The room had fallen into a heavy, reverent silence.
Kael, still weakened from his earlier rampage, sat motionless on the edge of the bed. His eyes—wide, searching, and afraid—met Virelle's, and in them, she saw the raw ache for answers. The ache of a boy standing on the edge of something ancient and terrible.
She took his trembling hands into hers—steadying them, steadying him—and gave a long, tired sigh.
"Kael," she began softly, "what happened earlier… wasn't just an outburst. You tapped into something you shouldn't have been able to touch. Something old. Something that shouldn't exist in this world anymore."
Kael furrowed his brows. "What do you mean?"
Virelle shifted her weight and sat down beside him on the bed. Her eyes drifted toward the window as if trying to pull strength from the sunlight peeking through. Then she turned back to him—and began.
"There's a kind of magic," she said carefully, "so dangerous, so unnatural, that the world itself rejects it. It's called World-Breaking Magic."
She let the name settle in the air, like ash drifting after fire.
"It's not like elemental magic or healing or enchantment. No. This kind of magic… violates the very laws that hold the world together. Time. Space. Life. Death. Cause. Effect. All of it."
Kael and Saria leaned forward almost unconsciously. Virelle noted it but continued, her voice slow and precise.
"The world is made up of laws, Kael—laws that the deities put in place at the dawn of time to maintain the fabric of reality. Gravity, time flow, growth, entropy—everything runs on these laws. When the gods gave us magic, they didn't give us power to break the laws… only to bend them gently. Healing magic nudges the laws of biology. Fire magic accelerates energy release. Even summoning is just spatial folding."
She paused, scanning their faces.
"But bending is not the same as breaking. And someone—long ago—decided bending wasn't enough."
Her tone darkened.
"A being… we don't know his name anymore, only his legacy. He came from one of the ancient races. No one knows if he was human, draconian, fae, or something else. What is known… is that he discovered a form of magic that could outright violate the divine rules. He could command space to rip, time to halt, or death to retreat. He could make fire that devoured truth. Water that erased memory. With a word, he could unmake cause and keep the effect."
Kael's heart pounded in his chest.
"Why would anyone create something so destructive?" he asked.
Virelle's expression turned grim.
"Because power always tempts those who feel powerless," she said. "And at first, he promised that World-Breaking Magic could be controlled. Used for good. Used to uplift the weak. Protect the vulnerable. Even resurrect the dead."
Saria's eyes widened.
Kael clenched his fists unconsciously.
"But it was a lie," Virelle continued. "A seductive, ruinous lie. Because soon enough, the magic began to take its toll—not just on the world… but on those who used it."
Kael's throat felt dry.
"What happened to them?" he asked.
Virelle looked directly into his soul.
"They went mad. Their bodies mutated. Some vanished from existence. Others exploded into storms. The magic didn't serve them—it devoured them. And the world… it began to unravel wherever World-Breaking Magic was used. Whole kingdoms crumbled. The skies split. Oceans dried or boiled. Night bled into day."
She paused, her voice now a whisper.
"It was called the Age of Shattering. And the only reason it ended… was because the surviving races united to hunt down and purge the magic—and those who dared to wield it."
A stillness filled the room like the breath before a storm.
Then Virelle spoke with deliberate clarity.
"And Kael… what you unleashed today bore the scent of that same magic."
Kael's mouth opened, but no words came out.
His body trembled—not from fatigue, but from fear.
Because deep inside him… something agreed with her.
---
Virelle's voice faltered for just a second—just long enough to betray the pain she'd buried for years. The room, lit dimly by the low flicker of a wall-mounted rune lamp, suddenly felt smaller, suffocating. The weight of history, of secrets long kept and scars barely healed, hung between them like smoke.
Kael sat still, rigid, like a statue carved from flesh. His gaze—so often distant—now burned with stunned disbelief. "World-breaking magic... came from my bloodline?" he whispered, as if saying it aloud would shatter his sanity.
Virelle gave a solemn nod.
"Yes," she said. "Your father, King Valdrin Theron, uncovered a long-lost relic—one buried beneath the southern reaches of the Ebon Fissure. It was meant to remain forgotten. But he… he was ambitious. Brilliant, but blind to the cost of what he touched."
Saria inhaled sharply at that, her hand flying to her mouth. She stared at Kael as if seeing him for the first time.
Kael's frown deepened. Thoughts swirled violently behind his eyes.
"And this relic… it contained world-breaking magic?"
"It did," Virelle said softly. "Or rather, a fragment of the force. Enough to intoxicate a king with the taste of divine power. Your father studied it in secret. He believed he could control it—refine it, even. He thought… if he merged the force into the royal bloodline, he could build a dynasty untouched by death or defeat."
Kael's lips trembled. "So he used it… on me."
A shadow passed over Virelle's face. "Yes," she admitted. "But not before perfecting it on himself."
Kael's entire world tilted.
Virelle continued, her voice steadier now, but each word fell like iron. "Once he succeeded, he told only one person: his oldest friend, the royal adviser. He thought he'd earned trust. But fear makes cowards of even the closest companions."
Kael gritted his teeth. "He betrayed him."
"To the Thalorim Vale," Virelle confirmed. "The Theocracy—guardians of the divine mandates. After the Arcane War, they were charged with one task above all: prevent the rise of another force like world-breaking magic."
"They decreed your father guilty. Demanded he surrender his crown and kingdom. They called it divine justice. But your father refused. He knew what they'd do to you—what they'd do to anyone with his blood."
Silence reigned. Even Saria had nothing to say.
Kael's voice, when it came, was hollow. "And my mother?"
Virelle looked down, her hands clenching in her lap.
"She… was caught in the storm. When the Theocracy's blades failed to convince your father, they turned to assassination. She was targeted first—as a message. Killed in cold blood during the siege."
Kael's chest rose and fell in uneven waves. His fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white.
"She died calling your name," Virelle added, her voice barely above a whisper. "You were still a boy—barely able to speak your father's name. That day, your father changed. He sent you away, under my protection, and raised the banners of defiance. He swore vengeance… but his war was lost before it began."
Kael's eyes shimmered with unshed rage. "They destroyed my family… because of fear."
"Because of what your blood represents," Virelle corrected grimly. "You are the living heir of a legacy the gods themselves tried to erase."
Kael looked up, and the fire in his eyes was no longer confusion. It was purpose. Dark, dangerous purpose.
"So what now?" he asked.
Virelle met his gaze evenly. "Now… you decide whether to walk the path your father began—or forge something else. But know this, Kael: every step you take with that power brings you one step to disaster."
Saria finally spoke, her voice trembling. "Kael, please. You're not just a legacy. You're still you."
Kael didn't answer. He stood slowly, despite the aches, despite the weight.
And in that moment, he wasn't just a broken prince or an exile.
He was a question the world could no longer ignore.