Kael had never seen a cell like this.
It wasn't steel and bars, but glass and light. Circular, seamless—more like a containment orb than a room. Runes pulsed faintly along the inner walls, humming with suppressed energy. Every breath inside the cell felt filtered, like he wasn't breathing air but something artificial and sterile.
Three hours since they'd brought him here.
Three hours since Commander Rael had smiled like war was a game.
Kael sat on the single bench in the middle of the chamber, hands curled together, eyes tracing the lines of the Ashen Mark still etched across his skin.
It hadn't disappeared.
He'd hoped it would. Prayed it was some fever dream of smoke and panic. But it remained, like ink branded into his soul.
Cataclysm Core.
He didn't even know what that meant. Only that it had caused him to lash out—without thinking. He'd hurt people. He could have hurt Iria.
No. He clenched his fist.
He'd held it back at the last moment. That had to mean something.
A sound broke the silence.
A hiss. Then the light along the door pulsed green. It slid open with a sigh of pressure, and two figures stepped inside.
One was Iria.
The other was Rael.
Commander Rael carried a datapad and a sword longer than Kael's arm. His black coat drifted behind him like it had a will of its own, and Kael couldn't help but notice the burn scars coiling around the man's throat beneath his glowing mark.
"I trust you haven't incinerated anything since we last spoke," Rael said casually.
"I'm trying not to," Kael replied.
"Good instinct. Let's keep that trend alive."
Iria stepped closer, eyes flicking over Kael in quiet concern. "They ran blood tests," she said. "Confirmed. Your Chrona output is increasing—exponentially."
"Is that… bad?"
"It's dangerous," Rael said. "Most Emberborne flare at ignition, then plateau. Yours is climbing. And we don't know why."
"I didn't ask for this."
"No one ever does," Rael said. "The mark chooses. It doesn't ask permission."
Kael stood. "Then what do you want from me? Am I a threat? A student? A weapon?"
Rael studied him. "That's what we're going to find out. Starting now."
Kael tensed. "You're not locking me in here forever."
"No," Rael said, gesturing to the door. "I'm taking you to class."
...
Obsidian Ward's training grounds were hidden behind armored blast doors and reinforced gravity fields. Iria escorted Kael through the lower levels as Rael strode ahead, unlocking checkpoints with coded gestures and retinal scans.
The doors opened into a vast chamber—far larger than Kael expected.
A dome of open space, with glowing combat platforms suspended in midair, surrounded by viewing balconies. Students moved between platforms, some sparring with conjured flame or shadow, others practicing forms that left the air trembling.
Kael saw light swords, glass daggers, flame whips, and mirror chains—each one an extension of a soul-bound Ashen Mark.
His stomach knotted.
"These are the advanced units," Iria whispered beside him. "Tier Two and above. Some are born with their marks. Others… inherited them during war zones."
"They all seem like they know what they're doing."
"They've trained since they were six."
Kael exhaled. "I delivered lunch packs for a living two days ago."
Rael stopped at a ledge overlooking one of the platforms. A single student stood at the center, dressed in deep crimson, his body surrounded by coiling black flame.
"This," Rael said, gesturing to the boy below, "is Riven Sahl. Ranked #1 among Tier Two initiates. His mark? Ash Hydra—a multi-flame construct that replicates based on his opponents' emotional states. Dangerous. Efficient. Lethal."
Kael watched as Riven conjured three serpentine heads of flame, each writhing and snapping in different directions before collapsing inward into a singular, precise blast that shattered the target dummy across the arena.
"Cool," Kael muttered. "And terrifying."
"Now," Rael said, turning to him, "you're going to fight him."
Kael blinked. "I'm sorry—what?"
Rael shrugged. "Controlled environment. Safety fields. You need to understand your Mark's behavior under stress."
"Wouldn't a simulation be safer?"
"Yes," Rael said. "For him."
Kael opened his mouth to argue—but Iria touched his arm. "You can do this," she said softly. "It only awakened because you were under threat. You need to see what it wants."
"What it wants?"
"Your Mark has a will," she said. "All of them do. Find out if yours can be reasoned with."
Kael swallowed. "And if it can't?"
She gave a thin smile. "Then try not to explode."
