The cocoon cracked again.
A single fracture ran across its surface—slow, deliberate, like the world itself holding its breath.
Kael stepped back.
He didn't fear what was inside.
He feared what it might mean.
Around him, the star pulsed brighter. Its heat wasn't searing. It was alive. Like the light of a sun that had been dreaming too long… and was now waking confused.
The glass shell trembled.
Then it shattered.
Not with violence.
But with grace.
The pieces dissolved into flickering light, and from within stepped—
Kael.
Not a reflection.
Not a vision.
A living, breathing, second self.
---
He looked younger. Roughly eighteen. Skin pale, eyes full of a wild, untamed fire. No armor. No gauntlet. Just simple robes of black and silver.
But that fire…
It was raw.
Unforgiving.
Untouched by loss or patience.
He looked at the real Kael—older, hardened, silent—and tilted his head.
> "You're me," the boy said.
> "I was," Kael answered.
> "No. I'm what you should've been."
The boy stepped forward. No hesitation. No fear.
> "Before they broke you. Before they knelt. Before you bled all your fury into order."
Kael studied him calmly.
> "And yet here you are—sealed in a shell. Forgotten."
The younger Kael smirked.
> "Not forgotten. Preserved. For this moment. The flame didn't die, old man. You just tried to bury it."
His hands ignited—flame without heat, light without shadow.
It wasn't cultivation.
It was conviction.
Pure, dangerous, unyielding will.
---
> "So what now?" Kael asked.
> "Now," the younger said, "you choose."
Behind them, the star rippled.
The flame coiled into a throne—a twisting seat of molten stone that hovered in the center of the burning sky.
> "One of us sits," the boy said. "The other disappears."
Kael's eyes narrowed.
> "I've burned for centuries."
> "And I haven't burned enough."
---
They circled one another slowly.
No blades.
No oaths.
Just presence.
Two parts of one soul, cut by time and shaped by pain.
The older Kael—measured, merciless, enduring.
The younger—raw, righteous, wild.
> "You became a god who forgot how to hate," the boy said.
> "I became a god who knew what not to destroy," Kael replied.
Silence.
And then—
They moved.
---
It wasn't a clash.
It was a collision of belief.
Each strike was a choice not taken.
Each step, a different path.
Kael fought without edge—redirecting, dismantling.
The boy fought with fire and finality—every blow a declaration.
In seconds, the sky bled.
Not from wounds.
From decision.
Because this wasn't about who would win.
It was about who was right.
---
Finally, Kael grabbed the boy's arm mid-strike.
Held it.
Looked him in the eyes.
> "You were never wrong," Kael said softly. "You just weren't ready."
The boy's flame flickered.
> "Then let me become you."
Kael exhaled.
> "No. Let me remember you."
He released him.
And the boy vanished.
Not in defeat.
In acceptance.
---
The star dimmed.
The sky calmed.
Kael stood alone once more.
But not unchanged.
The flame inside him no longer burned in silence.
It burned with memory.
The future he feared had not taken him.
He had chosen it.