Chapter 13 - Weight of Tomorrow

  A few days passed. Kain spent most of them alone. When he wasn’t being dragged into meetings he didn’t ask for or dodging Amon’s increasingly impatient requests for another fight, he was practicing—relentlessly. Veyra control. Blink precision. Recovery timing. He treated it like a craft instead of a gift, grinding repetition into muscle memory until thought gave way to instinct.

  The first day, he pushed too far. Way too far. He kept blinking—anchor to anchor, tighter angles, shorter intervals—forcing speed before his body had learned restraint. His Veyra thinned. His breathing went ragged. By the time he tried to stabilize, his legs gave out beneath him and he barely managed to stay upright, palms braced against the stone as the world tilted. The exhaustion was different than muscle fatigue. It felt hollow. Like something vital had been scooped out and left echoing.

  Sonen found him slumped against the wall, sweat dripping freely, Veyra refusing to answer no matter how desperately Kain reached for it. Kain expected a lecture. Instead, Sonen nodded once. “Good,” he said.

  Kain lifted his head, incredulous. “Good?”

  “You overreached,” Sonen replied calmly. “And you survived it. That means you now know where the edge is.”

  Kain laughed weakly. “Nearly face-planting into a wall is a learning experience now?”

  Sonen allowed himself the faintest hint of a smile. “For people like you? Yes.”

  After that, Kain adjusted. He stopped chasing speed and started measuring it. Learned how long he could maintain tension in the tether before it fought back. How much Veyra he could compress into his sheath without draining himself dry. How far he could stretch an anchor before the strain began to creep into his chest.

  Limits weren’t walls. They were landmarks. And every day after, he got closer to them without crossing over. The day before the departure, Kain met with the group Sonen had assembled to discuss intent and strategy. They gathered around the roundtable carved into the stone floor—its surface scarred from years of heated planning and heavier arguments.

  Logess stood off to one side, arms crossed, Veyra lenses dim and unreadable. He looked like a man already preparing excuses for why this was a terrible idea. If he had a vote, he clearly wouldn’t be here. Across from him stood the largest of the fighters Kain had faced—broad shoulders, dense frame, Veyra protruding in jagged points from his knuckles like permanent weapons. He didn’t speak. He didn’t fidget. He simply existed, solid and unbothered. Bale.

  Next to him, pacing slightly and unable to fully contain himself, was the third—leaner, lighter on his feet, Veyra coiled around his boots and elbows in restless arcs. His eyes kept drifting toward Kain, then the exit, then back again, like he was already imagining the fights ahead. Talen. The resemblance to Amon was hard to miss.

  At the head of the table sat Amon himself—head resting on one hand, eyes closed, posture slouched forward in what could only be described as aggressive boredom. A faint ember pulsed along the markings on his neck every few seconds, reacting to nothing in particular. Kain doubted he’d heard a single word so far.

  Standing near the wall, half-shadowed and unmoving, was the Scarab who had first led Kain through the crater’s depths. Massive. Silent. His presence anchored the room in a way that didn’t demand attention—but held it anyway. Dom. He never spoke. Never reacted. But he didn’t look displeased to be there either.

  Kain took it all in. This was his team. Not soldiers. Not followers. People with wildly different reasons for agreeing to walk into unknown territory. He exhaled slowly and stepped closer to the table.

  “Alright,” he said. “Let’s talk about why we’re going—and what happens if it goes wrong.” Amon’s eye cracked open. Finally. Kain rested his hands on the edge of the table. “There’s a man named Koi,” he began. “And if Sonen’s right, he won’t wait long. Power shifted here. Everyone felt it. That makes us a target.”

  Logess’s lenses flickered faintly. Kain continued. “The ravine settlement is likely to move first. Not because they want to—but because they think they have to.”

  Talen tilted his head, a grin tugging at his mouth. “So why don’t we beat them to it?”

  Amon’s ember-bright eye snapped open fully. “Yeah,” he said, sitting up. “Why wait? We burn the problem now.”

  Kain didn’t raise his voice. “Because we don’t know what they can do.” The room quieted. “We don’t know their numbers. We don’t know their leaders. And we don’t know how many of them can project Veyra.” Kain’s gaze moved around the table. “I’m not risking everyone here on a fight we don’t understand.”

  Amon clicked his tongue, clearly unconvinced. Talen shrugged, still smiling. “Sounds boring.”

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  Sonen stepped in before Kain could respond. “We have no shortage of Brightwater,” he said evenly. “The well beneath the crater appears… endless.” That earned attention. “If we can negotiate,” Sonen continued, “we gain allies, trade routes, and stability. Brightwater in exchange for fruit or other resources would benefit both settlements long-term.”

  Logess finally spoke. “And if negotiations fail?”

  Kain nodded once. “Then we leave knowing more than we do now.” He tapped the stone table lightly. “We get a read on their leadership. Their temperament. And most importantly—how many projectors they have.” The weight of that settled over the group. “If things go bad,” Kain finished, “we don’t start a war blind.”

  Amon leaned back again, arms crossing. “Fine,” he said, though his grin returned quickly. “But if they swing first, I’m not holding back.”

  Kain met his eyes. “Neither am I.” Kain straightened and pushed away from the table. “We leave at first light,” he said. “Meet at the crater entrance. Be rested—this isn’t a march you want to rush.” No one argued. That alone still felt strange.

