The capital still smelled like fear.
I noticed it before anything else.
Not blood. Not smoke.
Fear.
It clung to stone and silk, to servants' bowed heads and soldiers' stiff backs. Even the rain that had finally stopped felt cautious, as if the sky itself was waiting to see whether it was allowed to continue existing.
I walked through the Third Prince's courtyard barefoot, my black robes brushing against wet marble. Each step felt heavier than the last—not from exhaustion, but from weight.
My name.
It was heavier now.
Not because it was longer.
Because it was acknowledged.
[Abyssal Sovereign Fate Devourer]
Dragon Name Authority: Active (Low Level)
Heavenal Interference: Ongoing
World Recognition: 0.3%
Only zero point three percent of this world knew what I truly was.
That was enough to make Heaven nervous.
Good.
I sat down on the edge of the lotus pond and watched koi ripple the water, their scales flashing red and white like drifting petals. Their tiny fate-threads were visible to me now—simple, fragile, beautiful in their predictability.
I could end all of them with a thought.
I didn't.
Power without restraint was just noise.
Footsteps approached behind me.
I didn't look back.
"You're avoiding everyone," Seraphina said softly.
I dipped my fingers into the water. "Everyone is loud."
"You erased a servant of Heaven."
"I corrected a clerical mistake."
She sighed. I could feel her frustration, her worry, her pull toward me all at once. Humans were easy to read when their fate leaned toward you.
"They're scared of you now."
I smiled faintly. "They always were. They just didn't know why."
Inside me
Something had changed.
Not explosively.
Subtly.
Like a door that had always been there finally being unlocked.
When Heaven tried to overwrite me, it had failed—and in doing so, it had confirmed something even more dangerous:
I was not part of its story.
I was something it had inherited.
Something it could no longer file.
The world felt closer now. Its rules thinner. Its lies louder.
And Kael's thread…
I could feel it, pulsing somewhere beyond the palace like a wounded animal.
Still there.
Still resisting.
Not for long.
Seraphina sat beside me on the marble, her shoulder brushing mine. I didn't move away.
"What happens now?" she asked.
I stared into the pond, watching my reflection blur and reform.
"Now," I said quietly, "I start collecting what was always meant to be mine."
Her breath caught.
"People?"
"Fates."
I finally turned to her, crimson-gold eyes meeting emerald.
"And anyone attached to them."
Elsewhere, unseen
Heaven was moving.
Kael was being watched.
The empire was choosing sides.
But here, in this quiet courtyard, something more dangerous was forming.
Resolve.
And hunger.
The first fate I went after was not Kael's.
That would have been too obvious.
Too fast.
And I had learned long ago that the most satisfying collapses always begin at the edges.
I stood on the balcony overlooking the outer districts of the capital, my black hair loose, the morning sun glinting faintly off the gold ring in my crimson eyes. The city was alive below—markets opening, cultivators passing through gates, sect envoys whispering in shadowed alleys.
So many stories.
So many threads.
[Abyssal Sovereign Fate Devourer]
Target Detected: Riven Holt
Role: Kael Veyl's First Ally
Fate Weight: High
Narrative Importance: 14%
Ah.
One of the first people who had ever believed in him.
Perfect.
I closed my eyes and followed the thread. It led me through layers of the city, across rooftops and into a secluded training courtyard behind a mid-tier sect compound.
A young man was practicing sword forms, movements sharp but unrefined, sweat darkening his brown hair. His eyes—steel gray, earnest, full of belief—glowed faintly with Heaven's mark.
He was training for Kael.
Dying for him.
I smiled.
"Seraphina," I murmured, not turning. "Stay behind."
She hesitated. I felt it.
"Don't worry," I added softly. "This is a demonstration."
I stepped forward.
Space folded.
One moment I was in my courtyard.
The next, I was standing in the shade of a training hall, rainwater dripping from tiled roofs, the scent of sweat and steel thick in the air.
Riven froze.
"W-who—"
I raised a finger.
"Don't scream. It's rude."
He stared at me, wide-eyed. "Y-you're the Third Prince—!"
"Azrael Drakaryx," I corrected.
His fate thread pulsed violently.
Good.
I walked slowly toward him, my steps unhurried, predatory in their calm. "You're very loyal," I said. "That's rare."
"I—I don't know what you want—"
I stopped in front of him.
"I want to see," I whispered, "how much of Kael's destiny is actually yours."
My hand brushed his chest.
Not physically.
Conceptually.
[Fate Extraction Initiated]
Riven screamed as his future—his victories, his sacrifices, his importance—was torn from him like a soul being peeled away.
I watched, fascinated, as Kael's thread flickered somewhere far away.
So sensitive.
So reactive.
When I was done, Riven collapsed to the ground, alive… but empty.
No longer important.
No longer chosen.
Just another cultivator in a very cruel world.
Back in the courtyard
I reappeared beside Seraphina.
She was pale.
"What did you do?" she whispered.
I smiled lazily.
"I plucked a leaf."
Somewhere in the empire, Kael Veyl felt something break.
And the hunt had officially begun.