Realmshift: Triad Ascendancy.

Acceptance.

[ARKANE]

My eyes opened slowly, my vision blurred and heavy. It felt like I had been asleep for days. My body was stiff, every muscle aching as I tried to move. As my sight adjusted, realization struck me hard.

I was still inside the dungeon.
The flames that once raged with the dragon's presence were gone, leaving behind scorched stone and an unsettling silence. Then the memories returned—sharp and relentless.

Lyra.
Ren.

My chest tightened, and before I could stop myself, tears began to fall. I tried to hold them back, but the grief was too much. Turning my head away, I forced myself to sit up, each movement slow and painful.

That was when I sensed it.
A powerful surge of mana nearby—steady, controlled, overwhelming.
I turned toward it and saw a man floating in the air, deep in meditation. His long black coat was torn and battered, hanging loosely as mana poured from his body and filled the space around him before drawing back in. The pressure alone told me who he was.

"Kael..." I muttered, remembering how hard it had been to find him.
I looked around desperately, searching for them. There were no bodies. No sign of Lyra or Ren.

"You won't find them," Kael said, opening his eyes as he lowered himself to the ground. His voice was calm, almost detached. "I already buried them. You've been asleep for two days."
He gestured to a spot nearby. Their weapons rested there, placed carefully against the stone, marking the place where they had been laid to rest.

Tears came again—stronger this time, burning as they traced my cheeks. Too many emotions churned inside me, colliding and tearing at my chest. Anger. Grief. Sorrow. Yet when I finally spoke, only one question escaped my lips.

"Why didn't you help me?" My voice trembled, sharp with accusation. "You knew this would happen."

Rage surged, hot and uncontrollable. My senses sharpened, the world snapping into cruel clarity as my Mangekyō Sharingan awakened in a swirl of fury. I clenched my teeth, barely holding myself together.

He stared back at me, utterly expressionless.

"I am not obliged to help them," he said calmly. "This was merely a test—to evaluate you and gain an average view of the so-called heroes Lady Seraphine chose."

That was enough.

My anger swallowed me whole. With a snarl, I leapt forward, drawing my blade and striking down at him in a vertical arc, pouring everything I had into the attack.

He raised a single eyebrow.

Two fingers caught the blade mid-swing.

The impact sent a shudder through my arms.

"We don't have time for this childish display," he said coldly. "And what form of garbage is this?"

Mana surged from his fingertips. I felt it before I saw it—a crushing, overwhelming pressure. The sword of Zarathar screamed once, then shattered, fragments exploding into the air as if the weapon itself had been reduced to dust.

My eyes widened.

I had never felt so powerless.

The rage that had consumed me moments ago guttered out, leaving behind nothing but dying embers and a hollow ache in my chest. He studied me then, his gaze distant, almost clinical.

"This," he said, "is the path of true power. The loss of a loved one is the greatest catalyst for growth."

Something inside me snapped.