The Godslayer's Return

Sixty Three: The Truth of the Vessel

The sky hadn’t stopped rumbling since Aelira woke. Thunder rolled across the horizon in waves that never reached the ground, as if Heaven itself were holding its breath.

The Black Fang Sect rebuilt in uneasy silence, disciples moving through ruins like ghosts, afraid to speak too loudly, afraid to look directly at Kael or Aelira.

No one dared ask what they were anymore. Kael stood alone at the edge of the ravine that once held the sect’s training fields.

Below, molten rivers still pulsed from his wrath, glowing faintly crimson beneath the ash.

He hadn’t slept since Aelira’s confession. The word gnawed at him like a chain tightening around his mind.

He turned the Godslayer Blade in his hands, the metal whispering faintly. It fed on divine light and rage, and right now, it was starving for both.

Footsteps approached, soft, deliberate. He didn’t turn.

“You should be resting,” he said.

Aelira stopped a few feet behind him. “Rest isn’t something we can afford anymore.”

Her voice was calm