Kael knew something was off the moment he left his apartment.
The city felt quieter than usual. Not empty—just… compliant. It didn't respond to him. Threads that normally pulsed, weaving reality into his awareness, now slipped away like water through fingers.
"Secondary variable," he muttered, frowning. "Still being deprioritized."
He moved through Argentinis cautiously, keeping his head down, careful not to attract attention. The pendant beneath his clothes was inert, silent, as if observing him in patience.
Then the first ripple hit.
A street corner exploded into chaos—not fire or destruction, but subtle, unnerving disorder. A streetlight shuddered and fell. A vendor's cart toppled, scattering metal and debris. Pedestrians stumbled, confusion spreading in seconds.
Kael's jaw tightened. He recognized the pattern. This wasn't random. This was crafted.
Threads flickered violently at the edges of his vision, disrupted—his control slipping as something else reached into the web.
Someone is here.
He ducked behind a metal pillar, breath shallow, eyes scanning.A figure emerged from the shadows atop a building across the street. Black coat, gloves, hood pulled low—but Kael could feel the aura: precise, controlled, chaotic in its design. The agent's Path radiated outward, twisting the threads around Kael like a puppeteer testing the strings.
Path of Discord.Kael swallowed. He felt it in the air—the chaos wasn't natural. Structures trembled under subtle manipulation. The world itself began to bend, not violently, but in ways that forced Kael to stumble and misstep.
The agent didn't move directly toward him. There was no need. Chaos was the weapon.
A staircase warped mid-step. Kael caught himself against the railing. A sign overhead flickered, blinding him momentarily. Every instinct screamed to flee, yet he knew that running straight would only tighten the agent's control.
He needed a gap. A space the Path couldn't dominate.
The pendant pulsed faintly. Not with power, but with suggestion—adapt, not resist.
Kael exhaled, closing his eyes for a moment. Layer by layer, he peeled back his awareness, as Selene had taught him. Focus. Control. Subtlety.
Threads responded to his intent. Slowly, carefully, he nudged the floor beneath the streetlight that had toppled. Just enough to keep it upright. Small adjustments. Precise. Invisible.
The agent reacted instantly. A ripple of disturbance along the threads, subtle enough that only Kael could perceive it, signaled acknowledgment. A tilt of the head. Discord is noticed.
Kael bolted—not blindly forward, but into the rhythm of the chaos. A falling sign, a misaligned stairwell, pedestrians scattering—he moved in sync, exploiting every disruption, leaving the agent chasing the aftereffects, not him.
The agent's voice drifted through the chaos, soft but unnerving.
"Interesting," it said. "You adapt… but you cannot predict the threads' true nature."
Kael's chest tightened. True nature… He realized this was more than manipulation—it was anticipation, reading the patterns of intent themselves.
The agent raised a hand. Instantly, the air shifted. Threads surged, pulling at Kael's senses, distorting balance. A loose panel from a building scraped the ground toward him, another sign twisted above. The city itself seemed to lunge.
Kael groaned, teeth clenched. Control, not panic. He reached inward, not outward. Not to force, but to guide. Subtle, delicate. The threads obeyed him partially, enough to slip through the chaos. Enough to stay alive.
A faint smile flickered across the agent's face.
Adaptable. Dangerous.
Kael darted into an alley, the threads stabilizing behind him as the agent's interference pulled away to strike at other points. The streets had become a chessboard, and the agent moved like a grandmaster.
He crouched behind a dumpster, chest heaving, mind racing. The city's flow had resumed—but he knew it was only temporary. The Path of Discord was patient. It didn't need to finish him now. It only needed to train him, test him.
Minutes passed. Every flicker of movement outside reminded Kael of the agent: subtle, precise, unseen but everywhere. He couldn't attack, couldn't run recklessly. The agent thrived on the chaos Kael tried to exploit.
Finally, the agent stepped fully into the alley's shadow. No theatrics. Just presence. Threads quivered around him, tight and ordered in contrast to his chaotic Path.
"You survived longer than expected," the agent said, voice calm. "Most secondary variables fail immediately. Most cannot even respond."
Kael gritted his teeth. "Then I guess I'm not most variables."
The agent tilted the head. "Perhaps. But chaos favors those who understand it. And you… barely understand yourself."
Without warning, a nearby railing twisted, aiming to pin Kael. He reacted instinctively, guiding threads to stabilize the metal—not break it, just redirect. Small victory. Partial success. Enough to survive.
The agent stepped back, observing. The fight wasn't over. It couldn't be. But it also didn't need to be. Hunt Three was concluded in the agent's mind—the secondary variable had been interacting, revealing limitations, but not yet breaking rules.
Kael sank to his knees, the rain washing sweat and grime from his skin.
The pendant vibrated once, faint but insistent. Recognition. Encouragement.
Far above, the agent melted back into the shadows.
"Phase three complete," a voice in the distance said. "Variable responds. Adaptation confirmed."
Kael exhaled, closing his eyes. The city was alive, chaotic—but he had survived.
And in that moment, he realized the truth:
Chaos wasn't just danger. Chaos was opportunity.
And next time, he would meet it on his terms.