Chapter Seventy Two: The Word of Chaos
The clearing seemed to hold its breath. The ancient stones stood half-buried in snow, carved in patterns too old for any tongue to recall. Selindra's staff struck the ground once, and the runes carved in the rock groaned awake with a deep, throbbing glow.
Kael stepped into the circle, his shadows flickering, fire burning faintly at his hands. Lyria and Druaka stood just beyond the boundary, blades drawn but useless against what was to come. Umbra paced like a restless phantom, hackles raised, sensing power swelling in the frozen air.
Selindra's voice carried, low and rhythmic:
"Blood of dragon, flame of night, shadow of death. Awaken."
The forest shuddered. The trees bent inward as though bowing before him. The very air thickened, and Kael felt the mana in the world—normally faint and whispering—flare to life around him. Tiny sparks shimmered in the branches, like veins of light running through bark. The grass at his feet pulsed, faint at first, then brighter, until even Lyria and Druaka's skin glowed with faint outlines of their mana.
Kael tried to breathe, but the air burned in his lungs. His chest seized, and the first pain struck like a lance of fire down his spine.
He dropped to his knees. Shadows thrashed wildly across the stones, his fire sputtering like a dying star. His body refused to move, as if frozen in the grip of something vast and unrelenting.
Then he heard it.
"Kael…"
The voice was velvet and flame, sharp as steel and soft as silk. His mother.
His eyes widened, but he could not raise his head. Her presence wrapped around him, sorrowful and proud.
"My son… my blood. You've carried the weight of shadow and flame, but now you stand where I once stood. Tell me, Kael. What do you truly wish for yourself? For your people?"
His mind raced, flashes of faces searing into him—Lyria's unwavering gaze, Druaka's scars and strength, Fenrik's wolfish loyalty, Thalos's silent support, the children's laughter. Then his thoughts widened, spiraling outward, to the Hollow, to the forest, to the kingdom that looked at them with suspicion, to the world that saw them as monsters.
He felt rage in his chest, like a storm breaking free.
The world sees us as beasts. As prey to be hunted, slaves to be chained. But no more. I want a safe haven. A home where none live in fear of chains or blades. I want to shake this rotten world to its core so it cannot ignore us. If the world calls us monsters, then I will be its greatest nightmare. If it fears chaos, then chaos shall rise in my hand.
Blood welled up from Kael's chest, drawn by some unseen force. It spilled onto the ancient stone, lines carving themselves into a symbol that pulsed with otherworldly light. The word burned into existence, drawn in the red of his heart.
Chaos.
The ground split. The trees bent nearly to breaking, snow whipping into a cyclone above him. The air turned to a living storm, sparks of raw mana searing across the clearing in arcs of fire and shadow. Kael screamed as the pain became unbearable, his body writhing against invisible chains, his vision fracturing between light and void.
Then—silence.
A voice, calm and eternal, thrummed inside him. Not his mother's, but something vaster.
You have spoken your Word. You are chaos-born. You may create, you may destroy. You may summon what the world has forgotten. But every act carries weight. What you shape will shape you in turn.
His body collapsed forward, trembling. But when his hand hit the ground, a ripple of raw energy spread outward like liquid glass. From the ripple rose a shape—black smoke hardening into form. A beast of bone and shadow, massive, snarling, its eyes glowing the same crimson as the rune carved in his blood.
Kael stared at it, chest heaving. He hadn't called it intentionally. It had come from his mind, born from his will without thought.
Chaos Magic.
He clenched his hand, and the beast collapsed into sparks, dissolving into the air.
When he raised his head, his eyes were no longer just shadow-black or ember-red. They swirled, like storm clouds devouring fire. His fire and shadow still danced at his fingertips, but they bent differently now—warped, malleable, ready to shift into anything he demanded.
Selindra knelt low, her voice reverent. "The ritual is complete. The dragon's son has spoken his word. Chaos answers him."
Lyria took a half-step forward, her lips parted in awe, but her eyes full of worry. "Kael…"
Druaka's jaw tightened, but her voice was a whisper of raw respect. "By the gods… what are you now?"
Kael stood slowly, his cloak of shadow wrapping tighter around him. His voice was hoarse but firm.
"I am Kael. King of Ebon Hollow. And from this night on… the world will learn to fear chaos."