He looked back at Kael, his gaze sharp.
It wasn't the kind of look people gave when they wanted to intimidate. It was worse than that, clinical. Like Kael was a problem laid out on a table, and the Fist King was deciding whether he was worth the trouble to fix, or whether he was simply going to snap in half no matter what anyone did.
The air up here was thin enough that every breath felt like it had edges. Wind slid between the rocks in long, cold fingers, carrying dust and the faint mineral sting of broken stone.
"We call it 'demonic' – Ma- because the path to achieving that control is brutal. It will break you before it remakes you. It will push your body past limits you didn't even know existed. Most people would rather die than walk that path."
The wind tugged at his torn cape and didn't move him an inch. Kael listened, jaw tight, and tried not to cough because he could already feel that familiar scratch building behind his sternum.
A faint smirk touched his lips.
