CHAPTER 86 — The Hand That Knows the Chain
The ambush did not begin with fire.
Nor steel.
Nor sound.
It began with certainty.
Kael was walking when the cursed sword suddenly went still—no whispers, no hunger, no mockery. That absence struck harder than any scream.
Then a voice echoed across the ravine. Calm. Measured. Knowing.
"You carry an old chain, Kael Ardyn."
Kael stopped. His hand tightened on the hilt.
From the shadows stepped a man draped in pale ash-colored robes, his face unremarkable, his eyes unsettlingly clear. No aura of overwhelming power. No storm. No threat that screamed danger.
That frightened Kael more than Tavric's brute force ever had.
"I am Eldric Vael," the man said.
"Council Adjunct. Curse Analyst."
The cursed sword reacted instantly.
A violent pulse tore through Kael's arm. His vision blurred. The voice inside his mind snarled—raw, furious.
"HIM—!"
Pain exploded behind Kael's eyes. He staggered.
Eldric smiled faintly. "Ah. So it does recognize me."
Eldric raised one hand. The air twisted—not with magic meant to destroy, but to resonate.
Kael felt it immediately.
Not an attack on his body.
Not even on his mind.
On the bond.
The cursed sword screamed. Not words—emotion. Rage. Fear. Something dangerously close to panic.
"He knows the forge-rhythm… the binding pulse… do NOT listen—!"
Too late.
Eldric spoke a single phrase—ancient, precise.
The world tilted.
Kael's thoughts doubled. His senses overlapped. For one terrifying second, his hand moved without his command, sword lifting slightly.
Iron Mind flared.
Centering strained.
Kael dropped to one knee, breathing hard. "Get out of my head."
Eldric shook his head. "No. I'm not in your head."
His gaze shifted to the blade.
"I'm speaking to it."
The cursed sword writhed in Kael's grip, runes flashing erratically.
"Kael… listen to me… this man will unmake our bond… he will chain me again!"
Eldric stepped closer, unafraid. "Do you know what happens to cursed weapons that grow… attached?"
Kael didn't answer.
"They become unstable," Eldric continued calmly.
"They hesitate. They protect. They disobey their nature."
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"The Council finds that… unacceptable."
The pressure intensified. Kael felt the sword pulling—not to attack Eldric, but to submit, to fall back into old bindings.
Pain lanced through Kael's skull. His balance wavered.
This wasn't a battle of strength.
It was a battle of ownership.
Kael planted his hand against the ground. Dirt pressed into his palm. He focused—not on the sword, not on Eldric—on himself.
Breath.
Weight.
Choice.
"I choose," Kael said hoarsely.
The cursed sword froze.
Eldric blinked. Just once.
"I choose to fight," Kael continued, voice steadying.
"I choose to resist."
"And I choose who holds this blade."
Iron Mind — Tempered flared fully, not overpowering, but stable. The sword's chaotic pulse slowed—syncing with Kael's breathing instead of Eldric's resonance.
For the first time…
The sword yielded.
Not in obedience.
In alignment.
"…You defy both of us," it whispered, shaken.
Eldric stepped back, expression no longer calm.
"Interesting," he said quietly. "Very interesting."
The ground cracked. Smoke burst outward—Caelin's fire igniting as Mireya and Tomas emerged from concealment.
Eldric retreated smoothly into shadow, voice echoing one last time:
"This is not over, Kael Ardyn. The Council does not lose its property easily."
Silence followed.
Kael collapsed to one knee, gasping, sweat pouring down his face. The sword was quiet—truly quiet now.
Then, softly:
"…You protected me," it said.
Kael didn't smile.
"I protected myself," he replied.
A pause.
"Still," the sword murmured, darker—but changed.
"Do not expect gratitude… but remember this, Kael."
Its voice lowered.
"The Council can exploit me… but only if you let them."