The village did not scream at first.
That was what stayed with Elira later — the absence of sound.
The fields beyond Dravenfall were still smoking when they arrived. Homes collapsed inward as if crushed by an invisible hand, stone melted at the edges, earth scorched in perfect circular patterns.
Divine judgment marks.
Kael dismounted before his horse fully stopped.
"Elira," he said sharply.
She was already running.
Bodies lay everywhere — not torn apart, not butchered. Simply ended. No blood. No struggle. Just people who had been standing one moment… and erased the next.
"This wasn't war," Kael growled, kneeling beside a woman frozen mid-reach, her face peaceful in death. "This was a message."
Elira's knees buckled.
She felt it — the echo of heaven's authority still clinging to the land like ash in the lungs.
Protection revoked.
Her hands shook as she pressed them into the soil, light flaring instinctively.
Nothing responded.
She swallowed a sob.
"I couldn't shield them," she whispered. "I didn't even know."
Kael stood slowly.
The shadow around him was wrong.
Thicker. Sharper. Less obedient.
The serpent hissed — not warning.
Approval.
They have crossed the threshold.
Kael's voice was frighteningly calm.
"They did this because they can't reach you directly."
Elira looked up at him.
"They're punishing the world for choosing me."
"No," Kael corrected. "They're punishing me for refusing them."
The ground beneath his feet darkened.
Shadows pooled unnaturally, creeping toward the ruined houses, absorbing the residual divine energy like a wound drinking poison.
Elira felt it then — not fear.
Change.
"Kael…" she said carefully. "Your shadow—"
"I know."
He clenched his fist.
The shadow didn't pull back.
It wrapped higher — over his forearms, crawling like living armor, reacting to the devastation with hunger.
> Adaptation complete, the serpent murmured.
Divinity has declared extermination.
Survival parameters updated.
Elira's breath caught.
"What does that mean?"
Kael turned to her.
His eyes were no longer fully gray — threads of void-black cut through the iris like fractures.
"It means," he said quietly, "I won't survive this war the same way I entered it."
She stepped closer. "That's not an answer."
He reached for her — stopped himself halfway.
The restraint hurt more than distance.
"Heaven wants you caged," he continued. "So it will keep burning things you care about until you kneel."
Elira's jaw tightened.
"I won't."
"I know," he said.
She searched his face. "Then what are you planning?"
The shadow surged violently — reacting not to anger…
But to intent.
Kael's voice dropped.
"I'm going to make heaven remember what fear feels like."
The serpent stirred, coiling tighter, deeper — no longer just bound to Kael's body, but to his will.
> Authorization granted.
Elira felt it then — the horrifying clarity of it.
Heaven had not just attacked civilians.
It had accelerated Kael's evolution.
"You'll lose yourself," she whispered.
Kael finally touched her — forehead to forehead, grounding himself in her presence.
"Not if you stay," he said hoarsely. "Not if you remind me what I'm fighting for."
Her hands slid up his chest, fingers digging into fabric and shadow alike.
"I won't let them turn you into another weapon," she said. "Not again."
A tremor ran through him.
"For you," he murmured, echoing old words, "I'll remain a man."
The sky darkened overhead.
Not storm.
Alignment.
Somewhere beyond the Firmament, something ancient shifted — realizing too late that terror had been miscalculated.
Because heaven had struck first.
And the warlord they had tried to discard…
Had just been given permission to adapt.