strike — Water That Cuts
Her water rings contracted in an instant, from looping orbits to tight spirals, from halos to compressed streams.
She inhaled.
Every lesson from Mistress Thaleen.Every morning spar with Kael. Every promise she'd made—
Protect them.
"WATER ART—PIERCING TIDE LANCE!"
She thrust her hand forward.
A single, needle-thin jet of high-pressure water tore through the air, glowing a vivid blue with concentrated Soul Source.
It shot straight into the exposed center of the Nightslayer's forehead.
SHZZZT—
For a second, nothing moved.
Then the jet burst out the back of his skull.
The Nightslayer went still.
His chains fell slack.The violet sigils along his body died out, one by one.
He staggered backward, head angling slightly from the internal impact.
Kael swayed, just as unsteady.
They both stood there, facing each other—
One boy.One assassin.Storm against void.
The Nightslayer gave a low, strangled laugh.
"I see… now," he rasped. "We were wrong. You are not prey."
Cracks of black anti-source energy split his form, searing across his chest and arms. Pieces of him began flaking off into shadow dust.
Valdyros watched warily.
« Self-erasure protocol, » he muttered. « His master does not want a corpse left behind. »
The Nightslayer's remaining eye fixed on Kael.
"Listen, spark," he whispered. "The voice that sent us… was not Vardain. Not Solis. Not your king. It is the one who whispers behind the gods…"
His jaw crumbled, words distorting.
"…the one who wants you… to choose…"
The last word twisted into static.
His body broke apart in a spiral of shadow and ash, chains dissolving into nothing.
Within seconds, there was no trace of him.
Just scorched stone, sliced trees…
And seven young warriors breathing in the echo of something far too big for them.
⸻
VII. Aftermath — Fog and Silence
The fog vanished.
Not slowly, not fading—
It snapped away, like a veil torn open.
Suddenly they were just back on the Silver Road.
Dark trees. Cold earth. Sharp, ordinary starlight.
No more warped sky. No more humming shadows.
The surviving caravan guards stared at them in mute shock.
Merchant-master Jorah Tamm finally found his voice.
"What… what was that?"
No one answered.
How could they?
A servant of an anti-god. An assassin sent by a force that unravels creation. A test they were never meant to pass.
Kael's legs gave out.
He dropped to his knees, one hand braced on the ground, the other clutching his ribs.
His lungs burned.
His Gates screamed.
His body demanded surrender.
Nira rushed to him.
"Kael—Kael, hold still—" Her hands hovered over him, green light already flowing.
Lyria stumbled forward on rubbery legs and dropped beside him, still shaking. "You idiot," she whispered, voice breaking. "You absolute, beautiful idiot—"
He huffed out a laugh that hurt. "Nice shot."
Her face flushed. "You opened it. I just… aimed."
"Don't diminish it," Serin said hoarsely, approaching with his injured arm in fresh bandages. "Without that, he'd still be standing. He was right about one thing, though."
Ryven limped over, favoring one leg. "What?"
Serin's eyes narrowed.
"We are not prey," he said quietly.
Korran planted his spear and leaned on it, bruised but unbowed. "Not anymore."
Princess Arion stared at her glaive, then at the last wisp of ash where the Nightslayer had been.
"A voice behind the gods," she murmured. "Our philosophers speak of such a thing only as forbidden theory. Now it sends killers at my head."
Valdyros settled onto a rock, chest rising less steadily than usual, eyes dimmer.
« This… is sooner than I expected, » he admitted. « The Anti-Architect moves quickly. Too quickly. »
Kael blinked at him. "The Anti-Architect?"
Valdyros' gaze met his.
« The shadow to the Prime Architect's light.
The one who crafts unmaking while the Architect crafts being.
If their Horsemen walk openly… this age will burn faster than predicted. »
Kael swallowed.
He thought of the Architect's dream.Of Famine's hand on his chest.Of the Nightslayer's last broken whisper:
He wants you… to choose…
"I'm so tired of not knowing what's going on," Kael whispered.
Lyria slipped her hand into his.
"Then we learn," she said. "Together."
He squeezed her hand.
"Together," he agreed.
⸻
VIII. The Road to White Walls
By the time dawn bled into the horizon, they were moving again.
The caravan rolled on, slower than before, wagon wheels raking over frost, the air heavy with the kind of silence that followed funerals.
They'd had to give the story three times.
To Jorah.To the senior guard.To the armored relay captain from Vardain who met them halfway.
Every time, the details shifted slightly.
"We were attacked by a masked assassin.""His chains could cut stone.""He was stronger than any D-Rank mission should allow.""We defeated him as a team."
They never mentioned Anti-Source. Never said Horseman. Never said Anti-Architect.
Those words felt too big, too dangerous, to casually hand over.
So they carried them quietly, just between the seven—and the dragon.
Korran walked heavier now, like he was absorbing weight. Ryven laughed louder, a little too loud, as if to bury the memory. Nira prayed more often, fingers laced tight.Serin sharpened his sword again and again, gaze distant. Lyria watched the water rings circling her fingers like she was seeing strangers. Arion asked careful questions, testing boundaries, collecting pieces.
