The city had a way of swallowing voices and spitting them back out sharper.
Kael pulled his hood low as he crossed the plaza, but the comm-screens didn't care. They towered over him, pulsing bright against the steel-gray sky, feeding a hungry crowd with stories dressed as truth.
"The Rollback Man: Miracle or Cheat?" the headline scrolled in silver text.
The anchor's voice was calm, polished. "Unregistered combatant Kael Varin, a mid-tier awakener of no special renown, has appeared in multiple raids where outcomes defied probability. Experts cite repeated anomalies in his timing—cooldowns shortened, enrage phases dispersed, respawns delayed. The Guild denies tampering, but questions remain. Is this the hand of luck? Or the touch of something darker?"
A video clip followed: Ridge Forest, frozen mid-frame. Kael himself, blurred by the capture feed, blade buried in the throat of the biome wolf. To anyone else it looked ordinary—just another kill. But the clip replayed in slow motion, overlaying guild metrics that told the story Dominion wanted told:
Cooldown timer: 00.00.
Respawn event: Skipped.
System note: ERROR.
The crowd watching didn't see a man saving lives. They saw a man gaming the system.
Kael shoved through the bodies, jaw locked.
Voices chased him into the market.
"Heard he bribed ops to rewrite logs."
"Nah, Dominion would never risk that. He's hacking."
"Please. He's mid-tier. No one even knew his name last year. Then suddenly he's holding off bosses alone? Glitch-boy, that's all."
Kael gripped the strap of his cloak tighter. He wanted to turn, to shout—Yes, I'm bending the system. Because without it, you'd all be dead. But shouting wouldn't change what they saw on the screens.
Two children darted past, waving wooden glyph sticks, reenacting some raid they'd only seen in feeds. One shouted, "Rollback Man! Perfect timing, every time!" The others laughed and cheered.
Kael froze. His stomach turned cold. To them it was a game, a meme to toss around the way children always did with legends they didn't understand. But he couldn't stop hearing the echo of Senna's small voice asking why people said he lied.
He walked faster.
The guild café was worse.
Kael slid into a corner booth, hoping for quiet. Instead, his own name rose above the clatter of mugs.
"Kael Varin," a raider drawled, broad-shouldered and still half in armor. "Mid-tier forever, suddenly winning raids no one else can touch? Come on."
Laughter scattered across the room.
"Every fight, he's there with the perfect timing. Boss enrages? Boom—calmed. Respawns? Delayed like magic. That's not talent. That's a script."
Kael's teeth clenched.
"Maybe he's bribing Dominion techs."
"Or maybe he's bugged. Glitch-boy."
Another voice chimed in. "You saw the Choirmaster's post, right? They're already calling him the Corruptor of Balance. Fits, doesn't it?"
More laughter.
Kael forced himself to breathe. In. Out. He finished his drink in silence and left before his anger broke the surface.
By the time he reached home, the whispers had followed.
Liora was at the stove, stirring stew, back stiff. She didn't look up. The silence around her was sharp enough to draw blood.
Senna sat at the table, crayons scattered, her little tongue peeking out as she drew loops and spirals that made Kael's chest ache.
She didn't even glance up when she asked, quiet as a breath: "Papa, why do people say you're lying?"
The words stopped him cold.
Liora's spoon clattered against the pot. She turned, eyes flashing at him with a fury she didn't want to show in front of their daughter.
Kael forced his legs to move, crouched beside Senna. His voice shook, but he made it gentle. "People don't always understand, little star. Sometimes when you do something different, it scares them. And when they're scared, they say things that aren't true."
Senna's brow furrowed. "But you're not lying."
"No." His throat burned. "Never to you."
Her smile was small, but it shattered him. She patted his hand with her tiny palm. "Then I don't care what they say."
Behind them, Liora's breath caught. She turned back to the stove, shoulders trembling.
Kael stayed crouched longer than he needed, letting Senna's hand rest against his.
But he couldn't shake the truth: the whispers weren't going away. They were growing teeth.
Night brought no relief.
Aria's message lit his commlink: "Stay off guild grounds. Media circling. Dominion isn't denying."
Not denying. Which meant permission.
Kael stood at the window, bandaged arm pressed to the glass. The cracks beneath throbbed in rhythm with his pulse. He remembered Senna's notebook flipping glyphs he hadn't written, remembered the Reaper stepping into the alley wall like smoke.
They could brand him cheater, glitch, fraud. None of it mattered compared to the truth: the system wasn't hunting him. Not yet. Which meant they were waiting.
For him to break.
For Senna to inherit the Debt.
For the story to spin far enough that no one would protect him.
The glow pulsed under his sleeve. His fist tightened.
"Kael."
He turned.
Liora stood in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes bright with unshed tears. "How long until they come here? Until they come for her?"
He had no answer.
And the silence between them was louder than any broadcast.