Kael didn’t stop moving. He couldn’t. The moment he paused, the weight of Lina’s absence pressed into him so hard it threatened to crack his ribs. He had no room for stillness, no patience for silence. Rage had momentum, and he fed it with every step, every kill.The city was beginning to notice.Windows that once flickered with dim light now stayed dark when he passed. Voices dropped into whispers that died when he drew near. The alleys, once busy with scavengers, couriers, beggars, had grown sparse. People had learned the pattern: where Kael walked, blood followed.He didn’t care. He hadn’t begun this war for them. He had begun it because Lina was gone, because he had failed her, because the Syndicate had taken everything worth breathing for. The rest of the world could turn its face away.But the Syndicate could not.⸻The fourth strike of the night came at a shipping hub near the river. A wide yard fenced with razor wire, shipping containers stacked like silent giants. The glow of

Kael could still feel the sting of blood in his mouth. It wasn’t fresh anymore—it had dried, a bitter metallic crust at the edge of his lips—but he left it there. A reminder of the fight, of how much he had spent and lost to drag himself to this point.And yet, for all that effort, he stood now not in triumph, but in a chamber that felt like a tomb. Smooth walls hummed faintly, stitched with lines of living code, their pulses a rhythm steady as a heartbeat. The Syndicate’s pulse. His father’s design.Aurex Draven stood at the far end, straight-backed, hands clasped behind him. The years had not bent him; they had carved him sharper, his presence all edge and inevitability. His eyes glimmered the same pale gray Kael had inherited, though in Aurex they shone colder, detached.“Still standing,” Aurex said softly, his voice calm, deliberate, as though Kael’s arrival were no disruption but an expected turn in an already written equation. “You’ve carried your defiance far. Further than I ca

The chamber rose like a cathedral carved from shadow and light. Black stone arched high overhead, ribbed with lines of luminous code that pulsed faintly as if the Syndicate’s algorithms themselves were alive, breathing. At the far end of the chamber, a table of obsidian stretched in a perfect ellipse, each seat carved with mathematical precision. Four figures occupied them — the architects of silence, the Syndicate’s board.And now, Kael among them.He walked with deliberate steps, Aurex pacing beside him. His father’s presence filled the air, magnetic, oppressive, as though gravity itself bent toward him. Kael could feel the eyes of the others following him, measuring him like a specimen, as though every breath he took were another line of data to log and dissect.No one spoke as Aurex guided him to the center of the room. Only when Kael stilled, standing before the council, did Aurex’s voice unfurl, steady and resonant.“Kael Draven,” Aurex declared, “my son. The Syndicate’s heir. H

The chamber did not resemble a boardroom so much as a cathedral built for silence. Its ceiling arched high above, ribs of steel curving like bones, polished so smooth that even whispers might echo. The table at the center gleamed with obsidian glass, its surface pulsing faintly with threads of shifting code, alive, reactive. Four figures sat already in place, each framed by the cold glow of data-panels behind them.Aurex Draven was first to speak. He didn’t rise, didn’t gesture. His voice carried with the quiet certainty of a man who had long ago discarded the need for theatrics.“Kael.” The name was both recognition and command. “Sit.”Kael obeyed, though not without hesitation. The chair opposite them was colder than stone, designed, he thought bitterly, not for comfort but for containment. His reflection hovered in the glass table — pale skin, bruised beneath his eyes, a face hardening into something he almost didn’t recognize.Aurex’s gaze never wavered. His father looked as he al

The chamber of decision was small, almost plain compared to the grandeur of the lattice. A square room, no wider than a cell, walls layered in black glass that swallowed light. Four chairs formed a circle, three already occupied.Kael entered last, Aurex walking behind him.Elian Raithe leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled in front of his lips, eyes gleaming with academic delight. “So soon?” he asked Aurex, though his gaze lingered on Kael. “I would have thought another cycle of conditioning before risking him.”Sera Voss didn’t look up from her datapad. Her stylus clicked methodically as she scrolled through lines of code. “Conditioning is irrelevant. Output is measurable. If he fails, the equation corrects itself.”Corin Vale sat stiffly, his hands clasped tight in his lap. He glanced at Kael — not defiance, not pity, but something unreadable.Aurex took the final chair. His presence was gravity. The others fell silent.“This is not risk,” Aurex said. “It is necessity.” His ey