Kairo woke to the sound of wind.
Not the violent howl of before—just the steady breath of the mountain, rolling over stone and cloud. For a moment, he thought everything that had happened was a dream.
Then pain reminded him it wasn't.
His chest felt bruised from the inside, like ribs pressed against something that pushed back. Every heartbeat echoed too loudly. He tried to sit up and failed.
"Don't," Sereth said.
She sat nearby, her arm bound tightly with dark cloth etched in faint runes. Her face was pale, but her eyes were sharp—watchful.
"You burned yourself sealing the power," she continued. "Not physically. Deeper."
Kairo swallowed. "Did… did it work?"
She nodded. "They passed us. Barely."
Relief washed through him, thin and fragile.
"And the seal?" he asked.
Sereth hesitated.
"That's the price," she said quietly. "It's no longer stable. You didn't close it—you scarred it."
Kairo frowned. "What does that mean?"
"It means the power inside you now knows you can refuse it," she replied. "And it does not like being refused."
As if summoned, a dull ache flared in his chest. Not rage. Not hunger.
Resentment.
They were silent for a long time.
Finally, Sereth stood. "We can't stay here. The sanctuary is compromised."
She helped him to his feet, slower this time, more careful.
"Where do we go?" Kairo asked.
"Somewhere the world forgets to look," she said. "The Low Cities."
They traveled for days.
Down from the mountain, through ravines where light barely touched the ground, through broken roads and half-buried ruins of kingdoms that had tried—and failed—to last forever.
The farther they went, the weaker Kairo felt.
His steps grew heavy. His vision blurred at the edges when he was tired. Once, he collapsed without warning, lungs burning, the seal thrumming angrily in his chest.
Sereth knelt beside him. "You're not dying," she said. "Your body is learning what it means to be small again."
That night, Kairo dreamed.
He stood in a vast, empty throne room. Black stone. Endless shadows.
A throne loomed ahead.
Not Raizen's.
His.
He turned away from it—and the floor cracked beneath his feet.
He woke gasping, clutching his chest.
Sereth was already awake. "It's starting," she said.
"What is?"
"Your power is no longer waiting for permission," she replied grimly. "It's testing your resolve."
They reached the Low Cities at dawn.
Miles of stacked stone and metal sprawled across a sunken valley—layers upon layers of homes, markets, bridges, and tunnels built atop the bones of older civilizations. Noise filled the air. Life pressed close.
Kairo felt it immediately.
The seal quieted.
So many people. So much noise. So many small lives burning briefly and brightly.
He felt… normal.
Sereth watched his reaction closely. "Crowded places confuse old power," she said. "It can't decide what matters."
They disappeared into the crowd.
Days passed.
Kairo worked in kitchens, carried crates, ran errands—anything that earned a meal and kept them moving. His hands blistered. His muscles ached.
And he loved it.
No one bowed. No one whispered. No one feared him.
Until one evening, in a narrow alley lit by red lanterns, a man bumped into him—and didn't apologize.
Instead, the man smiled.
Too wide.
"Funny thing," the stranger said softly. "I've been looking for you, Kairo."
The seal flared—sharp, angry, afraid.
Sereth stepped forward instantly, staff in hand. "Back away."
The man tilted his head. His eyes shimmered briefly with a familiar, disciplined cold.
Not a demon.
Not an Inquisitor.
Something worse.
"You hid very well," he said pleasantly. "The Council will be impressed."
Kairo felt the world narrow.
The Low Cities buzzed around them, unaware.
And for the first time, hiding his power might cost more than revealing it.