The night bled red.
Kaelith burned. Entire districts that had once glistened with marble towers and mana-lamps were now nothing but pillars of fire and broken stone. The air was thick with ash, choking the lungs of those who still drew breath.
Kieran stumbled through the rubble-strewn street, his legs weak and trembling. The spiral on his arm pulsed faintly beneath his torn sleeve, its warmth the only steady thing in a world gone mad. His toy bird was gone, lost to the chaos, but he hardly noticed now.
Everywhere he looked, the city he had known was unrecognizable. Where the crystal fountains once danced in the square, there was only a crater, water mixing with blood. The marketplace where his mother had bartered for bread was a collapsed ruin. And the people — the people he had known by face if not by name — were scattered among the wreckage, their stillness worse than their screams.
A sound drew him back from the edge of panic. A voice — hoarse, desperate.
"Help! Please!"
Kieran froze, his head snapping toward the collapsed remains of a bakery. The front wall had caved in, but beneath the rubble, a young girl's arm reached outward, bloody and shaking. She couldn't have been much older than him.
His heart pounded. He wanted to run — part of him screamed to — but his legs carried him forward. He clawed at the debris, his fingers bleeding as he tore stone and wood away.
The girl's face emerged, streaked with soot, her eyes wide with terror. She gasped when she saw him.
"Please… it hurts… I can't…"
"I'll get you out," Kieran said, though his voice trembled. He pushed, pulled, heaved with all the strength his small frame could muster.
The rubble shifted with a groan. A larger stone pinned her leg, and no matter how he strained, it would not budge.
Tears burned his eyes. "I can't— I can't do it!"
The spiral on his arm flared.
For a heartbeat, the world fell silent. Then the stone cracked — a thin fissure at first, then splitting wide as if under an invisible force. With a sharp crack, it shattered into fragments, scattering like dust.
Kieran gasped, stumbling back. His arm burned, the spiral glowing like molten silver. The girl stared at him, her mouth hanging open.
"H-how did you—?"
"I… I don't know," he stammered, terrified by his own strength.
Before either could say more, a new sound rolled through the street. Heavy, metallic footsteps.
Kieran turned.
At the far end of the alley, a figure emerged through the smoke. It was taller than any human, clad in armor that glistened like black steel, etched with the same crimson veins as the leviathans above. Its head was elongated, featureless but for a vertical slit that glowed with red light. In one hand, it carried a blade that hummed with energy.
A Thasaract soldier.
The girl whimpered, clutching Kieran's arm.
It tilted its head, as if studying them. The slit of light widened, and with a hiss, the blade ignited fully.
Kieran's blood froze. His legs refused to move.
Run, his mind screamed, but his body would not obey. He shoved the girl behind him, though he knew it meant nothing. His fists clenched helplessly.
The soldier stepped closer. Each footfall cracked the stone beneath it. The air hummed with the energy of its weapon.
Kieran's spiral pulsed again — once, twice — then flared so bright it seared through the fabric of his sleeve.
The soldier lunged.
Time slowed. Kieran felt the world tilt, as though everything around him bent inward. Shadows surged, coiling like serpents from the rubble. The air grew heavy, crushing, and with a sound like tearing cloth, the space before him split.
A wave of black force exploded outward.
The soldier was hurled back, crashing into the wall of a ruined building with a thunderous crack. The crimson veins along its armor flickered violently.
Kieran staggered, his body shaking, his vision blurring. He could barely breathe. The spiral burned like fire, and he felt something — someone — stir within him.
"Survive. Struggle. Awaken."
The words echoed in his skull, not his own, not fully real, but undeniable.
The Thasaract soldier pushed itself from the rubble, its armor cracked. Its slit of red light narrowed into a thin glare.
Kieran's knees nearly buckled. He had no strength left. The girl tugged at his sleeve, tears streaming down her face. "We have to run!"
He nodded weakly. Together they stumbled down the alley, Kieran half-dragging her, the sound of the Thasaract's armor echoing behind them.
---
They burst into a wider street — and nearly collided with a group of survivors.
Four figures turned toward them, weapons drawn. A tall man with ash-gray hair stepped forward, his eyes narrowing as he saw the two children. He carried a battered sword, its edge chipped, but he held it with the ease of long practice.
"Easy!" he barked, holding up a hand. "They're not soldiers."
Behind him stood a woman in mage's robes, her sleeves torn and bloodied, clutching a staff that glowed faintly at the tip. Beside her, a stocky boy barely older than Kieran hefted a crude spear, his face set in grim determination. The last was a younger girl, her hands shaking as she tried to bind a wound on her arm with torn cloth.
The tall man stepped closer. "Name's Darius Veylan. Former city guard." His eyes flicked to the spiral burning faintly on Kieran's arm, and something unreadable crossed his face. "You're… one of them, aren't you?"
Kieran's mouth went dry. He glanced down at his arm, tugging his sleeve over the mark. "I-I don't know."
The mage woman, her dark hair streaked with soot, studied him closely. "The gods have touched him."
Before Kieran could respond, the heavy steps returned — closer now. The Thasaract soldier emerged from the alley, its armor still cracked, crimson veins flaring brighter as if enraged.
The group stiffened. Darius raised his sword. "Form up!"
The mage planted her staff. "We can't take it head-on!"
Kieran's chest tightened. He could feel the spiral throb, whispering at the edges of his mind. The girl he had saved clung to him, her voice trembling. "Don't let it take us…"
He wanted to say he wouldn't. He wanted to promise. But all he could manage was a trembling nod.
Darius glanced back, his eyes locking on Kieran. "Boy — whatever you did before, do it again. Or we're all dead."
The Thasaract soldier's roar shook the broken street. The red light from its visor flared, bathing the ruins in a sickly glow.
Darius gritted his teeth, planting his feet. The mage raised her staff, lips already moving in a hurried incantation. The boy with the spear trembled but held his ground.
Kieran's spiral burned like a brand, shadows writhing at his feet. The girl beside him buried her face into his sleeve, whispering prayers he couldn't hear over the pounding of his heart.
The soldier's blade ignited fully.
Kieran's breath caught. He felt it again — that pressure, that voice, the promise of something vast and terrifying waiting just beneath his skin.
"Struggle… and awaken."
He didn't know if he could control it. He didn't know if he should. But he knew that in the next heartbeat, everything would change.
And as the Thasaract lunged forward, the world itself seemed to hold its breath.