CHAPTER 120 — THE PLACE THAT SHOULD NOT EXIST
The world Ironroot opened his eyes into was not a place.
It was an afterthought.
There was no sky—only a ceiling of dim, folded light that pulsed like a dying heartbeat. No ground either, just layers of compacted reality stacked too close together, pressing inward, grinding against each other with a sound like distant bone.
Kael stood at the threshold, half in his world, half nowhere.
The roots beneath his feet refused to advance.
They trembled, recoiling like living things that knew better.
"This is where they were taken," Kael said quietly.
Shadowblades hovered just behind him, her blades unmanifested but her stance ready. "This place feels… unfinished."
"It is," said the cloaked ally. "A holding lattice. Temporary, but reinforced."
Titanbound cracked his knuckles, molten veins flaring faintly. "Temporary doesn't mean weak."
"No," the armored ally replied. "It means cruel."
Kael inhaled slowly, forcing Ironroot's perception outward. The hollow symbol in his chest flared, stretching awareness across dimensions that resisted being seen.
Pain followed immediately.
Not sharp.
Not violent.
But wrong—like his senses were scraping against something that did not want to be understood.
He pushed anyway.
The space responded.
Figures began to emerge.
Not bodies at first—outlines. Human-shaped impressions pressed into the layers, suspended mid-motion like insects trapped in amber made of light.
Kael staggered.
"Easy," Shadowblades murmured, steadying him.
"They're alive," Kael whispered. "But not awake."
Titanbound stepped closer, eyes burning. "Why keep them like this?"
A voice answered.
Not from above.
Not from ahead.
From everywhere.
"Stability requires suspension."
The air warped as the presence manifested—not fully, not visibly. Just enough pressure to remind them they were trespassing.
Kael forced himself upright. "You said they were repositioned."
"They are," the voice replied calmly. "Removed from cascade probability."
"You froze them."
"We preserved them."
Shadowblades' tone sharpened. "At what cost?"
The presence paused.
"At yours."
The space shifted violently.
Layers peeled back, revealing depth where none should exist. Kael felt the hollow mark pull, like something was trying to hook into it.
The cloaked ally cried out, clutching their head. "It's syncing—Kael, it's aligning you with the lattice!"
"I know," Kael growled.
The truth slammed into him.
This place wasn't just storage.
It was calibration.
The missing settlement wasn't leverage.
They were weights.
Balancing a failing system.
"You're using them to test me," Kael said, voice shaking with restrained fury.
"Correct."
Titanbound roared and surged forward.
The world rejected him instantly.
A force slammed Titanbound backward, hurling him across folded layers. He crashed hard, molten glow dimming as the space leeched energy from him.
Shadowblades reacted instantly, blades forming mid-motion as she struck at the distortion.
Her blades passed through harmlessly.
The presence did not retaliate.
It did not need to.
"Violence is inefficient here."
Kael stepped forward, every instinct screaming at him to stop.
"Then talk," he said. "Tell me what you're really doing."
The layers around them rearranged.
The frozen figures shifted, rotating slowly until Kael could see their faces.
Children.
Elders.
Families caught mid-breath.
Ironroot howled inside him.
"Anchors decay," the voice said. "Yours is rare. Adaptive. Self-correcting."
"You want to replace the failing one," Kael said.
"We want continuity."
Shadowblades' voice dropped. "And if he refuses?"
Silence.
Then—
"Refusal is a form of instability."
The cloaked ally staggered to Kael's side. "They're telling the truth," they whispered. "The lattice is collapsing elsewhere. This place is overflow."
Kael clenched his fists. "Then move them. I'll stabilize it."
"You already are."
The hollow symbol burned.
Kael cried out as something clicked into place inside him—a connection locking deeper than before. His vision fractured, splitting into countless perspectives.
He saw other anchors.
Some dead.
Some broken.
Some screaming as they were consumed by the systems they upheld.
"This is what happens to anchors," Kael gasped. "They're used until they fail."
"Until they are replaced."
Shadowblades grabbed his arm. "Kael, fight it!"
"I am," he hissed.
He closed his eyes and listened.
Not to the presence.
Not to the lattice.
To Ironroot.
To the roots that had grown with him, not imposed upon him.
They did not stabilize by force.
They adapted by choice.
Kael opened his eyes.
"No," he said.
The word carried weight.
The lattice trembled.
"You don't get to decide continuity at the cost of lives," Kael continued. "You don't get to turn people into counterweights."
"Your resistance destabilizes—"
"I know," Kael interrupted. "That's the point."
He slammed his hand into the folded ground.
Ironroot surged—not outward, but inward, threading through the lattice like invasive vines. Instead of reinforcing the structure, it rewrote it.
The frozen figures pulsed.
Cracks spread—not breaking them free, but loosening the suspension.
The presence reacted instantly.
Pressure spiked.
Kael screamed as feedback tore through him, blood-black resonance pouring from his hollow mark.
Shadowblades screamed his name.
Titanbound forced himself upright, roaring defiance.
The armored ally raised his shield, bracing against the collapse.
"You will tear the lattice apart!" the voice thundered.
"Yes," Kael rasped. "And when it falls, they fall back into reality."
The space convulsed.
Layers peeled away violently, releasing the suspended figures one by one. Bodies slumped, breathing ragged as time restarted around them.
The presence recoiled.
Not in pain.
In calculation.
"This choice increases entropy," it warned.
Kael collapsed to one knee, barely conscious. "Then adapt."
The presence withdrew abruptly.
The pressure vanished.
The folded world began to unfold.
Gravity returned.
Air rushed in.
The missing settlement—dozens of people—collapsed onto newly formed ground, coughing, crying, alive.
Shadowblades dropped beside Kael, gripping him tightly. "You did it."
Kael barely heard her.
His vision dimmed.
The hollow symbol flickered erratically.
The cloaked ally knelt nearby, terror in their eyes. "Kael… the connection didn't fully disengage."
Titanbound turned sharply. "Meaning?"
The ally swallowed. "Meaning they let him go."
Kael smiled weakly.
"Good," he whispered. "Means they're scared."
Darkness crept in at the edges of his sight.
As he lost consciousness, Ironroot whispered one final truth—
This was no longer about survival.
It was about who controlled reality's spine.
And the fracture had just learned Ironroot could say no.