"So you're saying I retraced his steps."

"Maybe not by choice," Dominic said, "but yes. The signs line up. He was seen by the Colossus, felt the thread, and from that moment his trial began. The difference is, we don't know how his ended. Only what came after."

Kael and Dominic exchanged a brief glance—unspoken agreement passing between them.

They didn't press. Not now.

Dominic's voice shifted, less interrogative, more contemplative. "The Demon King—when he appears in surviving accounts—he's already a force. No records of his youth, his training, or his path to power. It's as if he stepped out of the Cradle fully formed."

Kael added, "His enemies only ever recorded the man who had already arrived. Not the one who went in."

Dominic's gaze returned to Damien. "Which makes whatever happened to you inside… worth understanding. Even if we don't have to pull it out of you today."

Damien drew a slow breath, leaning back slightly in his chair. "After the colossus… things blurred. The ground started to shake—first like a tremor, then like the world was being unmade. I had to keep moving just to stay upright. The ruins around me collapsed in waves, entire streets folding into themselves like they were being swallowed."

His eyes narrowed faintly, remembering. "I almost didn't make it through one of the breaks. Fell halfway into a fissure before I caught myself. Every muscle felt like it was tearing apart—no mana left to soften the strain. Just stubbornness keeping my hands from letting go."

Kael didn't interrupt.

"I pushed until my legs were on fire. Until my vision kept going white at the edges. There wasn't any plan—just the need to keep going. I don't know how long it took before the ground steadied, but by then I was… at my limit. Past it, maybe."

He exhaled once, then continued, slower now. "And then… the village."

Something in his tone shifted.

"I remember… shapes. A fence. Lantern light. People—no, silhouettes. I could hear them talking but the words… they didn't make sense. Like they were in a language my head refused to hold on to."

He frowned, bringing a hand to his temple. "And then—"

The rest caught in his throat. Not because he chose to stop, but because a sudden, sharp pulse tore through his skull. White-hot, splitting his focus in half.

"Damien?" Dominic's voice was even, but edged.

Damien's jaw tightened as the pressure in his skull spiked. The sound that escaped him wasn't a word—just a low, raw groan torn out before he could stop it. His hand clamped harder against his temple, head bowing as if sheer force might push the pain back down.

Kael straightened a fraction, but didn't move closer. Dominic's eyes narrowed—not in suspicion, but in recognition.

Damien tried to speak. The first syllable scraped out, fractured, and dissolved into a hissed breath. His throat worked uselessly, the words he'd meant to say collapsing before they reached his tongue. The pain wasn't just in his head—it was in the act of trying to speak itself.

Kael's gaze flicked to Dominic. "It's on him already."

Dominic gave a slow nod. "Restriction."

Damien's eyes lifted at that, though the haze behind them made it clear he wasn't tracking the exchange in full.

Kael went on, quieter now. "No need to push. We've seen it before. He's given us more than the last three combined."

"More than enough," Dominic agreed. "The rest is locked."

Locked—that was the truth of it. Not forgotten, not buried. Bound. Every survivor of the Cradle carried it, some without ever realizing. The moment they tried to force the memories out, the same thing happened. Agony. Silence. A wall that no skill or interrogation had ever broken.

Damien drew in a slow, shaking breath, the sharp edges of the pain finally dulling enough for him to ease his hand away from his temple. His expression was calm again, but there was no mistaking the tension that lingered just beneath it.

Dominic stepped back, deliberately shifting the weight of the room away from him. "That's enough."

Kael's voice was steady, almost casual. "More than we expected, honestly."

Kael stepped forward at last, eyes steady but not hard. He studied Damien for a breath longer, then gave a short nod and reached out, placing a firm hand on the boy's back.

"You did well, kid," he said, tone lighter now. "Not gonna lie—when we threw you into that death pit, I was half-expecting to be scraping you off the wall in pieces."

Damien blinked. "That… supposed to be comforting?"

Kael smirked. "Absolutely. If I thought you had no chance, I wouldn't have bothered remembering your name."

He gave the back of Damien's shoulder a friendly slap—not soft, but not rough either. Familiar. Grounding.

"You're not just standing," Kael added. "You walked out full. That alone makes you a damn anomaly."

Dominic offered no smile, but the respect in his gaze was unmistakable.

"You've done more in fifteen hours than most do in their first five years," he said simply. "You don't need to say anything more. Not yet. Just… hold on to it. Let it settle."

Damien nodded, still silent. But the calm behind his eyes had returned. That sense of inner gravity that hadn't wavered once since he stepped into the room.

Kael turned toward the door. "Well. That's enough mystery for one night. I say we get out of here before the comms board starts demanding a debrief we're not ready to give."

Dominic nodded. "Agreed."

The hallway outside the chamber was still dim, awash in soft silver panel light as Kael led them forward, footsteps echoing in practiced rhythm. Liora fell in behind them quietly, tablet clutched to her chest like a shield, though her eyes kept drifting toward Damien.

Not curiosity. Not anymore.

It was recognition.

The kind people gave war veterans and walking legends.

Kael walked with hands in his pockets, posture easy but alert. "Gate's pre-calibrated," he said over his shoulder. "Dominion relay cleared your return ten minutes ago."

Dominic gave a short nod. "Appreciate it."

The corridor curved gently, walls lined with projection glass and embedded conduits humming beneath their feet. As they turned a final corner, the teleportation room came into view—cold, angular, built more for function than aesthetics.

A central ring pulsed quietly with pre-charged light, arcs of stabilizer glyphs spiraling through the air above the gate. A technician at the terminal offered a salute. Kael returned it with a casual wave, then gestured Damien and Dominic forward.

"This'll lock to the upper city outpost," Kael said. "Your escort'll be waiting at the other end."

Dominic glanced toward the gate, then back to Kael. A moment passed—quiet, but thick with years of familiarity.

"Thank you," Dominic said. "For not treating him like an asset."

Kael snorted. "Didn't do it for you."

"No. But you still did it." Dominic offered a hand.

Kael took it—tight grip, two seconds longer than needed. Then they stepped apart.

"Don't let the archives chew him up," Kael said, nodding toward Damien.

Dominic's gaze sharpened faintly. "Not a chance."

Liora approached, holding out a slate for signature. Kael took it without looking, scribbled a glyph-auth, then handed it back with a lazy salute. "Safe travels."

Dominic gave a final nod. "Until next time."

Then he stepped onto the platform.

Damien followed, pausing only briefly as his eyes met Kael's one last time. The older man gave him a short, meaningful look—equal parts approval and warning.

The gate flared.

In a flash of white and thunderless wind, both figures vanished.

Silence fell again.

Kael stood alone before the empty gate, hands in his pockets, the faint hum of the stabilizers winding down behind him.

He didn't move for a long moment.

Then, quietly, he muttered, "That kid…"

A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"…he has immense potential."

His eyes narrowed faintly, as if already thinking a dozen steps ahead. Plans within plans.

"My dear nephew must not miss this chance."

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