RELIC OF THE NAMELESS KING

5.

Kael’s POV

The air changed immediately, denser, colder, like the space here remembered things no one else did.

Kael didn’t have any magic, but he could tell that the magic of the place was old. It felt wrong for him to be there. It crawled along his skin, like vines brushing up his arms, whispering things in a language no tongue could form.

They’d tossed him in here like garbage. As if he were some curse to be hidden away. The forbidden ruins of all places! It was clear as day that they wanted him dead, and what better way to get rid of the pain in their asses than by throwing him there to die.

His stomach grumbled. Kael sighed. If he didn’t die of some ancient curse lurking in the shadows, he was sure going to die of hunger and starvation.

Deciding to at least explore the place before he died. Kael stood up and took a single step forward. When nothing happened, he swallowed hard and kept walking.

His footsteps echoed through the halls, dust-covered stone cracked with age, murals long faded by time. The shadows felt alive, watching him, crawling just out of sight.

His bruised body ached with every movement. But the sharpness of his pain dulled beneath the weight of the place.

“Just survive the night,” he whispered to himself. “Get through this, Kael.”

He didn’t know if he believed it, but it wasn’t long before he reached a staircase that spiraled downward, deeper into the belly of the academy’s forgotten past.

He didn’t want to go down. Warning bells went off in his head, telling him not to descend that first step.

So he did.

“When have you ever listened to caution, Kael.” He whispered to himself.

Each step creaked and groaned beneath his boots. A thousand thoughts ran through his mind: of Dorian’s smug face, of the planted blade, of his fate if ever he got out of the forbidden ruins, of Lys speaking up… and then falling silent.

Maybe even Lys thought he wasn’t worth the trouble again.

I’m alone. The thought wrapped around his throat like a noose.

The bottom of the stairs opened into a wide, round chamber. The stone there looked different, smooth and dark like black glass, not like the old, cracked marble above.

The walls were curved and marked with strange symbols that glowed faintly, like hidden fire waiting to wake.

Kael walked towards it cautiously.

In the middle of the room, a low platform stood, about waist-high. Its surface was cracked, and dust and broken pieces of stone lay around it.

But in the center, something shiny caught Kael’s eye. A faint glow, pale gold, pulsing like a heartbeat. Kael stepped closer. He didn’t know why he wasn’t scared or running for his life.

It was a shard. No bigger than his palm. Crystalline, but oddly fluid, like molten glass frozen mid-motion. Ancient symbols swirled within it, and though he couldn’t read them, he felt them burn into his mind.

The air around it hummed.

It knew him.

The relic recognized him.

“You,” a whisper curled through his thoughts like smoke, ancient and unsure. “You are not meant… yet still you are.”

Kael swallowed hard. “What are you?” he whispered, not trusting his voice to carry.

“I am what remains. And you… are what comes next.”

Kael’s mouth felt dry. “What does that mean?” he dared to ask. He couldn’t believe he was talking with something he couldn’t see. Just like the voice in class earlier, and in the woods, It was that presence again, that invisible shadow.

“You are the broken thread… the one the Weave forgot.” It echoed in his mind.

He blinked, confused. Someone must be playing some cruel joke on him. He looked around, wondering if Dorian and his gang was hiding in the dark, waiting to jump him.

“I don’t have magic.” He muttered.

There was a pause. “Not yet. Not yours. But mine.” The voice said in his head.

Kael’s fingers hovered over the shard. The hum grew louder, pulling at him, like a heartbeat syncing with his own.

“Touch me, and the choice is made.”

He scoffed. “Choice? I didn’t choose to be here.” He mumbled.

If he was allowed to make a choice, he would have asked to remain in Duskmere, his small village. Hidden from the world and from people like Dorian Vale.

“Yet here you are. Cast away… like I was. Left to rot in silence.”

All this still felt like a dream to him, or rather, something staged. Kael hesitated. “Why me?” he asked.

“Because they fear what doesn’t fit. Because power comes not to the worthy, but the willing.”

The air thrummed like thunder in his bones, as Kael whispered, “What will you do to me?”

“Wake you.”

His breath caught, and then he reached out with a trembling hand.

The moment his fingers brushed the shard, the chamber screamed.

