The Seeker's blade moved like it knew the shape of Kael's fear.
It carved air with unnatural precision, cutting through Grythvault's dust and age. The first swing Kael dodged by instinct. The second nearly took his arm.
He backed away fast, runes burning along his forearms like coiled lightning, but not fast enough. The Seeker surged, cloak flaring behind him like a shadow with teeth.
Kael raised a palm. "Arelis, give me something—!"
Magic surged. A pulse of light shot from his hand, raw and wild. The Seeker twisted mid-air and let it scrape past him, scorching the far wall. He landed lightly, barely fazed.
"I was trained for Echoes like you," the Seeker said calmly, circling him. "Even ones that bleed too much like humans."
Kael didn't answer. Couldn't. Every breath was ash in his lungs.
Ashhorn leapt in again with a furious growl, but the Seeker lashed out with that same unnatural blade. The beast skidded back with a pained cry—still alive, still watching.
Kael screamed.
He launched forward, drawing the fragments of spellwork echoing in his blood. A flash of fire curled from his fingertips, jagged and misshapen. He threw it anyway—then followed with a punch lit by pulsing runes.
The fire missed.
The punch didn't.
His fist caught the Seeker's jaw, and the impact cracked through the air like splitting stone. Blood splattered.
The Seeker stumbled.
But only for a second.
Then he smiled again, cracked and crimson.
"Well struck," he hissed. "But not enough."
The Seeker drove his blade toward Kael's chest.
And that's when it happened.
The runes on Kael's body flared so brightly they seared the air.
Then went black.
Something else stirred.
A whisper. A name. Not Kael's voice.
"Return the scream."
Kael's eyes went wide—then burned silver.
His body moved without command. A wave of black flame burst from his core, spiraling like a star collapsing in reverse. The Seeker flew back, crashing into the wall hard enough to crack bone.
Kael walked forward slowly, eyes still glowing, expression blank.
The Seeker raised his blade—
Kael caught it mid-strike.
Then crushed it.
The Seeker gasped. "What—what are you—?"
Kael didn't answer.
The power within him surged—not Arelis. Not memory.
This was something else.
Older. Sleepless. Watching.
He raised his hand again, and this time the light wasn't fire. It was shadow bent into form, heavy with silence. He cast it forward—
And the Seeker screamed as it struck, writhing before collapsing, unconscious and broken.
The moment it ended, Kael's knees buckled.
The power vanished.
He dropped to the ground, breathing in shudders. His skin steamed. The runes faded to dim silver. Ashhorn limped toward him, nuzzling his shoulder.
Kael stared at his shaking hands.
"That… that wasn't me," he whispered.
But part of him knew.
It was.
Just not the part he understood yet.