Darkness.

Then—a sound. Not a voice, but a presence, carving itself into Alex’s mind like a blade into bone.

“You are a paradox, vessel.”

Alex tried to scream, but he had no mouth. No body. Only the echo of wheels screeching, Emily’s cry, and the crushing weight of nothingness.

“Selfishness and sacrifice. Courage and cowardice. You are… amusing.”

The void shuddered. Stars ignited around him, not as pinpricks of light, but as pulsing, geometric shapes—a kaleidoscope of fractured memories. His mother’s smile. Emily’s lotus hairpin. The guildmaster’s laugh.

“You wish to live?”

Yes. The thought was instinctive. But not like this.

“Irrelevant. You are a coin spent. But your suffering has value. Serve House Kaelthorn, and you may yet reclaim what was lost.”

A figure materialized—a silhouette of liquid mercury, its face a shifting void. The Arbiter. It gestured, and the stars rearranged into a contract written in flame:

“Become their sword. Slay the Voidspawn. In return, we rebuild you—steel where you were weak, power where you faltered. But know this: the forge burns away the dross. Each step forward will cost a step behind.”

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Alex reached for the contract. A memory surfaced—his mother’s hand, warm on his cheek. “You’ve always had a hero’s heart, Alex. Even if it breaks you.”

The stars dimmed.

“Choose.”

He grasped the flames.

—

Cold.

Too cold.

Alex gasped, lungs searing as if breathing for the first time. Light blinded him—not the harsh sun of his old world, but a blue-white radiance that hummed like a struck tuning fork.

“He lives,” a woman said. Her voice was edged with disappointment.

Hands lifted him. No—metal hands. A face loomed above, sharp-featured and severe, her eyes twin shards of obsidian. She wore armor of overlapping steel scales, each etched with runes that writhed like living things.

“Pathetic,” she said. “Smaller than Ryuko was. And weaker.”

A man’s voice, deep and resonant: “He is a Kaelthorn, Lira. That is enough.”

Alex tried to speak. A gurgle escaped his lips.

What am I?

The woman—Lira—turned him over, her grip bruising. A mirror floated into view, held aloft by unseen forces.

A stranger stared back.

Pale silver eyes. Hair the color of storm clouds. And skin—gods, his skin shimmered faintly, as if dusted with powdered steel.

“Kael Veyth,” the man said. He stood in shadow, but his presence filled the room like a thunderhead. “Heir to House Kaelthorn. Welcome to Aerath.”

A whimper escaped Alex. This isn’t me.

Lira sneered. “The Arbiter’s trash, more like. Look—he’s already shaking.”

The man stepped into the light. His face was a scarred masterpiece, a map of wars fought and won. “You will learn, Kael. Or you will die. Aerath tolerates nothing in between.”

He pressed a finger to Alex’s—Kael’s—forehead.

Pain.

A flood of images: towering spires of living metal, forests of crystalline trees singing in an alien wind, and monsters—twisted, howling things with eyes like shattered glass.

Voidspawn.

“They are born of human regret,” the man said. “Of souls who clung too tightly to what they lost. We purge them. It is our duty. Our curse.”

Alex’s vision blurred. The room tilted.

The Arbiter’s voice slithered through his mind: “Your first lesson, vessel. To live, you must forget.”

A memory dissolved—Emily’s face, fading like smoke.

He screamed.