The city did not sleep anymore.
It twitched.
Ari noticed it as they crossed what used to be a busy intersection. The traffic lights were frozen mid-cycle, glowing faintly, not broken—paused. Cars stood abandoned at odd angles, as if drivers had stepped out in a hurry and never returned. The air felt heavier here, layered with unseen pressure.
Kael's thread pulled harder.
"He's close," Lune whispered, her voice strained. "But… something is wrapped around him."
Mika slowed, planting his feet. "That doesn't sound good."
Ari closed his eyes briefly and focused—not on the thread itself, but on the space around it. Since the battle, perception came easier, sharper. He could feel tension points in reality like knots in rope.
"There's interference," Ari said. "Not Abyssal. Not system-standard either."
"Third party," Mika muttered.
They moved again, more carefully now.
The path led them into an unfinished district—half-built towers rising like skeletons against the warped sky. Here, the fractures were worse. Entire floors flickered between existence and absence. Gravity hesitated in places, loose debris floating for seconds before slamming back down.
Lune stopped abruptly.
"Here," she said.
At the center of the construction zone stood a collapsed tower core—steel bent inward as if crushed by an invisible fist. Energy residue coated the ground, faint but unmistakable.
Kael's.
Ari ran forward.
At the base of the ruin, half-buried beneath concrete and twisted metal, lay Kael Ryven.
He was unconscious.
Blood stained his coat. His breathing was shallow. The sword—the first blade—was embedded beside him, cracked down the center, its crimson veins dim.
Ari dropped to his knees.
"Kael… Kael, wake up."
Nothing.
Mika crouched on the other side, hands hovering, unsure where to touch. "He's alive," he said quickly. "Barely—but alive."
Lune pressed her palm to the ground, eyes glowing faintly gold.
"There's a containment field," she said. "Not sealing him—suppressing him."
Ari felt it then.
A lattice of invisible force wrapped around Kael's body, threading through the fractures in the area. It wasn't hostile.
It was regulatory.
"The system," Ari whispered.
Before they could react, the air folded.
Three figures appeared without sound.
They looked human—tall, slender, dressed in uniform gray coats—but their faces were wrong. Too symmetrical. Too still. Their eyes glowed with pale blue symbols that shifted constantly.
Observers.
"Deviation confirmed," one said calmly. "Subject: Kael Ryven. Status: critical. Containment in progress."
Mika shot to his feet. "Back away from him."
Another Observer turned its head slightly. "Noncompliance noted. Secondary variables detected."
Its gaze fixed on Ari.
"Deviation-class potential confirmed," it continued. "Awakening accelerating beyond acceptable parameters."
Ari stood slowly.
"You're hurting him," Ari said. "Remove the field."
"That would increase instability," the Observer replied. "Kael Ryven exceeds safe operational thresholds."
Mika's fists trembled. "You don't get to decide what's safe."
The third Observer spoke for the first time.
"Correction," it said. "We already have."
The air tightened.
Pressure crashed down on the siblings like a weight pressing directly against their bones. Ari staggered, teeth gritted. Mika dropped to one knee. Lune gasped, struggling to stay conscious.
Ari felt anger surge.
Not wild.
Focused.
He stepped forward into the pressure.
"No," he said quietly.
The Observers paused.
Ari reached out—not physically, but conceptually. He acknowledged the containment field, traced its logic, its assumptions.
Then he tilted them.
The lattice wavered.
Warning symbols flared in the Observers' eyes.
"Impossible," one said. "Deviation detected within control layer."
"You're not protecting balance," Ari said. "You're afraid of it."
The pressure collapsed.
Mika sucked in a breath and stood, energy flaring instinctively around him—raw, forceful, unshaped. Cracks spiderwebbed beneath his feet.
Lune raised her hands, golden threads spreading outward, stabilizing the fractured ground around Kael.
The Observers stepped back.
"Escalation risk increasing," one stated.
"Good," Mika snarled. "Because we're not moving."
Ari knelt beside Kael again.
"Release him," Ari said calmly. "Or I will."
For the first time, hesitation flickered across the Observers' faces.
They recalculated.
"Kael Ryven represents an unacceptable anomaly," one said. "However… termination probability exceeds acceptable loss thresholds."
Ari felt the containment field loosen.
The lattice dissolved.
Kael coughed violently.
His eyes snapped open.
Power surged instinctively—but stopped halfway as Kael clenched his jaw, forcing it down.
"Don't," he rasped. "Not… here."
Ari grabbed his shoulder. "We've got you."
Kael's eyes focused on the Observers.
"…So," he breathed. "You finally came yourselves."
One Observer inclined its head slightly. "You were not meant to awaken them."
Kael's laugh was weak—but sharp. "Neither was the world meant to break."
He looked at Ari, Mika, and Lune.
And for the first time, fear crossed his face.
Not for himself.
"For them.
"They're not ready," Kael said quietly.
Ari met his gaze.
"Neither were you," Ari replied. "But you survived."
Silence stretched.
The Observers stepped back as one.
"Deviation acknowledged," the lead one said. "Observation will continue."
They vanished.
The pressure lifted completely.
Kael exhaled and sagged back, unconscious once more—but his breathing was stronger now.
Mika wiped sweat from his brow. "So… that just happened."
Lune knelt beside Kael, glowing threads wrapping gently around him.
"He'll recover," she said. "But he can't fight again anytime soon."
Ari looked up at the fractured skyline.
"They're watching us now," he said. "Not just Kael."
Mika nodded grimly. "Guess that means we're officially players."
Ari looked down at Kael.
"No," he said softly. "It means we're successors."
Far above them, unseen systems recalculated again.
Not to correct.
But to contain.
Because Kael Ryven was no longer the only problem.