⚔️ CHAPTER 84 — A Borrowed Resolve
The storm had finally faded. Broken stone steamed under dying lightning, and the mist thinned enough to reveal the scars left behind—burned earth, shattered pillars, blood darkening the cracks in the ground.
Kael sat against a fallen column, breathing slowly. Every part of his body hurt. Hunger twisted in his gut. His hands trembled—not from fear, but from exhaustion held back by sheer will.
The cursed sword rested across his knees. Its runes dimmed, then pulsed softly.
"They flee again," the sword whispered, voice low and sharp. "Not because they are weak… but because they are cautious. You frustrate them, Kael. I enjoy that."
Kael stared into the distance where the Council had vanished. His Iron Mind replayed the battle—not the blows, but the pattern. Illusions. Traps. Minor villains used as pressure. Civilians caught in the edges of storms.
Too many would suffer if the Council continued unchecked.
"I'm tired of running," Kael said quietly.
Caelin looked up from tending a burn on his arm. Mireya paused, shield resting at her side. Tomas emerged from the shadows, eyes sharp but weary.
Kael stood, gripping the cursed sword—not tightly, but firmly. Balanced.
"They won't stop," he continued. "Every place we pass through becomes a battlefield. Every delay costs lives. If we keep reacting, we'll lose… slowly."
The sword hummed, intrigued.
"Oh? Listen to you… no longer a frightened boy. Say it. Say what you want."
Kael's jaw tightened. His voice was steady.
"I won't just survive the Council anymore," he said.
"I will destroy them."
Silence followed—not shock, but weight.
Mireya studied him carefully. "That's not revenge talking," she said slowly. "That's resolve."
Caelin nodded, flames flickering faintly around his hand. "Then we stop fighting their battles… and start choosing our own."
Tomas crossed his arms. "To destroy the Council, we'll need information, allies, timing—and a way to survive their strongest members."
The cursed sword let out a soft, dark chuckle.
"Yes… yes… finally. A purpose worthy of me. Not rage. Not madness. Intention."
Kael felt the whisper press closer, not clawing this time—aligning.
"I was forged to end powers like the Council," it murmured. "Tyrants. Overseers. Those who believe the world exists to kneel. Walk this path, Kael… and I will teach you how to cut them apart—slowly, precisely."
Kael didn't answer immediately. He closed his eyes, Centering his breath, steadying his pulse.
"I won't become what they are," he said at last.
"I'll destroy them so no one else has to live under them."
The sword paused. Then, surprisingly, its voice softened—just a fraction.
"…Very well. Then I will sharpen you, not consume you. Break them—not yourself."
For the first time, Kael sensed it clearly:
The sword was still evil. Still dangerous.
But it had chosen him.
Not as prey.
Not as a puppet.
As a partner.
Kael opened his eyes. Ahead lay ruined lands, hidden Council strongholds, and enemies far stronger than before. His body was still not strong enough. His skills were still only growing. His power was borrowed, fragile, and hard-earned.
But his goal was clear now.
The boy who once only tried to survive had chosen a direction.
Kael Ardyn's Goal:
To dismantle the Council—one secret, one general, one storm at a time—before they consume the world.
And somewhere deep within the blade, something dark smiled.