The realization crashed into Kaelen with the force of an avalanche. His training—the brutal, endless conditioning in the Frostpeak Crags—had never been about hardening him for survival. It had been about structural integrity. He was not a guardian; he was a living cage, and the scars he bore were the bars.
"You were meant to be the final seal," the creature mocked, its porcelain face twisting into a grotesque mimicry of a smile. "But your masters were too soft. They lacked the conviction to lock the door completely. They left a crack, and we found it."
Kaelen’s rage reached a boiling point, no longer cold but a searing, white-hot furnace. "My masters are dead," he roared, charging forward. "And the cage is closed!"
He stopped playing by the rules of the duel. Abandoning the refined stan
