Kaelen exhaled.
Slow. Deep.
One Breath.
The world sharpened.
Sound thinned.
Thoughts quieted.
Fear dissolved—not suppressed, not ignored—released.
His heart slowed, not from hesitation, but from control. His muscles loosened, tension bleeding away until movement felt natural again, instinctive. This was the space John had forced him into. The space where the body moved faster than doubt.
Kaelen stepped forward—
—and gravity answered.
The air beneath his feet thickened, invisible force lifting him as naturally as breathing. He didn't "fly" so much as fall upward, gravity folding itself around his frame and carrying him forward.
Below, the forest waited.
Old. Dense. Wrong.
Mana pooled unnaturally between the trees, thick enough to taste. The canopy blocked the sun in uneven patches, shadows stretching too long, roots curling like claws from the earth.
This dungeon wasn't passive.
It was defended.
Kaelen drifted forward, then angled downward, gravity shifting at his command. His white hair fluttered as his descent slowed, controlled, deliberate.
He landed lightly on a branch.
Didn't break it.
Didn't disturb the leaves.
His chrono circuit pulsed once, synchronizing with his senses. Time stretched subtly—not stopped, not accelerated—just clearer.
That was when he saw them.
Two Drakes, their scaled bodies coiled between massive tree trunks, wings half-folded, eyes glowing with dull intelligence. Heat shimmered around their maws.
Three Trolls, massive and hunched, skin like stone veined with molten cracks, clubs resting against their shoulders as if they'd been waiting for centuries.
And deeper in the forest—
Movement.
Two packs of Giant Fire Wolves.
Each the size of warhorses, bodies wreathed in low-burning flames that didn't consume the ground beneath them. Their eyes burned gold. Their breaths steamed with heat and smoke.
Eight monsters.
All abysmal rank.
All guarding the path to the dungeon.
Kaelen didn't tense.
Didn't swallow.
Didn't hesitate.
He stepped off the branch and let gravity take him the rest of the way down, landing soundlessly on the forest floor.
The moment his feet touched the ground—
The monsters reacted.
The wolves growled low, flames flaring higher. The drakes lifted their heads, wings flexing. One troll's club dug into the earth as it shifted its weight.
Kaelen rolled his shoulders once.
His circuits hummed in unison.
Gravity spread outward, subtle but absolute—area-wide pressure, just enough to test resistance. The wolves' paws sank slightly into the ground. One troll grunted as its stance faltered.
Good.
He raised his hand slightly.
Telekinesis answered, loose stones lifting, leaves freezing mid-fall. Not as weapons—just feedback. Awareness.
Kaelen inhaled.
One Breath.
His body moved.
He stepped forward, then another, gravity lightening his frame while compressing the space around him. His sword hand flexed.
Axiomfall responded.
The blade slid free with a soft, resonant hum—not loud, not dramatic, but certain.
The sword was longer than standard, its edge dark and clean, runes faintly etched along the flat of the blade—enchantments layered deep within.
Axiomfall did not amplify power.
It translated it.
Gravity flowed along the blade naturally, coating the edge in compressed force. Space bent subtly around it, the air trembling as if afraid to touch it.
Kaelen stopped.
The forest went still.
He held the sword downward to his right, grip relaxed, stance grounded. Not flashy. Not arrogant.
Ready.
His blue eyes lifted, calm and unwavering.
"Come at me," he said quietly.
"You beasts."
The wolves lunged first.
And Kaelen stepped forward—
—not as a boy, not as a challenger—
—but as someone who already knew he was walking out alive.