"Some blades cut deeper than steel. Some truths cleave the soul."
The sterile stillness of the Academy's medical wing thrummed with quiet magic. Healing runes pulsed faintly along the alabaster walls, casting a soft, ethereal glow over Kael Ryuu's bandaged form. He lay still, breath shallow, cocooned in silence.
By his bedside, Kurozan sat dormant—its once-pulsing edge now dulled, as if it too had burned through its very spirit.
Within Kael's fractured consciousness, a tempest of dream and memory surged.
Ash blanketed a ravaged battlefield. Jagged steel jutted from the corpses of fallen titans. Above, the heavens wept burning strands—golden Strings unraveling across a void sky. From the center of that crumbling web stepped a swordsman wreathed in shadow, his eyes twin suns of gold.
"Tenebris must rise again," the figure whispered, voice echoing through the ruins of reality.
Kael gasped awake.
A soft rustle followed. Riven sat slumped on a stool nearby, arms crossed, snoring softly, head bobbing with each breath. Just beyond the ward's enchanted curtain, Arien paced like a restless wolf, presence stoic and unwavering.
But the vision clung to Kael's chest like a phantom weight, pulling him back under.
---
Far across the campus, within the spiraling heights of the Observation Hall, silence reigned.
Projected above the gathered faculty in crystalline clarity, the battle of the Northern Wastes played again and again—Wraithborn swarming, elemental chaos roaring, a monstrous fusion of the five crests shaping a dragon of impossible magic. And at its eye, Kael, suspended like a celestial anomaly—his eyes glowing with power long thought forbidden.
Senn watched wordlessly, arms folded. Selai's posture was iron-stiff, her fingers twitching. Beside her, Veyna leaned on a scorched column, face pale, voice hoarse.
"He's not supposed to be able to do that… yet."
Instructor Hallen's eyes narrowed. "That wasn't Soulborne magic."
"It wasn't even from this world," murmured the Headmaster. "And yet, it came from him."
Selai shook her head. "Even the legends… not even the Soulborne of the Abyss could do this."
A silence hung—charged, weighty. No one spoke the word they all feared.
---
In the shattered remains of a forgotten citadel, atop a jagged spire veiled in shadow, a silver-cloaked watcher leaned over a glowing orb. Kael's image flickered within its surface.
The man's voice was calm, but beneath it, fire licked the edges.
"He's awakened."
A raven cawed harshly outside the broken window.
"Tell the Obsidian Circle," he whispered. "The last Soulborne walks again."
---
Kael stirred once more.
This time, he stayed conscious. Pain came instantly—like stone grinding beneath his bones. His breath came in ragged gasps. Riven jolted awake, blinking, staring wide-eyed.
"You're… awake," he said, voice cracking. "Took you long enough."
Kael didn't answer. His fingers trembled. His gloves were gone, incinerated in the storm. And on his skin—etched in faint luminescence—were runes, like veins of starlight. The String itself now marked his flesh.
Beside him, Kurozan thrummed faintly, almost… breathing.
Then came the voice again. Closer. Clearer.
"It begins, Soulborne."
Kael turned toward the moonlit window, body screaming, mind reeling.
What… am I becoming?