Date: February 12, 542 since the Fall of Zanra the Dishonored.
The battle in the center of the platform entered a stage where space itself began to groan from the excess of power. Mirza was no longer smiling. His ritual scars now glowed with a steady, dense amber light, and behind him materialized the figure of a four-armed warrior of antiquity.
"Ancestor Spirit: Thunder Hammer's Blessing!" Mirza rumbled.
With each of his movements, a shockwave swept through the hall, knocking even hardened Warriors off their feet. Grak Axe and Iskon were working at their limit. Grak took the brunt of the cleaver's attacks, his axe striking sparks as he blocked blows capable of splitting a mountain. Iskon, using his new Pillar agility, constantly changed the scale of his attacks, trying to find a breach in the Orc's defense.
However, the difference in ranks was becoming increasingly evident. Mirza, an experienced Harbinger, simply overwhelmed them both with the volume of his power. He easily parried Iskon's extending sword while delivering a crushing kick that forced Grak back several steps.
"Your coordination is commendable," Mirza delivered a circular strike, sending the youth and the commander flying in opposite directions. "But you are still trying to fight an ocean with only oars."
Kaedan watched from the shadow of a pillar. He stood with his arms hanging limply. His left shoulder throbbed with pain, and where the shattered vambrace had been, his skin was crusted with dried blood. Each of Mirza's blows, each radiance from Iskon, echoed in his soul with the searing feeling of his own inadequacy.
"I am the extra one," this thought was sharper than any blade. "I promised to protect them, but now I am merely a spectator at their triumph. My Armor is shattered, my will is weak..."
The youth closed his eyes, and at that moment, the noise of battle began to recede, replaced by a sound he hadn't heard in years — the sound of cold rain on the roof of a carriage.
He was five years old. He stood in the lavish drawing-room of their ancestral manor, clutching a wooden horse in his hands. His mother looked at him as if before her was not her son, but an unpleasant stain on the carpet.
"We cannot keep him," her voice was cold and detached. "Look at him, Gilbert. There is no spark of our bloodline in him. His inner essence is chaotic and ugly. He will disgrace our name at the first reception."
His father, a tall man with a harsh face, didn't even glance at Kaedan. He simply nodded to the butler. "Pack his things. The Machine of Order tolerates no defective parts. We will give him to a shelter on the outskirts. There, his... 'peculiarities' will concern no one."
Kaedan remembered how he, small and understanding nothing, was put into an old cart. He remembered his father's cold eyes as he closed the door without even saying goodbye. He remembered the long days of travel, watching through the cracks in the boards as his home, his past life, his belief that he mattered to anyone, disappeared.
The cart stopped at the crooked gates of the "Old Pine" shelter. Mud, the smell of burnt pine needles, and the indifference of the surrounding world — that was all they left him. It was there, on that first evening, sitting on a hard cot and swallowing tears, that he made his first, most important vow.
"I will never be like them. I will never abandon those who are weak. I will become their shield. I will protect, not discard."
That same night, he met Duro, Ulvia, and Gil. They became his new family, his only truth in this world.
The vision suddenly ended. Kaedan's eyes flew open. The world returned with a flash of pain and the crash of Mirza's cleaver. The youth saw Grak Axe fall to one knee, and Iskon, his shield dented, desperately trying to cover the commander.
"No..." Kaedan felt something begin to expand deep within him, in the very center of his shattered Vessel. "My Armor is not just stone. It is my oath. And if my vambrace is broken, I will forge it anew from my pain."
The youth stepped forward. His maimed left hand began to vibrate. He no longer felt insignificant. He remembered why he was here. He remembered the faces of his friends. His inner power, brought to a boiling point by self-flagellation and the memory of betrayal, began to rapidly change its structure.
"I..." Kaedan rasped, and the air around him began to fill with silvery light. "I am the VERY PART YOU COULDN'T BREAK!"
The density of his presence instantly increased, making even Mirza turn for a moment. The flashback ended, leaving behind only white-hot resolve. Kaedan stood on the threshold of his greatest transformation, and this time, his Armor promised to become the final verdict for his enemies.