Kael didn't remember collapsing.
One moment he was kneeling on fractured stone, blood soaking into the ground beneath him. The next, he was staring up at a pale sky that felt too far away, too detached from his body.
Sound returned unevenly.
Footsteps. Voices. Metal shifting.
"…still breathing."
"…don't move him yet."
"…that gate nearly anchored—"
Kael closed his eyes and focused on breathing. In. Out. Slow. Measured. Each breath came with a dull ache through his ribs, but the pain told him something important.
He was still here.
He tested the silence instinctively.
Nothing answered.
Not gone.
Just dormant.
That was worse.
Someone knelt beside him. A shadow fell across his vision.
"You're awake," the older hunter said. His voice was calm, but it carried weight now. "Don't try to get up."
Kael didn't argue.
"Gate collapsed cleanly," the man continued. "No residual pull. No secondary rupture."
Kael nodded faintly. "Good."
The hunter watched him for a long moment. "That thing shouldn't have been able to form that fast. Something accelerated the breach."
Kael said nothing.
"Which means," the man went on, "this won't be the last time."
Kael opened his eyes fully and turned his head slightly. "I figured."
The hunter exhaled slowly. "You forced a mid-tier anchor into failure with no weapon and no reinforcement. That puts you outside most classifications."
Kael's jaw tightened.
"I'm not looking for classification."
"No," the hunter agreed. "But others will."
He stood and gestured toward the perimeter, where the remaining hunters were dismantling their anchors and recording damage. None of them looked relaxed. More than one cast glances Kael's way—careful, measured, uncertain.
Not awe.
Concern.
"You can't keep doing this unarmed," the hunter said. "Not against stabilized entities. Not if gates keep accelerating."
Kael pushed himself up slowly, ignoring the protest from his shoulder. He managed to sit, breathing controlled.
"I know."
The hunter studied him, then nodded once. "There are ways. Not gifts. Not handouts."
Kael met his gaze. "I don't want either."
"Good," the man said. "Because the ones that matter aren't given. They're taken—or survived."
He turned to leave, then paused.
"One more thing," he said. "What you did back there—when you stopped pushing."
Kael waited.
"That wasn't weakness," the hunter said. "That was judgment."
He walked away.
Kael remained where he was, letting the words settle.
Judgment.
He hadn't thought of it that way.
He flexed his fingers slowly. No tremor. No feedback. The silence remained coiled deep inside him, restrained but present.
Still his.
For now.
Kael looked out across the ruined platform where the gate had stood. Nothing marked the place anymore. No glow. No distortion.
Just stone.
But he knew better.
The world didn't erase things like that.
It remembered.
And it would adjust.
Kael rose to his feet carefully.
A weapon wouldn't solve everything.
But the next time the world demanded an answer—
He would need something that could answer back.