⚔️ **CHAPTER 61 — The Edge of Collapse**
The night was thick with mist. Every sound seemed magnified—the snap of a branch, the drip of water, the distant echo of something moving through the forest.
Kael's legs trembled as he forced himself forward. Each step felt like dragging lead, every movement a negotiation between survival and collapse. Hunger and exhaustion had stripped away pretense. He was no longer strong. He was merely *present*.
Caelin fell into step beside him, silent but aware of every faltering motion.
"You're slowing," Caelin said softly. "We need to—"
"No," Kael interrupted, voice hoarse. "I can't. Not like this. If I push… I'll break for them to see."
Veyrath watched from a few steps ahead, expression unreadable. "Then let them see," he said. "But don't let them define what breaking is."
Mireya and Tomas flanked him, eyes sharp, weapons ready, though the threat was not physical. It was psychological. The Council's presence pressed on them invisibly, calculating, anticipating.
And then the first strike came.
Not a blow from the trees, nor a trap. Something subtler. A **pressure inside Kael's own mind**, probing his limits, forcing hesitation. Memories of past failures, Lysa's death, every moment of doubt—amplified, sharpened.
Kael staggered, dropping to one knee, gasping for breath. His body screamed. Iron Mind wanted to surge, to dominate, but he forced it back. *Not yet.*
Veyrath crouched next to him. "Good," he said quietly. "Desperation is honesty. Use it."
Caelin knelt across from him. "Desperation isn't just weakness—it can be leverage. Focus on what you *can* control."
Kael's eyes darted between them. Every nerve screamed. Every instinct begged him to flee or strike blindly. But this time, he did neither.
He let the Council *think* they had him.
He let the pressure build. Let it twist perception, fragment attention. Let it whisper of collapse and failure.
And then—he moved.
Not fast. Not strong. But deliberate. One step. Then another. Misaligned enough to confuse, precise enough to survive.
The Council's presence faltered. They had anticipated panic, but Kael's desperation had been **weaponized by choice**, not reflex.
Veyrath smiled faintly. "They aren't ready for this."
Mireya exhaled, steadying herself. "You're going to make them regret ever touching you."
Kael swallowed hard, exhaustion and hunger clawing at him. "If we survive tonight," he said, "it won't just be me… it'll be all of us."
Tomas nodded sharply. "Then let's survive."
The mist closed around them, thick and suffocating, hiding the forest paths. Somewhere beyond, the Council recalculated.
They didn't know Kael had already begun to **use desperation as armor**—and that every faltering step he took was no longer just survival.
It was a signal.
A warning.
That the boy they thought broken could still **choose the fight, even at the edge of collapse**.
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