Dear Readers,
1k views per chapter, but guess what? Only 4 collections and 9 comments total. That's it. The social impact of this novel is nothing and it's getting harder to keep going. I'm still trying to finish at least this arc, my goal is 125 chapters. But with this kind of response, i don't know if i can.
On a side note, I've started writing "The Rise of the Forgotten Knight" — a side novel that explores Master Thorne's story and fills the gaps i left in the main novel. If you care about the lore, please check it out.
That's all. Thank you.
Vol 02: The Hunt │ Part 04: In Between
1
The grass was soft beneath Kaelen's feet.
He stood in a field that stretched to the horizon, swaying gently in a warm breeze that smelled of flowers and honey. Two moons hung in the sky above, large and silver, casting soft light across the landscape. The air was clean, untouched by the sulfur and smoke of the Rift.
Behind him, the door had vanished. The red stone was gone. The Warrens were gone. Everything he had known was gone.
Lyra stood beside him, her journal clutched to her chest. Her eyes were wide, taking in every detail. Zora was already moving, climbing a nearby tree to get a better view. Fenris sniffed the grass, then sneezed, his amethyst eyes blinking in the unfamiliar light.
The Archivists huddled together, their faces pale with shock. Rook and Torrin leaned on each other, their wounds still fresh. Harken stood apart, her weathered face unreadable.
"Where are we?" Lyra whispered.
Kaelen shook his head. "I do not know."
He reached out with the Insight Kite. The new world was different. The resonance here was softer, gentler. The void in his chest pulsed in rhythm with something he could not name. The four Kites glowed faintly, responding to the new environment.
"There is a settlement," Zora called from the tree. "Two miles east. Small. Smoke rising from chimneys."
"People?" Harken asked.
"Looks like it. But not like ours. The buildings are different."
Kaelen looked at the group. They were exhausted, wounded, and far from home. But they were alive.
"We go east," he said. "We find shelter. We figure out where we are. And then we figure out how to get back."
He started walking, Fenris at his side. The grass parted before him, and the twin moons lit his path.
2
The settlement was smaller than the Haven, a cluster of low stone buildings huddled against a hillside. The roofs were thatched with strange blue reeds, and the walls were carved with symbols that seemed to shift in the moonlight.
People emerged as they approached. They were Rifters—Kaelen could feel the resonance in them, the echo of the Maelstrom. But they were different from any Rifters he had met. Their marks were not hidden. They wore them openly, patterns of light and color on their skin.
"Strangers," an older woman said, stepping forward. Her skin was marked with spiraling patterns that glowed faintly in the dark. She studied them with ancient eyes that seemed to see more than they should.
Kaelen instinctively pressed a hand to his chest, ensuring the Void Obsidian pendant was in place. His mark was hidden. It had to stay hidden.
"You came through the door," the woman said. It was not a question.
Lyra stepped forward. "You know about the door?"
"We know about all the doors." The woman's eyes moved from face to face, lingering on Kaelen for a moment too long. "I am Elder Amara. I keep the records of this place. You are not the first to come through. You will not be the last."
"Where are we?" Kaelen asked.
Amara looked at him. Her gaze was piercing, as if she could feel something beneath his tunic. "You are in the Between. The space between worlds. The place where the rifts go when they close."
Lyra's eyes widened. "The Between? That is just a theory. The old texts mention it, but no one has ever—"
"No one has ever returned," Amara finished. "Until now."
She gestured for them to follow. "Come. You are tired. You are wounded. Rest. Eat. And then we will talk about why the door brought you here."
3
The settlement was more than just a village. It was a sanctuary. Rifters from every world had found their way here, fleeing the Grey Cabinet, fleeing the Conclave, fleeing their own worlds. Some had been here for decades. Others had arrived only days ago.
Amara led them to a longhouse at the center of the settlement. Inside, a fire burned in a stone hearth, casting warm light across woven mats and low tables. Food was brought—strange fruits and roasted meat, bread made from grains Kaelen did not recognize.
They ate in silence, too exhausted to speak. Only Fenris remained alert, his amethyst eyes scanning the room.
When they had finished, Amara sat across from Kaelen. Her spiral patterns glowed softly in the firelight. Her eyes were fixed on his chest—not on his face, but on the place where the mark lay hidden beneath his tunic and pendant.
"Your mark," she said. "It is different from the others. I can feel it. The resonance is unlike anything I have encountered."
Kaelen's hand went to his chest. "It is hidden for a reason."
"I am not asking you to show it." Amara's voice was calm. "I am simply saying that I can feel it. I have lived in the Between for longer than you have lived. My senses have grown... sharp. I can feel the shape of what you carry."
Lyra tensed beside him. "What do you sense?"
Amara's ancient eyes did not leave Kaelen's chest. "An obsidian bird at the center. A diamond frame surrounding it. And at the four corners of that frame, four Kites. Each Kite is only the first tier of its potential. You have room to grow—much room."
