Kael stood frozen.

The figure before him was unlike anything he had faced before—not a shadow, not a reflection, but something more.

Something real.

The Mark on Kael’s arm pulsed violently, as if it recognized what stood before him.

"I am what you may become."

The words echoed in Kael’s mind, rattling against his thoughts like a blade scraping against stone.

"What does that mean?" Kael asked, his voice sharper than he intended.

The figure did not move. Did not breathe.

Then—it smiled.

A slow, deliberate curve of lips, though there was no warmth in it. No humanity.

"You already know."

Kael’s fingers twitched. His body, once so sure of itself, felt uncertain. He had fought enemies before—soldiers, monsters, the Imperium’s hounds. But this?

This was different.

The air around them shifted, like reality itself was bending to the figure’s will.

"The Mark does not grant power without purpose," the figure continued, stepping closer. The weight of his presence pressed against Kael’s very bones. "You were chosen for a reason."

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

Kael’s jaw tightened.

"I didn’t choose this."

The figure tilted its head. "Didn’t you?"

Kael exhaled sharply, his mind flashing back—Vael’Thalos, the ruins, the Mark carved into stone. The power that had awakened inside him when he was supposed to die.

Hadn’t he reached for it?

Even if he hadn’t known what it was, even if it was instinct—hadn’t he chosen?

"This is the path of the Forsaken," the figure said, stopping just a step away from him. "It is not a burden. It is an inheritance."

Kael’s breath steadied.

"And if I refuse?"

The figure’s silver-marked eyes flickered.

"Then you die."

A pulse.

The space between them collapsed.

Kael barely had time to react before the figure moved.

Faster than anything he had ever seen.

One moment, there was distance. The next—a hand was at his throat.

Kael’s instincts roared—his own hand shot up, grabbing the figure’s wrist before it could tighten.

Their Marks clashed.

A blinding pulse of light exploded outward.

Kael gritted his teeth as raw force ripped through him, power clashing against power. The figure’s grip was unshakable, but Kael—Kael was not weak.

His own Mark burned white-hot, pushing back.

The figure exhaled softly. "Good."

Then it released him.

Kael stumbled back, his breathing ragged. His body still thrummed with power, his muscles aching from the force of their brief struggle.

The figure remained still, watching.

"You are strong. Stronger than most." A pause. "But strength alone is not enough."

Kael forced his breathing to steady. "Then what is?"

The figure’s silver eyes locked onto his.

"Control."

Kael swallowed.

"You stand at the threshold of something far greater than yourself," the figure continued, voice quiet but unyielding. "You must decide, Forsaken. Will you walk forward, or will you fall?"

The void trembled beneath them, waiting.

Kael stared at the figure, the weight of the moment settling into his bones.

This was not a test of power.

It was a test of will.

And he would not break.