  As he turned to leave, a familiar spark of chaos followed him. “Hey,” Talen called out, already half out of his seat. “Amon. Spar with me.”

  Amon didn’t even open his eyes. “You’ll break.”

  “I’ll heal.”

  Amon’s grin spread without warning. “Good.”

  Kain snorted under his breath as he walked away, the sound of stone scraping behind him followed by an excited laugh he didn’t bother to identify. Some people never learned. Sonen fell into step beside him, hands folded behind his back. “Your apparel is ready,” he said. “The crafters finished earlier than expected.”

  Kain raised an eyebrow. “Already?”

  “They were… motivated.” That tracked.

  They turned down a corridor Kain hadn’t walked before, the stone here smoother, darker—worn down by time and repetition rather than violence. The echoes of the arena faded behind them, replaced by quieter sounds: steady footsteps, distant murmurs, the low hum of Veyra threaded through the walls. Kain exhaled slowly. Tomorrow meant movement. Consequences. Answers he couldn’t get by sitting on a throne he never asked for. And for the first time since waking up in this world, he felt something close to ready. Prepared enough to keep walking forward.

  Kain stood at the edge of the Veyra well, hands resting on his knees, staring down into the glow. The reflection staring back didn’t feel like him. The hood cast his face in shadow, framing sharp lines where exhaustion and focus had carved themselves in over the past few days. The sleeveless mantle fell cleanly over his shoulders, leaving his arms bare—every faint pulse of Veyra visible as it moved beneath his skin, crawling up his biceps and pooling at the collarbone before sinking back down again. The fabric was dark and heavy, cut to move, not to flow, but it still carried weight. Authority. Intent. The wrap at his neck sat loose for now, resting just below his jaw. One pull and it would cover his mouth, turn his expression into something unreadable. Tactical. Intimidating. Useful.

  He hated how natural it looked. The outfit didn’t scream king or god or hero—but it implied all three. Like someone had taken the idea of command and stripped away anything decorative, leaving only what was necessary to be obeyed. The ladies clearly put a lot of effort into this.

  Kain tilted his head slightly, watching the reflection mirror him. “…This might be too much,” he muttered. The Veyra in the well rippled faintly, the glow warping his image for half a second—elongating his silhouette, making him look taller, broader. More solid. For a brief moment, the reflection didn’t look like a man at all, but a shape people would learn to recognize from a distance.

  He straightened and exhaled through his nose. “I just wanted clothes,” he said quietly. “Not a reputation.” But even as he said it, he knew that wasn’t how this worked anymore. This wasn’t about what he wanted to look like. It was about what people needed to see when he walked into a room—or onto a battlefield. Someone who wouldn’t hesitate. Someone who belonged at the center of things. Someone strong enough that no one would test him just to see if they could.

  Kain reached up and tugged the wrap a little higher, stopping just short of covering his mouth. The reflection sharpened instantly. Less human. More deliberate. He dropped his hand. “…Yeah,” he sighed. “Sonen’s gonna love this.”

  The well continued to glow, indifferent, holding the image steady. Cool. Uncomfortable. And undeniably his, now.

  The day bled away without ceremony. By the time the light outside the crater dimmed and the glow of the Veyra wells became the only constant illumination, Kain was already lying on his back, hands folded over his chest, staring at the ceiling of his room. Sleep refused to come. His body was exhausted, but his mind wouldn’t slow down. Too many variables. Too many ways this could collapse the second he stepped outside the crater.

  The ravine. Koi. A settlement strong enough to blind Amon—even for a heartbeat.

  He replayed every conversation, every assumption he’d made since taking control, turning them over until they lost shape. Negotiation could fail. Pride could turn talks into bloodshed. One wrong move and the crater wouldn’t just lose leverage—it would lose people.

  Sonen. Logess. Even Amon, pacing the wasteland somewhere, firing explosions into nothing just to burn off anticipation.

  Kain exhaled slowly. There was a moment—quiet, tempting—where another thought crept in. He could leave. Right now. Slip out into the scorched earth while everyone slept. No announcements. No titles. No war councils. Just follow the Veyra lines until the crater was a memory instead of a responsibility. Let the world sort itself out like it always had before he arrived. No ruler. No expectations. No one looking at him like gravity had changed directions.

  The idea lingered longer than he liked. Kain turned his head slightly, staring at the faint glow leaking under his door. “…Yeah,” he murmured. “You’d never forgive yourself.” Running would be easy. Living with it wouldn’t be.

  He’d already seen what happened when power went unanswered—how quickly chaos filled the gap. Leaving now wouldn’t free him from this. It would just push the consequences onto people who didn’t ask for them. People who would bleed for the choice he didn’t make. Kain closed his eyes. Tomorrow, he would walk into another settlement carrying the weight of the crater on his back. Tomorrow, words might fail and violence might not. Tomorrow, someone would decide whether he was worth trusting—or worth killing.

  And despite everything tightening in his chest… he didn’t feel regret. Only resolve.

  Somewhere deep inside, Veyra stirred faintly in response, steady and patient, like it already knew the path he’d chosen. Kain let the thought settle.

  Then, finally, sleep took him—heavy and unbroken.