The Mark pulsed.

  Kael felt it coiling around his bones, a presence waiting, whispering. Not commanding. Not demanding.

  Inviting.

  The Voidborn lunged.

  Kael let go.

  And everything changed.

  The air shattered.

  A pulse of unseen force rippled outward, like a stone dropped into a still lake. The Voidborn twisted mid-air, their unnatural bodies jerking as if something had grabbed them.

  Then—crack.

  The first creature’s limbs bent the wrong way. Its body snapped apart.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Not by blade.

  Not by hand.

  By will.

  Kael hadn’t moved.

  And yet—he had broken it.

  The others hesitated.

  For the first time, the Voidborn—things made only to hunt, to kill—staggered back.

  They knew.

  They feared.

  Kael staggered, his breath sharp, his fingers twitching. The Mark had moved before him, beyond him.

  It had not asked.

  It had taken.

  The nameless man watched him with something close to understanding.

  "You feel it now," he murmured. "The truth."

  Kael’s chest rose and fell sharply. He could still feel the power curling inside him, restless. Waiting.

  "It doesn’t stop," Kael said, voice low. "It’s not just power."

  The nameless man nodded once. "No. It’s not."

  Kael’s fingers dug into his palms. "Then what is it?"

  A pause. Then—the man spoke a name.

  A name Kael did not recognize.

  A name he had never heard.

  And yet—it echoed inside him like a memory.

  Kael’s heart slammed against his ribs.

  Something inside him remembered.

  But it wasn’t his.

  The Voidborn shifted, regrouping. The moment of hesitation had passed. They would not run. They would not stop.

  And Kael—

  Kael was done running.

  The Mark pulsed again.

  And the world fractured.