The chamber was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of burning incense. Towering stone pillars lined the grand hall, their surfaces etched with the sacred texts of fate. At the center of the room, beneath the glow of a suspended golden hourglass, sat the High Orator of the Fatebound Order. His presence alone was enough to silence the gathered knights, their armor gleaming in the flickering candlelight.
A single parchment lay before him on the obsidian table—Jude Kastor's name, inscribed in deep crimson ink.
"This cannot be allowed to continue." The High Orator's voice was calm but absolute. "The Wild Cards have already shattered one absolute fate. If left unchecked, others will begin to question the natural order."
Murmurs of agreement rippled through the assembly. Some of the most elite members of the Fatebound Order stood in attendance, their expressions grim.
A man clad in ceremonial robes stepped forward. "We have already dispatched Fatekeepers and high-level enforcers. Each one has failed."
"Because they were never meant to fight something outside of fate." The High Orator leaned forward, his sharp gaze sweeping over the room. "It is time we employ a different approach. No more warnings. No more containment."
He turned his head slightly. "Bring him in."
The chamber doors groaned open. A hush fell over the knights as footsteps echoed against the marble floor.
A man entered, tall, imposing, his coat billowing slightly as he moved. His presence was suffocating, like an inevitable force of nature. He carried no formal insignia, no badge of the Fatebound Order, yet the knights instinctively stepped back as he passed.
He did not bow. He did not speak. He simply approached the High Orator and waited.
The Orator regarded him with something bordering on respect. "Kieran Voss."
The name itself sent a chill through the room. Among those who enforced fate's will, Kieran was different. He did not preach, nor did he command others. He was simply the one they sent when a problem needed to be erased.
"You are aware of the target?" the Orator asked.
Kieran's voice was quiet but sharp. "Jude Kastor. The boy who defied fate."
"The boy who broke fate," the Orator corrected. "And now, he runs free, believing himself beyond our reach." His fingers tapped against the table. "We need him eliminated. No trials. No speeches. His existence must end."
Kieran studied the parchment for only a second before looking up. "What of the girl?"
"Elara Wyn is already an anomaly. It does not matter if she lives or dies—her fate is beyond repair." The Orator's gaze darkened. "Jude, however, is something worse. A symbol."
Kieran considered this. "You want the message to be clear."
"We want finality." The Orator leaned back in his chair. "Name your price."
Kieran was silent for a long moment. Then, he spoke.
"No price. Only certainty." His golden eyes gleamed beneath the candlelight. "This will not be a hunt."
He turned, already striding toward the exit.
"This will be an execution."
The sky above the countryside was painted in hues of deep blue and silver, the stars stretching endlessly over the quiet expanse of land.
Jude, Elara, and Kazimir moved carefully along the overgrown path, putting as much distance as possible between themselves and the capital. The Fatebound Order wouldn't let their escape go unanswered.
Jude's legs still felt weak from the backlash of breaking Elara's fate, but he pushed forward. They had no time to rest.
Kazimir walked ahead, flipping a card between his fingers. "I gotta say, I don't think they're going to just send another Fatekeeper after you."
Elara cast him a wary glance. "You sound way too casual about that."
"I mean, obviously they'll try something worse," Kazimir continued, slipping the card back into his sleeve. "But that's just how these things go. We shake up the world, they send a bigger monster after us. It's all very dramatic."
Jude exhaled sharply. "Not helping."
Kazimir grinned. "You love my insight."
Elara, ignoring Kazimir's theatrics, turned to Jude. "How are you holding up?"
Jude hesitated. He still felt... wrong. As if something deep within him had shifted the moment he tore that page from the Book of the Unwritten. The sensation hadn't faded, and the weight of it pressed against his chest with every breath.
But he wouldn't say that.
"I'll manage."
Elara didn't look convinced, but she didn't push further. Instead, she glanced toward the distant horizon, where the outline of a town barely broke the darkness.
"We should stop soon," she said. "We need information. See if there's been any word on us."
Kazimir nodded. "Good idea. We should also stock up on supplies—food, maybe even a real bed for a night."
Jude was about to agree when something—an almost imperceptible shift in the air—made him stop.
A chill ran down his spine.
He turned, his hand instinctively gripping the hilt of his sword.
Nothing. Just the trees swaying in the cold night breeze.
But the unease didn't fade.
Kazimir stopped as well, his usual smug expression slipping. "...You feel that too?"
Elara stiffened. "Feel what?"
Jude's eyes narrowed. It wasn't just paranoia. Something was there. Watching.
And then,
A sound.
Not loud. Not obvious. But precise.
A single footstep.
Elara barely had time to react before Jude grabbed her and threw both of them sideways. A second later, the space where they had been standing erupted into a clean, vertical slash of pure force, cutting through the earth like a knife through parchment.
A quiet voice followed.
"Hm. You noticed."
Jude's pulse slammed against his ribs. He looked up, eyes locking onto the figure standing a few meters away.
A man.
Tall, draped in a long black coat, hands resting at his sides. His posture was relaxed, almost casual, but there was no mistaking the absolute control in his stance.
