The night air should have felt freeing after the suffocating tunnels. But to Kael, it felt like a thin veil over something worse.
He pulled in a slow breath, but his lungs felt heavier than before, like he wasn't just breathing in air but something unseen, something lingering inside him. The mark had been pulsing ever since those twisted remnants had fused into him, the whispers still curling in his mind like tendrils of smoke.
Ronan walked a step ahead, quiet. His usual relaxed stance was gone, replaced by something more cautious. Every so often, Kael could feel his gaze flick toward him, watching. Measuring.
"Whatever happened back there…" Ronan finally spoke, voice low. "That wasn't normal."
Kael scoffed, running a hand through his hair. "What part of this entire damn thing has been normal?"
Ronan didn't push further, but Kael felt it anyway—that creeping, silent thing forming between them. Doubt.
The streets were different.
Where once the city had been filled with movement, with the quiet hum of desperate life pushing through its rot, it was now eerily controlled. Enforcers patrolled in coordinated lines, moving in disciplined units. And not all of them were human.
Kael and Ronan kept to the shadows, ducking through side alleys, slipping through abandoned shops. But every corner felt tighter, every open space a trap waiting to snap shut.
As they crouched behind a crumbling wall, Kael caught the low murmur of two enforcers nearby. Their voices were hushed but urgent.
"—Retrieval Order came straight from above. Not just capture anymore."
"Confirmed?"
"Aetheris isn't just a target now. He's a problem."
Kael's fingers twitched at the name. Hisname.
Ronan exhaled sharply, glancing at him. "Guess they're done playing games."
Kael clenched his fists. The mark pulsed again, but this time, the whispers weren't warnings. They were waiting.
They found brief shelter in an old rooftop shack, barely more than broken wood and rusted metal. Below, the city stretched out—glowing in the dark, yet feeling more suffocating than ever.
Kael sat with his back against the wall, dragging a hand down his face. His body felt—wrong. His senses sharpened in moments they shouldn't, blurred in ways that made no sense.
Ronan leaned against the opposite side of the small space, arms crossed. Watching. Measuring.
"I need to know if you're still you," Ronan said, voice quiet but firm.
Kael let out a dry chuckle. "That a serious question?"
Ronan didn't smile. "You didn't see what I saw back there." His eyes flicked to Kael's hand. "That mark of yours… It's different now."
Kael didn't answer immediately. Because deep down, beneath the frustration, beneath the exhaustion—he was wondering the same thing.
The silence stretched. Then—movement.
A shadow flickered across a distant rooftop. Kael's breath hitched, his body tensing on instinct. But when he looked again—nothing.
Ronan noticed. "What is it?"
Kael exhaled. "...Nothing."
The moment of stillness shattered.
A low, humming sound cut through the air—followed by something sharp, something wrong.
The shack imploded, wooden beams twisting inwards unnaturally. Kael and Ronan barely rolled away before the entire structure was consumed by a force unseen, warping as if reality itself had folded inwards.
The figure stood atop the rooftop, revealing a presence that was anything but ordinary.
He was tall with long red hair that covered his forehead barely, composed, his posture exuding quiet control rather than open aggression. A long, high-collared coat draped over his frame, its dark fabric subtly lined with intricate patterns—symbols of rank, authority. His face, sharp yet unreadable, held an eerie stillness, as if emotions were a thing long discarded. But it was his eyes that stood out most—cold, calculating, yet holding an unsettling depth, as if he had seen things beyond human comprehension.
This wasn't a reckless bounty hunter. It wasn't a mindless enforcer.
It was a specialist.
They stood tall, wrapped in a dark, reinforced coat lined with symbols Kael didn't recognize. Their left hand was bare, fingers adorned with metallic rings that shimmered unnaturally in the moonlight.
"Kael Aetheris," the figure murmured. Their voice was smooth, patient. "The higher-ups were right. You're changing."
Ronan barely had time to move before the enemy flicked their fingers.
The air collapsed.
Kael's instincts screamed as the rooftop beneath them fractured—not from impact, not from force, but as if the very concept of its structure had been momentarily erased.
They barely jumped in time, landing on a neighboring ledge as the entire rooftop twisted into itself.
Kael's pulse spiked. Thiswasdifferent.
The specialist's ability wasn't fire, ice, or any simple energy. It was erasure. Pieces of space itself flickered and vanished where they moved, as if their presence disrupted reality's hold on its own rules.
Ronan gritted his teeth. "I really hate the weird ones."
Kael steadied himself, his mind racing. The mark pulsed, his body reacting before he could even think. He ducked—just before the space where he stood warped and collapsed inward.
He shouldn't have sensed that attack. But he did.
The battle was unlike anything before. The specialist didn't rush. They studied.
Every attack they made wasn't about winning—it was about testing.
Kael's movements were sharper, more refined. He shouldn't have been able to react as fast as he did. He shouldn't have been able to dodge a strike that erased the very space he stood on.
But he could. And Ronan noticed.
The specialist's lips curled slightly. Amusement? Satisfaction?
As the battle slows, Elias straightens, his stance unnervingly relaxed. With deliberate care, he reaches up, removing the dark hat perched atop his head. In a slow, practiced motion, he places it against his chest and dips into a shallow bow.
And that's when Kael sees it.
The mark.
It's etched into the back of Elias's hand, dark and intricate, standing out against his pale skin. It pulses—not with light, but with something unseen, something Kael feels more than he perceives.
His breath catches. His vision narrows.
Revulsion strikes him like a blade. Cold, gut-wrenching. It coils in his stomach, irrational yet overwhelming. He doesn't know why—only that something about it is wrong.
And yet… it's familiar.
A memory he doesn't have. An energy he remembers fondly yet knows nothing about.
His fingers twitch, an unconscious movement—as if reaching for something long forgotten.
Then, Elias speaks. And the words he utters are the same ones Kael has heard once before.
"You're running out of time, Aetheris. And so are we."
And then, just as suddenly as they arrived—they were gone.
Silence settled over the ruined rooftop.
Kael stood there, his breath unsteady. His mark—no longer just a mark—pulsed harder than ever.
The whispers in his head weren't just whispers anymore.
They were words. Clear. Sharp. Commanding.
He clenched his fist—and the shadows around him moved.
Not by wind. Not by light. By him.
Ronan saw it.
And this time, he didn't hide his unease.