The sky overhead was a dull, bruised shade of gray, heavy with dust and smoke from the wreckage behind them. The facility was gone, but the air still vibrated with the remnants of what had been set loose.
Kael staggered forward, his mind buzzing—his body screaming. The mark burned beneath his skin, sending phantom tendrils of something foreign and hungry through his veins. It had been quiet before, a lingering weight he could ignore.
Now?
It was awake.
Ronan coughed violently, wiping the dirt from his face. His jacket was torn, his hands bloodied from the frantic escape. He turned to Kael, his usual easy demeanor nowhere to be found. "You're gonna tell me what the hell that was, right?"
Kael didn't answer.
What could he even say? That something in there had recognized him? Had called to him? Had tried to claim him?
He clenched his fists, his breathing uneven. "I don't know."
It wasn't a lie. Not entirely.
They didn't stop moving. Stopping meant death.
The underworld had its own way of spreading news. By now, rumors were already rippling outward, whispering through hidden channels, reaching the ears of those who mattered.
Something had been broken. Something had been freed.
And the organization would never let that slide.
"They're gonna come after us harder than before," Ronan muttered, keeping his voice low. His eyes were constantly scanning, searching for signs of pursuit. "We didn't just piss them off—we put a target on our backs the size of the whole damn city."
Kael didn't disagree.
Elias would hear of this. Maybe he already had.
But Elias wasn't the only problem.
They weren't dealing with just one hunter anymore. This was war now. And others were coming.
"We need to disappear for a while," Ronan said, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "Let the heat die down."
Kael exhaled. "I don't think that's possible anymore."
Hours passed before they finally slowed. They had made it into a crumbling sector of the city, where abandoned buildings loomed like hollowed-out husks of a forgotten age.
Ronan hesitated, shifting uncomfortably before finally muttering, "Alright. Don't be mad, but…"
Kael turned his head sharply. "What?"
Ronan reached into his coat and pulled out a sealed container.
Kael's pulse spiked.
The casing was reinforced, lined with security locks that had already been forced open. On its surface, the organization's insignia gleamed faintly in the dim light.
Kael knew that symbol. He had seen it before, buried within the redacted sections of his own file.
His hands curled into fists. "Where did you get that?"
"Swiped it before we bolted," Ronan admitted, scratching his head. "Seemed important. Figured we could use all the leverage we could get."
Kael stared at the container, his chest tight with an uneasy pull. The same pull he had felt in the facility—the same unnatural tug that had drawn him deeper into its depths.
He swallowed hard. "Open it."
The moment they pried the container open, Kael knew it had been worth the risk.
Inside was a book.
Not just any book—a handwritten, ancient record. The pages were thick, bound in something that felt wrong under his fingers.
Ronan whistled lowly. "Well, that's not ominous at all."
Kael ignored him, flipping through the pages. The text was old, written in jagged, uneven strokes. Some words were smudged, others deliberately crossed out.
But the content—
It was about Dominions.
Not just the ones people knew, but the ones that had been erased from existence.
There were diagrams of how Dominions could be manipulated, twisted, expanded beyond their known limits. The book spoke of things beyond what was accepted—forbidden techniques, lost paths.
And then—
Kael's fingers froze on a page.
Aetheris.
Not his name. But the name itself.
Scattered mentions, fragmented references. Not explanations, but warnings.
The mark of Aetheris is the mark of ruin.
If it awakens, all shall be undone.
Ronan leaned in, reading over his shoulder. His voice was unnaturally quiet. "Well. That's encouraging."
Kael felt his heartbeat in his throat.
There were pages missing. Torn out.
Someone had wanted this knowledge buried.
Before Kael could process what he had just read, they were no longer alone.
A voice—calm, steady.
"That book doesn't belong to you."
Kael's body tensed.
A figure stood near the entrance of the ruined building, partially obscured by shadow. Their stance was relaxed, almost casual, but Kael knew better than to trust appearances.
Ronan exhaled sharply. "Great. Another creep lurking in the dark. What, did we trigger some kind of secret society alert?"
The stranger didn't react to the sarcasm. Their gaze was fixed on the book.
They were not from the organization. But they knew too much.
Kael didn't lower his guard. "Who are you?"
The stranger ignored the question. Instead, they stepped forward, hands resting at their sides. Not threatening. Not afraid.
"If you want to survive," they said, "you're going to need more than just stolen knowledge."
Kael and Ronan exchanged a glance.
The stranger's expression didn't change. "You don't have time to figure this out on your own. You need someone who knows what that book actually means."
Kael's fingers tightened around the pages. "And let me guess. That's you?"
A faint smirk. "I have my own reasons for being here."
They weren't offering help out of kindness. That much was clear.
Kael could sense it—this person had their own stake in the game. Their own agenda.
A potential ally.
Or a future enemy.
Silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken tension.
If this person had meant to kill them, they would have acted already.
Instead, they were offering a deal.
Kael had a choice.
Trust them and take the risk.
Or go it alone, blind, with nothing but half-truths and missing pages.
His jaw clenched.
He hated being backed into a corner.
But he hated being helpless even more.
The chapter ends with Kael's decision hanging in the air.
Who was this person?
And more importantly—how much did they actually know?