The storm broke just before dawn.
Kael stood at the mouth of the cave, shirtless, steam rising off his skin as the rain soaked him to the bone. The mountain air was sharp, biting. Behind him, the scarred man silently wrapped up the remnants of last night’s ritual, his face grim.
Kael clenched his fists. He still felt it—the flicker in his chest. His Hakana. Wild, black, and pulsing with something he didn’t understand.
He had seen his uncle's Hakana and unlike his, it was nothing like his own was.
“Why is it like this?” Kael asked without turning. “Why is mine… wrong?”
The scarred man didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he lit his pipe and took a slow drag, exhaling smoke that curled toward the cave ceiling.
“Because your power wasn’t forged. It was chained.”
Kael turned sharply. “