Kaelen kept his face neutral, but his heart was racing. "How do you know that?"
"Because I have seen such frames before. In records. In the memories of those who came before. The bird is the anchor—the core of your mark. The diamond is the cage that holds its power. But you are not complete. Not yet."
Lyra leaned forward, her journal open. "What do you mean by 'first tier'?"
Amara looked at her, at the Scholar's Kite glowing faintly on her arm. "You have some knowledge of Kites. Good. That will make this easier."
She turned back to Kaelen. "Each Kite type has three tiers. The first tier grants you the foundational ability. The second tier amplifies it—strength, range, precision. The third tier allows you to transcend the ability entirely, to bend its purpose to your will."
"You are saying I have only the first tier of each ability?" Kaelen asked.
"Yes. The Artisan Kite you carry lets you sense metal and shape it with heat. The second tier would let you shape it without heat. The third would let you shape concepts—luck, fear, silence—into the metal itself."
Kaelen's breath caught. That was what Thorne could do. That was why his weapons were legendary.
"The Combat Kite," Amara continued, "grants you reflexes and awareness. The second tier would grant you physical strength and endurance. The third would grant you attack range—the ability to project force beyond your blade."
Kaelen touched his chest, feeling the crimson Kite pulse beneath his tunic. "And the other two?"
"The Insight Kite lets you sense emotions. The second tier lets you read surface thoughts. The third lets you project emotions into others." She paused. "The Void Step lets you move through shadows. The second tier lets you carry others with you. The third lets you cross rifts themselves."
She looked at him with something like wonder. "The bird at the center—that is the anchor of your identity. It is what the void chose to bind itself to. The diamond is the structure you built around it. Together, they form a Progenitor's mark."
Silence filled the longhouse.
Rook and Torrin stared at Kaelen with new eyes. The Archivists exchanged glances. Even Harken, who had seen the mark, looked shaken.
"How many Kites do I need to reach full power?" Kaelen asked.
Amara held up her hand, counting on her fingers. "You have four Kites—one in each type. To reach the third tier in all four, you need eight more. Twelve Kites in total. A complete diamond."
"Twelve," Kaelen repeated.
"Yes." Amara's eyes were ancient, knowing. "And every new Kite will feed the hunger of the mark. You will need to grow, to fight, to push yourself beyond your limits. The Between will help—the resonance here is stronger than in your world. But it will also demand more of you."
She looked at him with something like pity.
"The question is not whether you will gain more Kites. The question is whether you can control the hunger when you do."
4
That night, Kaelen could not sleep.
He sat outside the longhouse, Fenris beside him, and stared at the twin moons. The sky here was different—deeper, richer, filled with stars he did not recognize.
Lyra found him there, her journal in her hands.
"Void Step," she said. "You have been using it more. In the Warrens, when we escaped Solon. And here, when we arrived."
Kaelen nodded. "It is getting easier. I can feel it growing."
"Then do it again. Practice."
He looked at her. "Here? Now?"
"You need to master it. Solon will find a way to follow us. We need to be ready."
Kaelen stood. He focused on the shadows beneath a nearby tree, the spaces between the moonlight.
The void in his chest pulsed. The black Kite flared.
He stepped.
And appeared in the shadow.
Lyra was watching him, her eyes bright. "Again."
He did it again. And again. Each time, the distance grew longer. Each time, the Kite pulsed brighter.
On the tenth attempt, he felt something shift. The Kite was no longer just responding. It was reaching. Growing.
He stepped into the shadow—and emerged not alone.
Lyra was beside him.
She gasped, stumbling. "You carried me."
Kaelen stared at his hands. The black Kite pulsed once, satisfied. It had evolved.
Void Step. Enhanced. He could now carry others.
"Again," Lyra said, recovering her balance. "We need to see how far you can go."
5
They practiced until dawn.
By the time the twin moons set and the first light of a strange sun began to creep over the horizon, Kaelen could carry Lyra across the entire settlement in a single step. The Kite pulsed warmly in his chest, content.
"It is not enough," he said, sitting on the grass, breathing hard.
"It is a start," Lyra said. "You have grown. That is what matters."
Kaelen looked at his hands. The black Kite glowed. The crimson Combat Kite pulsed. The golden Artisan Kite hummed. The silver Insight Kite watched.
Four Kites. Four base tiers.
"How many more?" he asked.
Lyra opened her journal. "Eight more to reach Master in all four. But you have time. We are in a new world, with new dangers and new opportunities. You will grow."
Kaelen looked at the strange sky, at the settlement, at the people who had found refuge here.
"Then I will grow," he said. "I will become what I need to be. To stop Solon. To save our world."
Fenris pressed against his leg, warm and steady.
Together, the bond pulsed.
"Together," Kaelen agreed.