Kael stood upright.

  Saber in hand.

  Covered in dust and blood.

  His eyes remained fixed on… his work.

  That crushed, shapeless heap

  That smile — that false smile — spread across the sand.

  His eyelids trembled.

  The image of his mother… his real mother… surged forward.

  The tenderness.

  The softness.

  And there, before him, only a mangled heap of flesh and organs remained.

  A wave of nausea pierced him.

  He dropped to his knees and vomited.

  “I killed my mother…” he murmured, voice broken.

  His eyes filled with tears.

  Then he clenched his teeth.

  No.

  It wasn’t her.

  Just a pale imitation.

  In the stands, Althéa rose abruptly, rigid as a drawn bow.

  “He… he killed her?”

  Lucanis, silent for a long time, finally spoke, his voice hesitant:

  “Who… who was that woman?”

  Velara, colder, analyzed the scene in a single glance.

  “He’s in bad shape. We need to get him.”

  All three leapt from the stands at the same time.

  The Dean tried to stop them:

  “Wait! It might still be dangerou—”

  Too late.

  They had already landed in the sand.

  High above, the Queen — silent until now — descended the white marble steps.

  She joined the King, standing immobile, rigid, eyes fixed on Kael.

  She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

  It stirred him slightly.

  He spoke in a harsh, gravelly voice:

  “He’s dangerous. Too dangerous. We cannot let him remain free.”

  She heard something in his tone.

  Not firmness.

  Not authority.

  Fear.

  Kael, trembling, rose.

  His anger surged.

  He sprang to his feet, eyes red, throat tight with rage.

  He screamed.

  A cry not meant for the King, nor the stands, nor the world.

  A cry meant for someone unseen.

  Someone only he could hear.

  “So that’s it?! That’s all you could come up with to put me back in line?!”

  Althéa, Lucanis, and Velara froze.

  They exchanged a glance.

  Kael continued, unleashed:

  “I killed my own cause! ME! An Ombrevu! I brought you to your knees!”

  He lifted his eyes to the sky, face burning, the vein in his throat pulsing with every word.

  “I am your Lucifer… and this time, you will NOT win!”

  His hands lashed toward the sky, as if accusing the universe itself.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  “I, Kael, the Causeless One…”

  He paused, panting, eyes wild.

  “…will destroy you.”

  A pulse resounded in the arena.

  Everyone stopped at once.

  A second pulse, stronger.

  Velara searched frantically for its origin — in vain.

  Then, beside Kael, a small dark fissure appeared.

  A crack in reality itself.

  A low hum echoed.

  Not in the arena.

  Not in the air.

  In the world.

  Everyone covered their ears — unable to withstand the sound.

  Everyone except Kael.

  He remained standing.

  Head lowered.

  Breath short.

  The King stepped back, instinctively placing an arm in front of the Queen.

  “What is happening?!” she asked, panicked.

  He did not answer.

  His eyes were caught by the fissure.

  It was growing.

  Swelling before their eyes.

  Velara understood — too late.

  For the first time in her life, she stepped back.

  Not out of caution.

  Out of fear.

  A visceral fear.

  Primal.

  Instinctive.

  A pair of hands emerged from the fissure and pulled it apart like a curtain.

  The breach widened by force.

  And something came through.

  Not a form.

  Not a silhouette.

  A multitude of forms within one.

  A shifting reality.

  A shape doubting its own shape.

  A presence at times colossal, at times minuscule, at times black, at times white.

  Indefinable.

  Alive.

  Unstable.

  Perfect in its absurdity.

  When it fully emerged from the fissure…

  Everyone fell to their knees.

  Althéa and Lucanis collapsed face down.

  Velara sank onto both knees, hands pressed into the sand.

  Lifting her head demanded almost superhuman effort.

  The King and Dean Ford fell as well, clinging to the railing.

  The Queen lost consciousness.

  But one person remained standing.

  Kael.

  Upright.

  Trembling.

  Dark eyes locked onto the creature.

  Velara managed to speak, her voice broken:

  “Impossible… it’s… impossible…”

  The formless being turned an eye — or a thought — toward Kael.

  A gaze without shape.

  Kael recognized that gaze.

  “Dubium… is that you?”

  The Primogene of Doubt did not answer.

  He raised a hand.

  A white fissure appeared in reality.

  A luminous wound.

  Velara, eyes shaking:

  “…A Primordial Shard…”

  Lucanis stared at the entity, terrified beyond words.

  Althéa watched Kael, unable to understand.

  Then Dubium spoke.

  A voice from another world.

  A voice that did not vibrate in the air, but within thought itself.

  “Take what is rightfully yours, Kael.”

  He extended his hand.

  The fissure pulsed with indescribable energy.

  Kael hesitated… then extended his own.

  The fissure collapsed into his palm.

  Instinct guided him: he brought the light to his chest and absorbed it.

  A voice then resounded throughout the Coliseum:

  ((PRIMORDIAL SHARD DETECTED… comprehension attempt in progress.))

  The King, maddened with disbelief, shouted:

  “IMPOSSIBLE! He’s only a Ombrevu! An insignificant creature!”

  Dubium spoke again.

  And this time, the entire Coliseum trembled.

  Perhaps even… the world.

  Kael remained standing.

  “I, the Indecisive, Primogene of Doubt… recognize you, Kael — The Causeless One —, for having shown the path even to the gods themselves.”

  He raised a finger.

  Or a claw.

  Or a fist.

  No one could say.

  A golden energy pulsed.

  Velara tried to rise, unsuccessfully.

  “That’s… not possible…”

  Dubium continued:

  “…And I bless you.”

  He placed his finger — or whatever served him as one — upon Kael’s forehead.

  The King screamed:

  “HE’S GOING TO RECEIVE AN ANOINTMENT!”

  The Dean’s eyes widened, devoured by panic.

  The energy entered Kael and flooded his entire body with indescribable power.

  The voice echoed again:

  ((ANOMALY DETECTED.))

  Althéa, face against the ground, trembled.

  Dubium then grasped Kael’s hand.

  And placed something within it.

  Kael did not look away.

  Not for a second.

  He feared nothing now.

  The Primogene spoke again, more softly:

  “Do not forget, Kael…”

  He leaned closer.

  His face shifted… then briefly took on an almost human form.

  “Never stop climbing.”

  And with a snap of shadow,

  he vanished.

  And suddenly…

  An image tore through Kael’s memory.

  The man.

  The man from the white world.

  The one he had glimpsed when he had fallen unconscious in the cavern.

  The man with white hair.

  Opal eyes.

  Immobile.

  Silent.

  As if he had been waiting for him forever.

  The vision surged back all at once, violent, brutal.

  Kael went pale.

  His eyes widened.

  “It’s him…” he breathed, voice trembling.

  “He’s the one who orchestrated all of this…”

  His body began to shake.

  A freezing shiver ran through him.

  His heart pounded too fast, too hard.

  He felt hot and cold at the same time.

  A cold sweat trickled down his temple, then his chest.

  He slowly lowered his gaze to his hand.

  To where Dubium had placed something.

  He opened his fingers.

  Very slowly.

  Almost fearfully.

  Resting in his palm were:

  A key. and a chess piece.

  The King.

  The sand trembled around him, as if it understood.

  Kael inhaled.

  Slowly.

  The entire world seemed suspended in his hand.