And Kael?
Kael listened to the storm inside him.
It felt… different.
Not bigger.
Not stronger.
Just aware.
Like something beyond the sky had looked at it.
Measured it.
And taken interest.
By the time the road leveled out and the mist began to thin, Captain Daen rode up alongside them and pointed ahead.
"There," he said.
The morning sun rose cold and pale over a horizon of stone.
The Silver Road led straight toward a monolith of white.
The White Walls of Vardain.
⸻
IX. The Silence Before the Walls
The walls loomed higher with every step.
Massive. Towering. Grand.
A monolithic barrier of pure white stone carved with runes of judgment, truth, and penance. They rose so high they nearly swallowed the sky.
No banners.No color.No warmth.
Just an endless curtain of cold purity.
"Feels… different here," Ryven muttered, rubbing his arms.
Lyria stepped closer to Kael, water rings orbiting her wrists with slow, deliberate movement. They trembled faintly.
"Kael," she said softly, "do you feel that?"
He did.
The Source felt thinner.
Not gone. Not corrupted.Just… compressed.
Like trying to breathe through wet cloth.
Valdyros perched on Kael's shoulder, wings drawn tight, golden eyes narrowed to slits.
« This land is wound tight with doctrine. Do you sense it, child? Every stone here has been told what to be. Every breath… judged. »
Kael shivered.
Serin, quiet until now, spoke in a low, clinical tone.
"Vardain is not like Elyndria. Their faith is law. Their law is absolute. Mages are tolerated… barely."
Ryven rolled his eyes. "Great. So we're walking into a kingdom run by grumpy priests with sticks up their—"
"Ryven," Nira whispered anxiously. "Please don't… talk here."
Korran said nothing, though his posture grew even more rigid.
Arion, riding at the fore on a pale-white destrier, glanced over her shoulder.
"Stay close," she said. "Vardain's politics are delicate. And their patience with outsiders is… limited."
Kael nodded, fingers brushing the hilt of his newly repaired sword.
The horn sounded.
A deep, resonant blast that shook the air.
The White Gates began to open.
⸻
X. The Templars of Judgment
The gates parted, revealing a formation of armored warriors standing in perfect, mirrored lines.
The Templars.
Tall.Immovable. Encased head-to-toe in silver armor engraved with scripture.
Their visors glowed faintly blue, powered by internal runes.
At their head stood a towering figure in white-trimmed armor, helm shaped like a lion's face.
High Templar Commander Varric Thane.
He stepped forward, armor clanking in ritual precision.
"Princess Arion of Elyndria," he said, voice echoing from within the helm, "the Iron Theocracy welcomes you."
Arion bowed with practiced grace. "Commander Thane. We thank you for receiving us."
"And these," Varric said, turning sharply toward Kael and the others, "are the prodigies spoken of by your king?"
Kael stepped forward and bowed, remembering Serin's lessons.
"Kael Varos, Commander. And this is my team."
The visor dimmed slightly as the Templar's gaze scanned him.
"You carry a sacred beast," he said. "And abnormal power."
Valdyros puffed his chest.
« I am abnormal by design, tin helmet. »
A ripple of whispers spread through the Templar ranks.
Varric paused.
"Your presence will be… tolerated. But understand this clearly—within Vardain's walls, magic is bound by strict law. Any manifestation without authorization is subject to judgment."
Ryven muttered, "All I heard was 'blah blah blah, we hate fun.'"
Serin kicked his ankle. "Be quiet."
Commander Thane raised one gauntleted hand.
"The Archon requests that all foreigners surrender their weapons before entering the Sanctum Quarter."
Korran tensed. Ryven almost choked. Lyria stepped forward, eyes flashing.
"That's ridiculous—these weapons are our lives."
Kael's jaw clenched, hand drifting toward his sword—
Until Daen stepped between them, posture like a wall.
"That will not happen," he said.
The Templar ranks stiffened.
Varric's voice dropped an octave.
"That was not a request."
Daen did not yield.
"These are Elyndrian representatives on a diplomatic mission under royal decree," he said. "You will not strip them of their defenses in territory already harried by shadow-spawn."
Tension crackled like static.
Eiran placed a hand on Daen's shoulder.
"Stand down," he murmured. "This is not our battlefield."
Daen exhaled sharply but obeyed.
Varric studied them for a long moment.
"Very well," he said at last. "Your arms remain. But unsheathe them without permission… and judgment will be swift."
He stepped aside.
"Enter, then. And witness the purity of Vardain."
Kael walked first.
As he crossed the threshold, a chill raced through him.
Not cold.
Suppression.
The Source dimmed inside him, like a candle smothered under glass.
Valdyros hissed softly.
« This kingdom is strangling itself. »
Kael didn't say it aloud.
But he agreed.
⸻
XI. The Sanctum of Purity
The city within the walls was breathtaking—and terrifying.
White spires pierced the sky, connected by arched bridges etched with glowing scripture. Streets were carved from marble so polished they reflected the pale sunlight like bone.
