Kael did not move for a long time after the man vanished.
The night air was cold against his blood-soaked sleeve, yet his mind was clear—sharper than ever. The outer grounds had returned to silence, but it no longer felt empty.
It felt occupied.
Not by bodies.
By attention.
"So it begins," Kael murmured.
He crouched and erased the traces of the fight with practiced efficiency. Blood was buried beneath loose soil. Broken branches were snapped and scattered naturally. The bodies were dragged into a nearby drainage pit used for waste disposal—an unremarkable place where no one would question a foul smell.
By the time he finished, the scene looked exactly as it had before.
Ordinary.
Unimportant.
Kael wiped his hands clean with a torn piece of cloth and straightened. His shoulder throbbed where the blade had pierced it. Poison still lingered faintly in his blood, numbing the flesh.
He did not treat it.
Pain was useful.
It reminded him that this body had limits.
Limits that needed to be broken.
As he returned to his assigned dwelling, Kael felt it again—faint, distant, but unmistakable.
Fear.
Not directed at him personally.
But about him.
Whispers traveled faster than footsteps in a clan like this. Guards talked. Servants listened. Exaggeration did the rest. By morning, the story would change.
A cripple killed guards.
A demon hid in the outer grounds.
The sealed statue was broken.
Fear didn't need truth.
It only needed momentum.
The devil sigil pulsed warmly in response.
Fear accumulation ongoing.
Authority stabilizing.
Kael allowed himself a small breath of relief as he entered the shack assigned to him. He barred the door, sat down on the cold floor, and finally focused inward.
The sigil had changed.
What had once felt like a dormant brand now felt… rooted. As if it had sunk hooks deep into his soul and begun anchoring itself there permanently.
He could feel emotions now.
Not his own.
Others'.
Residual fear clung to places, to memories, to people. It was faint, blurred, but present—like echoes left behind after a scream.
"This will become dangerous," Kael muttered.
If he could feel fear…
Others might sense him too.
He closed his eyes and began regulating his breathing, suppressing the sigil's activity. The pressure eased slightly, though it did not disappear.
Just then—
A knock.
Slow.
Careful.
Kael's eyes snapped open.
No killing intent.
No hostility.
But also… no fear.
He rose silently and approached the door, stopping just short of touching it.
"Who?" Kael asked.
A pause.
Then a woman's voice answered.
"Someone who doesn't want you dead. Yet."
Kael's gaze sharpened.
He opened the door a fraction.
A woman stood outside, wrapped in a dark cloak. Her face was partially hidden beneath the hood, but her eyes were visible—clear, observant, and far too calm for someone standing before him.
She was young.
Too young to carry that kind of composure.
"You're bold," Kael said.
She smiled faintly. "So are you."
She stepped inside without waiting for permission.
Kael let her.
"Relax," she said, glancing around the shabby room. "If I wanted to kill you, I wouldn't knock."
"That's true," Kael replied. "But it wouldn't stop you."
She chuckled softly.
"Fair."
She removed her hood.
Her features were delicate but sharp, her expression unreadable. There was something off about her presence—her aura was concealed, yet not suppressed. Like a blade hidden in plain sight.
"I won't tell you my name," she said. "And you won't ask."
Kael nodded. "Then speak."
Her eyes flickered briefly with interest.
"You broke a seal that even the clan head feared," she said. "You killed trained enforcers with a crippled body. And tonight… you were observed by someone who doesn't belong to this region."
Kael said nothing.
She leaned against the wall, arms crossed.
"You are becoming a variable," she continued. "And variables attract attention."
"From you?" Kael asked.
"From everyone," she replied. "Including the ones who don't move openly."
Kael studied her carefully.
"You're here to recruit me," he said.
She raised an eyebrow. "Aren't you afraid I'll deny it?"
"No," Kael said calmly. "You wouldn't come personally unless you were interested."
She laughed softly. "Sharp."
Her expression turned serious.
"There is an organization," she said quietly. "One that watches forbidden paths. Devils. Heretics. Broken cultivators. Sometimes, we erase them. Sometimes, we guide them."
"And me?" Kael asked.
She met his gaze directly.
"You're undecided."
The devil sigil stirred.
Kael felt a ripple of something unfamiliar—curiosity mixed with hunger.
"What happens if I refuse?" he asked.
She didn't answer immediately.
Instead, she reached into her cloak and placed something on the table.
A token.
Black metal, cold to the touch, etched with a symbol that made Kael's soul tighten instinctively.
"This will summon me," she said. "Once. If you survive the next phase."
"The next phase?" Kael repeated.
Her lips curved into a knowing smile.
"The clan head isn't the biggest threat," she said softly. "He's just the nearest."
She turned toward the door.
"Oh—and Kael?"
He looked up.
"You're not the only one who came back."
The words struck like a blade.
Before Kael could respond, she vanished—no sound, no trace, as if she had never been there at all.
Kael stood motionless.
Then slowly, very slowly—
He smiled.
Inside his chest, the devil sigil flared brighter than ever before.
Fear detected.
New variables confirmed.
Authority preparing to evolve.
And somewhere far beyond the clan, in a place where time moved differently—
Another pair of eyes opened.