A shockwave burst outward from the relic, slamming into Kael’s chest and knocking him off his feet. He hit the ground hard, head spinning, lungs empty.

Then…

Heat.

Not fire. Not yet. Just power. Rushing into him like a flood of light. Visions of memories that didn’t belong to him cracked through his mind like thunder.

He saw a battlefield lit by silver fire, a King with no face, holding the same shard, raising it toward a storm, a tower crumbling in the distance, a voice, old and terrible, chanting in a language he didn’t know.

Then silence.

When Kael opened his eyes and the relic was gone.

No… not gone. It had fused into his chest. There, a faint warmth glowed beneath his tunic, right above his heart. Shocked, he tore his cloth open and gasped.

A mark blazed there, burned into his skin, gold and crimson, shaped like a broken crown wrapped in flame.

He scrambled backward, breath ragged. “What the hell is happening to me?” he stammered.

Instead of the voice in his head, the chamber responded, as a low rumble shook the floor.

Cracks spread like spiderwebs across the walls, cutting through the strange symbols. It was like the cracks were breaking something important. The magic that had been quiet and still… was starting to wake up.

One symbol lit up with a small spark.

Another ignited.

Then, like a chain reaction, the entire wall burst with ancient fire.

Kael scrambled to his feet.

The flames weren’t normal; blue, violet, golden, they hissed with voices, memories, emotions. They licked the walls without consuming them, like they were alive.

A column of flame erupted from the center of the platform, reaching to the vaulted ceiling. The mark on Kael’s chest pulsed in rhythm.

Kael’s chest tightened. He wasn’t controlling this. He wasn’t even sure he could.

Panic rose in his throat as he stepped back, heart pounding. But the floor shifted under his feet, cracking, groaning.

With a loud rumble, part of the stone gave way behind him. A dark hole yawned open, swallowing the edge of the chamber.

Kael stumbled, falling hard as the fire raced up the walls. This place was falling apart and he was trapped inside.

Stone shattered. Support beams cracked. The chamber was collapsing.

Get out. GET OUT. The warning sounded in his head.

He ran back through the corridor, up the spiral staircase two steps at a time. Heat followed him, pulsing like something alive chasing its prey. By the time he reached the upper ruins, smoke had begun to pour from the cracks in the stone.

Kael could barely breathe. His lungs burned. His eyes watered. Every inch of him ached. He collapsed at the edge of the sealed door, slamming his fists against it.

“Help!” he rasped. “Someone …please…”

But no one came, even as the fire crept closer. He turned and pressed his back to the wall, trying to think, trying to calm the panic. His thoughts spiraled.

What had he touched? Why him? Why now?

The mark on his chest pulsed again, brighter this time.

The Weave itself twisted.

Kael clenched his fists. “If you’re going to kill me,” he growled at the fire, “then do it. But I won’t go out crawling.”

He stood.

Faced the corridor.

Faced the inferno.

He wouldn’t run.

He wouldn’t scream.

The fire reached the archway, and stopped. It swirled at the threshold, like a living thing considering its next move.

And then…

It bowed. The flame curved downward, as though acknowledging him.

Kael’s breath caught as he blinked at the scene in front of him. He had seen magic in display before, but he had never seen anything like this in his life. Hell, he doubt that even the master had seen magic this flawless.

“What are you?” Kael stuttered, his voice not sounding like his own.

The flame answered, not in words, but in feeling. It was not an enemy nor was it a curse. This flame, It belonged to him.

He took one cautious step forward and the fire parted around him. It didn’t burn Kael, it embraced him. Warmth filled his limbs, healing his bruises, calming his mind. The relic mark on his chest flared once, then dimmed.

And that’s when the door behind him burst open.

Boots. Shouting. Dozens of voices that he didn’t recognize. One stood out to him the most.

Lys.

“Kael!”

Kael turned, eyes wide as he saw Lys standing in the doorway, pupils dilated, cloak singed from the smoke. He opened his mouth to speak, but the chamber rumbled again.

Lys rushed forward just in time to catch him as his knees gave way.

And as Kael slipped into unconsciousness, the last thing he saw was the fire dying down around them… as if satisfied.

As if waiting.