Citizens in simple white robes flowed along designated paths.
Quiet.Orderly.Eyes down.
A young woman carrying baskets brushed a Templar's armor by accident.
She recoiled instantly and dropped to her knees.
"I—I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"
The Templar simply stared down at her until she trembled.
Kael's fists clenched so tightly that sparks crackled under his skin.
Lyria caught his arm.
"Kael… don't," she whispered.
He forced himself to breathe.
Nira stared, horror in her eyes. "It's like… they're afraid to exist."
Serin nodded grimly. "Faith is not gentle in Vardain. It is law. Mistakes are sins."
Korran's jaw worked. "This place is wrong."
Ryven muttered, "I miss the guild already."
Then a voice rang out across the square.
"Princess Arion. You honor us."
A man in flowing white robes descended wide stone steps from a looming temple. Tall, thin, with neatly trimmed silver hair and pale gray eyes—
High Priest Elias Marr.
His presence felt like a knife wrapped in silk.
Arion bowed deeply. "High Priest Marr. Thank you for receiving us."
"Elyndria's princess is always welcome," Elias replied, though his gaze slid past her to Kael.
"And… this is the storm child."
The way he said it made Kael's skin crawl.
"With a sacred beast bonded," Elias murmured. "How curious."
Kael bowed. "Honored to meet you, High Priest."
"Is it?" Elias asked softly. "A sacred beast is a sign of blessing… or catastrophe."
Valdyros flicked his tail.
« I am choosing not to incinerate this man, » he muttered. « You're welcome. »
Serin stepped forward. "High Priest, may we proceed to the Cathedral for formal discussion?"
"Ah, yes," Elias said, distaste barely concealed. "Diplomacy."
He turned away.
"Come. The Archon awaits."
As they ascended the long marble stair, Kael leaned toward Lyria.
"Your magic still feels heavy?"
She nodded, water rings thinning as they rose higher.
"It's like trying to shape water through stone," she whispered.
Kael's gut twisted.
Something was wrong here.
Deeply wrong.
⸻
XII. The Cathedral of Iron Faith
The cathedral loomed ahead like a mountain of carved stone and dogma.
Enormous pillars lined the hall, each engraved with the Ten Vows of Purity.
Kael's eyes snagged on one inscription as they passed:
SUFFER NOT THE UNBOUND.
His skin prickled.
They entered the grand chamber.
Archon Valisar sat upon a throne of marble and iron, black hair slicked back, eyes sharp as obsidian. He was not old, but his gaze felt older than the walls around him.
He studied Arion with measured intensity.
"Princess," he said. "Welcome."
Arion bowed gracefully. "Archon Valisar. Elyndria thanks you for your hospitality."
"And these," Valisar said, gesturing, "are your famed prodigies."
Kael stepped forward.
"Kael Varos, Archon. We come peacefully."
Valisar's eyes flicked to the faint arcs of lightning still sleeping in Kael's aura.
"You wield power boldly, child," he said. "A dangerous trait."
Kael said nothing.
The Archon rose.
"We shall speak more at tonight's feast. Until then, your quarters are prepared."
Then, to Elias:
"Ensure our guests remain… supervised."
Elias bowed.
The message was clear.
You are not trusted here.
As they were escorted out, Ryven leaned toward Kael and whispered, "Is it just me, or did that guy look at us like we kicked his dog?"
Kael didn't smile.
"Or like he already decided what to do with us," he murmured.
⸻
XIII. Beneath the White Sky
Their quarters were spacious but cold—white stone walls, white linens, white everything.
No warmth. No color.
Korran ran a hand along the wall. "Feels like a prison dressed as a palace."
Nira tugged at the barred window. "Even the view is… filtered."
Valdyros perched on Kael's shoulder, voice low.
« This city bleeds fear. Mortals walk like shadows. And beneath it—something stirs. Something that tastes like Anti-Source. »
Kael stiffened. "Famine?"
« No, » Valdyros said. « Not him. But kin. »
A chill slid down Kael's spine.
Lyria came to stand beside him.
"What do we do?" she asked.
Kael looked out at the white city—the walls, the watching Templars, the bent heads of civilians moving like ghosts.
"Stay together," he said. "Stay alert. And find the face this kingdom hides."
Serin checked his blades—clean, sharp, ready. "Where do we start?"
Kael's fingers tightened around the hilt of his sword.
"Every kingdom has two faces," he said quietly. "One painted for the world…"
He remembered Helda falling, Dolsen turning to ash, the Nightslayer's last whisper about a voice behind the gods.
"…and one carved into its bones."
From high above, near the cathedral's shadowed tower, a figure watched the palace guest wing.
Eyes glowed faint violet in the dark.
The aura was wrong.
Not pure Source. Not pure Anti-Source.
Something twisted between.
A whisper rode the wind, brushing past the balcony where Kael stood.
"Storm child…"
Kael's hand tightened.
Vardain was not what it pretended to be.
Not even close.
And the storm inside him—
tested on the road, sharpened against chains—
stirred again, ready for whatever came next.
⸻