Night fell without warning.
The forest beyond the ruined laboratory did not darken gradually—it collapsed into shadow, as if the world itself wished to hide what had been born there. Kael sat cross-legged atop a broken stone slab, eyes closed, breath slow and controlled.
Three days had passed since the fire.
Three days since the first fragment spoke to him.
He had not slept.
Not because he could not—but because every time he closed his eyes, something else opened its own.
Now, Kael thought. It's time.
Before him lay the Celestial-ranked skill book.
Ultimate Cloning.
Its cover was not leather or jade, but something closer to crystalized will. Symbols shifted across its surface, rearranging themselves each time Kael blinked. The book did not welcome readers.
It tested them.
Kael placed his palm on the first page.
Pain flared instantly—not sharp, but vast. His consciousness stretched, pulled outward as if someone were unfolding his soul layer by layer.
> "WARNING: This skill fractures identity."
"WARNING: Weak will results in permanent loss."
"WARNING: Sovereignty must be absolute."
Kael did not pull away.
"I am still here," he said calmly. "Begin."
The book dissolved into light.
Kael's inner world ignited.
A vast, starless expanse unfolded—his Mind Domain, shaped by Mental Disruption rather than cultivation. Thoughts existed as structures. Memories as constellations. Emotions as shifting gravity.
At the center stood Kael.
Opposite him stood the shadow.
The Soul Harvester fragment no longer whispered. It waited.
"You understand what this means now," the shadow said, voice steady. "Once divided, I will not merely obey. I will decide."
Kael met its gaze.
"You already do," he replied. "The difference is that now… you'll do it openly."
The shadow smiled.
Not cruelly.
Proudly.
Kael extended his will.
The world split.
Reality outside the forest warped.
Air compressed. Shadows pooled unnaturally, stretching and folding into impossible angles. The ground trembled—not from force, but from authority asserting itself.
Then—
A figure stepped forward.
It looked like Kael.
But sharper.
Taller by a fraction. Eyes darker. Shadow clung to it like breath in cold air, moving independently, forming patterns that resembled screaming faces before dissolving again.
It wore no robe.
Its presence alone bent light.
The avatar opened its eyes.
"I am designated," it said, voice layered, calm, and final,
"Avatar One — Harvester."
Kael stood opposite it, breathing hard—not from exhaustion, but from loss.
Something was missing from him now.
Not power.
Weight.
Harvester tilted its head, studying Kael with unsettling familiarity.
"So this is what limitation feels like," it observed. "Fascinating."
Kael steadied himself. "You exist to serve the same goal."
Harvester nodded. "Survival. Revenge. Truth."
A pause.
"And self-preservation," it added.
Kael didn't argue.
The forest reacted.
Animals fled. Insects fell silent. Even the wind seemed reluctant to pass near the two figures standing face-to-face.
High above—
Something shifted.
Not seen.
Not heard.
But measured.
Far beyond the sky, an Observer adjusted its record.
> Anomaly confirmed.
Avatar sovereignty initiated.
Probability of Law deviation: rising.
Below, Kael staggered slightly.
Harvester's presence strained him—not physically, but existentially. Maintaining the avatar demanded constant will output. Not control—recognition.
"You can't stay manifested forever," Kael said quietly.
"I know," Harvester replied. "But I can stay long enough."
"How long?"
Harvester looked toward the distant glow of the imperial capital.
"Long enough to learn how our enemies breathe."
Kael dismissed the avatar.
Harvester dissolved into shadow, flowing back into Kael's form—not merging completely, but waiting, like a blade sheathed but ready.
Kael exhaled slowly.
One avatar.
Only one.
And already the world was reacting.
He opened his eyes and stood.
"The empire thinks I'm dead," he murmured. "Let's keep it that way."
He pulled his hood up, stepping deeper into the forest, moving toward civilization—not as a student, not as a fugitive…
But as something new.
Behind him, in the fading darkness, the air rippled faintly.
Someone—or something—had been watching.