The void stretched endlessly ahead, silent and vast, an ocean of fractured space suspended between dying stars and fading echoes.
Kael'thir soared through it, his wings cutting through the distorted air like blades of shadow and flame.
The battle was over.
The reflection—the future that would never be—was gone.
But the echoes of that confrontation still clung to him, woven into the fibers of his being.
Not as scars.
But as lessons.
Kael'thir could feel it now, pulsing beneath his scales—not just power, but something deeper.
A current of clarity running alongside the hunger that had always driven him.
Before, he had fought because that was what he was.
A predator.
A force.
But now…
Now he fought because he chose to.
Because beyond the instinct, beyond the need to devour, there was a question he'd never asked himself:
What comes after?
After the gods were gone.
After the realms were his.
After there was nothing left to conquer.
Would he sit on a throne like that reflection?
Would he become a king of ash and silence?
Kael'thir snarled softly, the sound low and sharp, lost in the vastness around him.
No.
He wasn't built for endings.
He was built to break them.
Ahead, the void shifted.
Not with movement.
With presence.
A ripple in space, faint but undeniable.
Kael'thir's wings flared slightly, his body angling toward the disturbance.
Another challenge.
Another wall to shatter.
He pushed forward, faster now, the void blurring around him, the pulse growing stronger with every beat of his wings.
The landscape changed gradually.
The endless black gave way to fragments of shattered realms—floating islands of stone and crystal, suspended like the broken pieces of a forgotten puzzle.
Ruins drifted aimlessly, remnants of civilizations long devoured by time and power.
But Kael'thir's focus wasn't on the ruins.
It was on the center of it all.
A spire, rising from the heart of the wreckage, its surface etched with runes older than memory, glowing faintly with a dull crimson light.
At its peak, Kael'thir sensed something waiting.
Something alive.
Not a reflection.
Not a fragment of himself.
Something other.
His lips curled into a grin.
Good.
He landed hard at the spire's base, the ground cracking beneath his claws.
The air here was thick, saturated with mana that felt old and bitter, like the remnants of battles fought long before Kael'thir had even hatched.
But it wasn't oppressive.
Not to him.
It was nourishment.
The pulse grew stronger as he ascended, climbing the spiral of broken steps carved into the spire's surface.
Each step resonated beneath his feet, faint whispers brushing against the edges of his mind.
Not voices.
Not language.
Memory.
Of battles.
Of loss.
Of gods screaming as they were torn apart.
Kael'thir didn't flinch.
He'd heard it all before.
At the top, the path opened into a wide platform, floating above the void like an ancient arena carved from the bones of forgotten gods.
And there, waiting at the center, was a figure.
Not like the reflections.
Not like the masked guardians.
This one was real.
Tangible.
Its form was humanoid, but twisted—a body sculpted from shadows and molten light, shifting with every movement, never settling on a single shape.
Eyes burned like twin suns, staring at Kael'thir with a mixture of curiosity and recognition.
Kael'thir's wings spread wide, his aura flaring like wildfire.
"What are you?"
His voice was steady now, powerful—a weapon as sharp as his claws.
The figure tilted its head slightly, its form flickering like a dying flame.
"I am hunger."
Kael'thir laughed, a sharp, fierce sound that echoed into the void.
"Then we have that in common."
The figure didn't wait.
It moved with impossible speed, a blur of dark energy surging toward Kael'thir, a jagged spear of pure void materializing in its hand.
Kael'thir met it head-on.
No hesitation.
No fear.
Just the pure, violent joy of the hunt.
Their clash was a detonation.
The platform beneath them shattered instantly, fragments of stone spiraling into the abyss.
But neither cared.
They fought in freefall, wings beating against the weightlessness, claws against void, roars against silence.
Kael'thir's strikes were wild, filled with raw power, his instincts sharpened to a razor's edge.
The figure's attacks were precise, every movement a perfect calculation, its form shifting to adapt to every blow.
But Kael'thir had learned something from fighting himself.
Predictability was a weakness.
And Kael'thir was never predictable.
He twisted mid-strike, feinting with his claws before whipping his tail around, catching the figure off guard and slamming it into a fragment of floating stone.
The impact sent cracks spider-webbing through the debris, but the figure recovered instantly, launching back at Kael'thir with renewed fury.
The battle became a blur—a storm of claws, teeth, and raw mana, tearing through the void like a cosmic wildfire.
But Kael'thir wasn't just fighting.
He was learning.
Adapting.
Growing.
With every strike, every wound, he became faster.
Stronger.
More.
And the figure—
It stayed the same.
Kael'thir roared, his body surging with a pulse of energy that distorted space itself, collapsing the distance between them in an instant.
His claws sank deep into the figure's chest, tearing through the shifting shadows and molten light.
The figure screamed—not in fear, but in rage—as its form began to unravel.
Kael'thir didn't stop.
He pulled, ripping the figure apart, devouring the essence that spilled out like liquid starlight.
The power surged into him, burning hotter than anything he'd consumed before.
But it wasn't just power.
It was memory.
Of worlds devoured.
Of gods broken.
Of hunger so vast it could consume existence itself.
Kael'thir's wings faltered for a moment, his mind reeling from the flood of visions.
But then he smiled.
Because beneath all that power, all that knowledge—
The figure had been empty.
A shell.
A force without purpose.
And Kael'thir was so much more than that.
He hovered there, alone once again, the void silent around him.
But this silence wasn't the absence of sound.
It was the aftermath of victory.
Kael'thir's heart slowed, his breath steady.
And he knew—
This wasn't the end.
Not even close.
Because beyond the void, beyond the realms he'd conquered, beyond the gods he'd slain—
There was still more.
More to devour.
More to break.
More to become.
His wings spread wide, cutting through the darkness.
And Kael'thir soared into the unknown.
"I am not hunger. I am Kael'thir."
"And I will never be full."