The reflection moved when Kael didn't.
It tilted its head, studying him with Falshaar's crimson eyes, but there was something wrong in the way it smiled—too wide, too knowing, like it understood jokes Kael hadn't heard yet.
"Stop staring at it," Kael muttered, forcing himself to look away from the water.
"I'm not doing anything," Falshaar replied, but his voice carried an edge. "That's not me. And it's definitely not you."
Kael's skin crawled. "Then what—"
The reflection lunged.
Water exploded upward as a clawed hand shot from the lake's surface, fingers wrapping around Kael's ankle. He had no time to scream before he was yanked backward, dragged across the sand toward the water.
Instinct took over.
Kael twisted, slamming his free foot into the wrist holding him. The impact sent black flames erupting across his leg—the Void Flame responding to his desperation. The hand shrieked, releasing him as it dissolved into smoke and water.
He scrambled back, chest heaving, staring at the now-calm lake.
"What the hell was that?"
"A Mirror Shade," Falshaar said, tension bleeding into his tone. "Asharah's little pets. They copy your form, study your weaknesses, then try to replace you. If it had pulled you under..."
"I'd be dead," Kael finished.
"Worse. You'd be erased. The Shade would wear your face, live your life, and no one would know the difference."
Kael's hands trembled as he pushed himself to his feet. Every muscle screamed, exhaustion clawing at him, but he forced himself to move. Away from the water. Away from whatever horrors lurked beneath.
"Where do we go?" he asked, scanning the barren landscape. Black sand stretched in every direction, broken only by jagged rock formations that jutted from the ground like broken teeth.
"North. Toward the Fractured Peaks." Falshaar paused. "There's someone there who can help. Or kill us. Depends on his mood."
"Fantastic," Kael muttered, starting to walk. "And who is this someone?"
"Razan. The Crimson Forgemaster."
The name meant nothing to Kael, but the way Falshaar said it—with a mixture of respect and wariness—told him everything he needed to know.
"What does he do?"
"He makes weapons. Not ordinary ones—these are forged from the blood of kings, the bones of Ark-Lords, the screams of dying realms." Falshaar's voice grew darker. "He's also completely insane. But if anyone can teach you to survive in this body, it's him."
Kael's jaw tightened. "And the price?"
"Everything."
---
The journey took hours.
Or maybe minutes—time felt wrong here, stretching and compressing like reality couldn't decide what it wanted to be. The landscape shifted without warning: black sand became crimson stone, then obsidian glass, then something that looked like fossilized lightning.
Kael's body moved with an efficiency he didn't understand. Each step was precise, powerful, burning through distances that should've taken days. But exhaustion still gnawed at him—not physical, but something deeper. Soul-deep.
"You're feeling it," Falshaar observed. "The weight of this body. Every king I killed, every oath I broke—it all leaves a mark. You're carrying my sins now."
"I didn't ask for this," Kael said through gritted teeth.
"No. But you're stuck with it." A pause. "For what it's worth... I didn't want this either."
Kael almost laughed. "You chose to swap our bodies."
"I chose survival. There's a difference."
Before Kael could respond, the ground beneath him moved.
Not an earthquake—something burrowing. The obsidian glass cracked in a spreading web, and Kael threw himself sideways as the surface exploded. A massive form erupted from below, all chitinous armor and too many limbs.
A Ghoul.
"Oh, wonderful," Falshaar groaned. "Just what we needed."
The creature was the size of a truck, its body a nightmare amalgamation of insect and serpent. Dozens of eyes—each one a different color—fixed on Kael with hungry intelligence. Its mouth opened, revealing rows of teeth made from what looked like shattered bone.
It screamed—a sound that physically hurt, making Kael's vision blur and his ears ring.
"Move! NOW!"
Kael dove as the Ghoul's clawed limb slammed into the ground where he'd been standing. The impact sent cracks spiderwebbing across the obsidian, chunks of glass flying like shrapnel.
He rolled, coming up in a crouch, and felt the Void Flame surge through his arms. Black fire wrapped around his fists, hungry and eager.
The Ghoul circled him, its movements disturbingly fluid for something so large. Testing. Calculating.
"It's trying to find your pattern," Falshaar warned. "Don't let it. Attack unpredictably."
Kael launched himself forward.