Golden eyes, dull yet piercing, stared at them with mild interest.
Kazimir let out a low breath. "Oh… yeah. That's bad."
The man tilted his head slightly. "Jude Kastor."
Jude slowly pushed himself to his feet, sword in hand. "Who are you?"
The man didn't answer immediately. He simply took a step forward—and the ground beneath him barely made a sound.
Jude's grip tightened. Something was wrong. There was no presence, no shift in fate, no sign that this man even existed until he spoke.
Finally, the stranger offered a name.
"Kieran Voss."
Elara inhaled sharply. The name alone sent a ripple of tension through the air.
Kazimir, for once, wasn't smirking. "...Well, that answers one question."
Jude's mind worked fast. He had heard the name before, whispered in the darkest corners of the world. Kieran Voss wasn't a knight. He wasn't an enforcer. He was something worse.
The Fatebound Executioner.
The man they sent when fate itself demanded absolute finality.
Jude felt his heartbeat slow. His instincts screamed at him, louder than ever.
This wasn't a fight.
This was a death sentence.
Kieran's gaze didn't waver. "You have broken fate. That is not something I allow to exist."
His hand moved to his side. A blade, long, thin, and polished to a cruel perfection slid free from its sheath. The air around it seemed to still, as if fate itself held its breath.
Kazimir muttered under his breath. "Alright. Now we run."
Kieran took another step forward.
"Jude Kastor," he said, voice impossibly calm.
"This is where your story ends."
The world barely had time to breathe before the first strike came.
Kieran moved, not fast, not sudden, but with a purpose so absolute that it was terrifying. He stepped forward, closing the gap in an instant, and his blade whistled through the night air like a whisper of inevitability.
Jude barely raised his sword in time.
The impact rattled through his bones, his knees nearly buckling under the force. His sword screamed against Kieran's, sparks bursting from the clash as Jude was sent skidding backward, boots carving trenches into the dirt.
Elara would start to draw a weapon, her stance shifting. The moment Kieran turned toward her, she flickered, disappearing into the shadows.
Kazimir threw a card. A simple, effortless motion. The second it left his fingers, it expanded into a wall of sharp edges, an unpredictable spiral of paper-thin death aimed directly at Kieran's throat.
It never landed.
Kieran breathed, just the faintest exhale and the air around him shifted. The card barrier folded inward, collapsing like it had been caught in the pull of something unseen.
Then, without any wasted movement—Kieran stepped forward, his foot touching the ground in silence, and suddenly, Kazimir was flying.
A brutal kick, faster than the eye could track, sent Kazimir crashing through a tree.
Jude gritted his teeth. He couldn't afford to be stunned. The moment Kieran's attention returned to him, he lunged forward, slashing upward in a vicious arc.
Nothing.
Kieran had already moved, sidestepping so smoothly it was like he had predicted the strike before it was ever made.
Then, before Jude could recover, a fist slammed into his stomach.
Air ripped from his lungs, his body folding inward. His feet left the ground. His vision blurred.
And then he was crashing—his body slamming into the dirt, rolling, pain exploding through every nerve.
Elara reappeared in midair, flipping gracefully, her 2 stolen daggers coated in shimmering, energy. She slashed at Kieran's exposed back—
But her blades never connected.
Kieran twisted his wrist, sword flicking upward with no urgency, and Elara's own momentum was used against her. The daggers flew from her hands, spinning uselessly into the night.
Then, with almost surgical precision, Kieran landed a single, devastating strike to her ribs.
She hit the ground with a choked gasp.
Jude struggled to get up, but his arms felt heavy. His body was screaming at him, his vision swimming from the force of just one punch.
This wasn't a fight. This was a massacre.
Kieran hadn't even broken a sweat.
Kazimir groaned from where he had landed, rolling onto his side. His expression was different now—less amused, more calculating.
Then, in a moment of uncharacteristic seriousness, he looked at Jude and Elara and said:
"You two need to go."
Jude's eyes widened. "What?"
Kazimir got to his feet, shaking off the damage like it was an afterthought. He grinned, but it wasn't his usual cocky smirk. This was something sharper—something dangerous.
"I'll hold him off."
Elara, coughing, forced herself up. "Are you insane? You can't—"
Kazimir flicked his wrist, and cards materialized between his fingers, glowing faintly in the moonlight. His body was loose, relaxed—like he was standing at the edge of something exhilarating.
"Run. I'll catch up."
Jude clenched his fists. Everything in him rejected the idea. They had already lost. Staying meant dying.
But still… leaving Kazimir behind—
"Go." Kazimir's voice left no room for argument.
Jude gritted his teeth. Then, grabbing Elara's wrist, he turned and ran.
For the first time since breaking fate, they were truly, utterly running for their lives.
Kazimir, now standing alone, exhaled and cracked his neck. His eyes drifted back to Kieran, and for the first time, his smile stretched just a little too wide.
"Well," he said, rolling his shoulders, "now that they're gone—"
He flicked a card into the air, letting it spin lazily.
"—I can stop holding back."