...
The platform was colder than he expected.
Kael stood on one end, dressed now in reinforced combat attire—a sleek black vest with adaptive fibers and flame-retardant layering. No weapons. No allies.
Riven Sahl stood at the other side, arms folded, his dark hair falling over sharp eyes that held no interest.
"Great," Kael muttered. "A warm welcome."
"Match parameters initiated," a voice said over the speakers. "Safety seals engaged. Flame dampeners active. Begin on commander's mark."
Rael stood on the viewing ledge. "Begin."
Riven moved before Kael could blink.
A surge of black fire tore toward him, coiling in the air like serpents with burning fangs. Kael dove left, rolled, came up gasping.
Do something, he thought. Ignite. Ignite. IGNITE—
Nothing.
Another blast came—closer, hotter.
Kael raised his arm on instinct—
The mark flared.
A wall of crimson flame erupted, intercepting the blast mid-air. The two fires clashed, hissing and spitting light across the platform.
Kael's eyes widened. He hadn't summoned a shield. Not consciously.
It protected me again.
Riven narrowed his gaze.
"Defensive instinct," he said aloud. "Not controlled. Let's test the limits."
He snapped his fingers.
Four serpents appeared this time—spinning in opposite directions, diving at Kael from all sides.
Kael felt something inside lurch.
His vision narrowed.
Not fear—something underneath fear.
Heat surged through his spine again, deeper this time. His pulse skipped. The mark burned like a heartbeat. And then—
He moved.
Kael ducked, spun, caught one serpent with his hand—and it dissolved into red ash on contact.
The others struck—but instead of impact, his body shifted. A burst of crimson flame blurred him forward, past the strikes, into melee range.
He didn't remember forming a weapon—but suddenly there it was in his hand:
A blade of solid flame, jagged and pulsing like living magma.
He slashed.
Riven blocked with a conjured arc of hydra fire. Sparks flew. Heat clashed with heat. The shockwave knocked both of them back.
Kael gasped.
His hand trembled, but the blade didn't vanish.
Riven looked at him—truly looked—for the first time.
"…Interesting," he said. "You're not suppressing it. You're negotiating."
Kael blinked. "I'm what?"
"Your mark. It's responding to emotion. You're not using it like a tool—you're letting it choose how to protect you."
Kael hesitated. "Is that bad?"
"Depends," Riven said. "If it likes you, you live. If it doesn't…"
Kael swallowed.
"Round two," Rael called from above.
"No thanks!" Kael shouted. "I think I've had my—"
Riven charged.
...
Thirty minutes later, Kael lay on his back outside the arena, a cold pack pressed to his ribs, several new bruises blooming beneath his skin.
Iria sat beside him on the bench, expression unreadable.
"So," Kael said between breaths, "how'd I do?"
"You didn't die," she said. "That's a solid first day."
He laughed—then winced. "Ow. Okay. No laughing."
"I'm impressed," she added after a moment. "You held your ground. Riven doesn't usually acknowledge new initiates."
Kael looked at her. "You've seen this a lot, haven't you?"
She nodded. "I used to help train Tier Ones before I transferred into research."
Kael stared at the sky. "Feels like this mark is alive. Not just power. Like it remembers something. A place. A feeling."
Iria looked at him, more softly now. "Sometimes… the strongest marks are the loneliest. They don't belong in this world anymore."
Kael turned to her.
"Then maybe they need someone to remind them they're not alone."
A quiet beat passed between them. And for a moment, the world stilled.
Iria smiled faintly. "We should get you back to medical. That last hydra head hit you harder than you think."
Kael groaned. "Tell my spine that."
...
Later that night, Kael stood alone in the observation dome above the training grounds.
The city lights of the Citadel twinkled in the distance beyond the glass walls, too far to feel real.
He touched the mark on his arm.
It pulsed softly.
Not burning.
Not raging.
Just… there. Like it was watching him too.
Who were you before me? he wondered. And why now?
He thought of Iria. Of her hand on his. Her eyes full of worry. Her voice steady even when the world cracked.
And for the first time since the Veilborn attack, Kael didn't feel completely lost.
He was marked, yes.
But he wasn't alone.
Not yet.