The chamber was sealed.
Runes burned faintly along the black stone walls, pulsing in time with Kairos's heartbeat. No servants. No guards. No witnesses. Only the low, echoing drip of blood striking the summoning circle carved into the floor.
His blood.
Thick, dark, and smoking faintly where it touched the ancient sigils.
Kairos stood at the circle's edge, palm cut open, crimson trailing down his wrist. His jaw was tight, eyes fixed on the symbols as they flared brighter, responding to the call of a demon king's essence.
"Come forth," he commanded, voice steady but coiled with restrained fury. "Oracle of the Veil."
The air warped.
The runes screamed.
Then the circle filled with shadow that twisted inward, folding like wet silk until a figure emerged—tall, thin, and wrong. The Oracle's body looked carved from smoke and bone, her face obscured beneath a veil of shifting symbols. Her eyes glowed pale silver, unfocused yet seeing far too much.
She smiled.
"You bleed so freely tonight, King Kairos," she said, her voice echoing from everywhere and nowhere. "How generous."
"Speak," Kairos said coldly. "The mark bearer. Where is it?"
The Oracle tilted her head. "Such impatience. The mark is shy, you see. It hides from hungry crowns."
His fingers curled. "Answer."
She stepped closer to the edge of the circle, her feet never quite touching the ground. "You seek the brand of becoming," she murmured. "The sign that crowns a breaker of worlds."
"Yes," Kairos snapped. "I have searched. I have tested. I have torn truth from seers and found nothing. Yet I felt it."
The Oracle's smile widened.
"Ah," she said. "You felt the absence."
Silence fell heavy between them.
Kairos's eyes narrowed. "Explain."
"The mark is not ink," the Oracle said softly. "Not flame. Not sigil or scar. It is a wound in fate itself. It appears only when the bearer accepts what they are meant to undo."
Kairos's voice dropped dangerously low. "And who is the bearer?"
The Oracle laughed—a sound like glass chiming underwater.
"The girl who does not kneel," she said. "The one you tried to break."
The chamber seemed to contract.
Kairos stepped forward, boots crossing into the edge of the circle. "You will not speak in riddles to me."
The Oracle leaned closer, unafraid. "But riddles are all that remain when truth would make kings tremble."
His hand shot out.
Invisible force wrapped around the Oracle's throat, lifting her off the ground. The air screamed as pressure crushed inward. Her silver eyes widened—but she did not struggle.
She laughed.
Even as Kairos tightened his grip, the Oracle laughed.
"You choke the wrong thing, O Demon King," she gasped pleasantly. "The mark does not hide from fear."
"Then why does it hide?" he snarled.
Her voice dropped to a whisper, meant only for him.
"Because of you."
The words struck deeper than any blade.
Kairos froze.
The Oracle's laughter softened into something almost pitying. "Your power presses too hard. Your will demands submission. And the mark…" She smiled. "The mark blooms only in defiance."
His grip faltered—just slightly.
"You are the weight that buries it," she continued. "The crown that teaches it to sleep. The tyrant who teaches it to wait."
Kairos's eyes burned. "I am the balance."
"You are the test," the Oracle corrected.
Fury surged through him, raw and unrestrained. His power flared violently, cracking the stone beneath them. The Oracle's form flickered, her edges dissolving.
"Say her name," he commanded. "Say it."
The Oracle's body began to unravel into smoke and symbols, her laughter echoing as she faded.
"When you finally kneel," she said, voice drifting away, "the mark will rise."
"WHEN YOU BLEED FOR HER—"
"—IT WILL ANSWER."
The summoning circle shattered.
The Oracle vanished.
Kairos stood alone, blood still dripping from his palm, the runes now dark and dead. His breathing was slow, controlled—but something volatile simmered beneath the surface.
He clenched his fist.
The blood steamed.
"…Defiance," he murmured.
Images rose unbidden in his mind.
Lena standing beneath his power, refusing to bow.
The fox clinging to her legs, eyes ancient with fear.
The strange recoil—his authority slipping for a heartbeat.
His jaw tightened.
"No," he said to the empty chamber. "I will not be the reason."
Yet somewhere deep, where even demon kings did not like to look, doubt took root.
Because if the Oracle spoke true—
Then the mark was not missing.
It was waiting.
And when it finally appeared…
It would not bow to him either.