The Ghoul's claw swept toward him in a horizontal slash. Kael dropped into a slide, the limb passing inches above his head, and drove his flaming fist into the creature's underbelly.
The Void Flame detonated.
Black fire exploded through the Ghoul's body, erupting from its back in a geyser of dark energy. The creature shrieked, thrashing, its limbs flailing wildly. One caught Kael across the chest, sending him flying.
He hit the ground hard, tumbling across the obsidian before slamming into a rock formation. Pain screamed through his ribs, but the body held. Cracked, maybe, but not broken.
"Get up!" Falshaar barked. "It's regenerating!"
Kael forced his eyes open and saw it was true—the hole in the Ghoul's body was already closing, flesh knitting together with sickening speed.
"How do I kill it?" Kael gasped, pushing himself up.
"You don't. Not permanently. Ghouls don't die easily—they're sustained by the Abyssal Threads. You need to sever its connection."
"How?!"
"The eyes. Each one is an anchor. Destroy them all, and it'll collapse."
Kael counted. Forty-seven eyes.
"You've got to be kidding—"
The Ghoul charged.
Kael ran.
Not away—toward it. His body moved with terrifying grace, closing the distance in heartbeats. The Ghoul's claws came down in a killing blow, but Kael was already inside its guard.
He drove his fist into the nearest eye.
It popped, black ichor spraying across his arm. The Ghoul screeched, and Kael felt something snap—a thread in the air, invisible but tangible.
"Good!" Falshaar urged. "Keep going!"
Kael became a whirlwind.
He moved across the Ghoul's body like a shadow, each strike precise and brutal. Eyes burst under his fists, ichor painting the obsidian black. The creature thrashed, trying to shake him off, but Kael's claws—Falshaar's claws—dug into its chitinous armor, holding firm.
Thirty eyes. Twenty. Ten.
The Ghoul was slowing, its movements becoming sluggish. Kael could feel its connection to the Threads weakening, fraying like old rope.
He reached the final eye—larger than the others, positioned at the center of its forehead.
Kael drew back his fist, the Void Flame blazing so brightly it turned the world black and white.
"Finish it."
He struck.
The eye exploded, and the Ghoul's entire body collapsed. Not died—collapsed, like a puppet with cut strings. Its form dissolved into black smoke and ash, scattering on a wind that shouldn't exist.
Kael dropped to his knees, chest heaving, covered in ichor and his own blood.
"Not bad," Falshaar admitted. "For a human."
"Shut up," Kael panted.
A slow, mocking clap echoed across the obsidian field.
Kael's head snapped up.
A figure stood on a nearby rock formation—tall, lean, wrapped in a blood-red cloak that seemed to drip. His face was angular, scarred, with eyes like molten gold. In one hand, he held a blade that looked like it had been forged from screams given physical form.
"Razan," Falshaar said quietly.
The Crimson Forgemaster smiled—a predator's expression.
"Falshaar the Black Oath. I heard you died." His gaze shifted to Kael, looking through him. "But this isn't you, is it? This is something... new."
He jumped down, landing without sound, and walked toward Kael with deliberate slowness.
"A human soul in a Jinn's body. How fascinating." Razan stopped five feet away, tilting his head. "Tell me, little human—are you here to beg for training? For protection?"
Kael met his gaze. "I'm here to survive."
Razan's smile widened.
"Wrong answer."
He moved.
One moment he was standing still; the next, his blade was at Kael's throat, the edge drawing a thin line of black blood.
"You're not here to survive," Razan whispered, his voice like grinding stone. "You're here to become a weapon. My weapon. And weapons don't beg."
Kael's hand shot up, catching the blade with his bare palm. The Void Flame erupted, pushing back against the metal.
"Then teach me," Kael said through gritted teeth. "Or kill me. But don't waste my time."
For a long moment, Razan stared at him.
Then he laughed—a genuine, delighted sound.
"Oh, I like you." He pulled the blade back, sheathing it in one fluid motion. "Very well, human. I'll teach you."
He turned, walking toward the Fractured Peaks in the distance.
"But know this—my lessons are paid for in blood, pain, and pieces of your soul. By the time I'm done, you'll either be the deadliest thing in seven kingdoms..."
He glanced back over his shoulder, golden eyes gleaming.
"...or you'll be dead."