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In the deepest part of the world, where even gods forgot to look, a hidden chamber pulsed with soft blue light.
Here, Kael sat cross-legged on a floating obsidian disk, surrounded by hundreds of glowing threads—each one connected to a soul, a life, a fate.
Two threads pulsed the brightest:
Serian Elhart, the Hero bathed in gold.
Malveth Varnok, the Demon Lord shrouded in ash.
And Kael?
He was the puppeteer.
---
Above his head, floating screens flickered—scenes from both clones' lives playing simultaneously.
On the left:
Serian smiling gently as Princess Eliane held his hand in a palace corridor, unaware she was touching a clone.
On the right:
Malveth standing above a pile of slavers' corpses, his cloak soaked in blood, as Ishvara whispered devotions to him like prayers.
Kael's expression was unreadable.
Until he laughed.
Quietly. Slowly. Coldly.
---
> "Balance," he murmured to no one. "That's all it takes."
> "A little hope here…"
"A little fear there…"
He leaned back, watching the threads ripple.
"They will fight for the same world," he whispered, "and never know they were both born from the same soul."
---
Behind him, a stone wall cracked open with a hiss.
Out stepped a child—barefoot, eyes vacant, holding a tablet etched with red glyphs.
Kael glanced down. The glyphs were divine—celestial warnings.
> The Gods are watching again.
He smiled, unbothered.
> "Let them watch. This time… I'm ready."
---
Kael stood, his robes rustling like midnight wind. The chamber brightened slightly, revealing dozens of cocoon-like tanks hidden in the dark.
And inside each one… were unfinished clones.
> "One for the saints."
"One for the sinners."
"And one… for the end."
He walked past them, hand trailing the glass of one pod glowing faint purple.
"You'll wake soon," he whispered to it, "when the world begins to burn."
---
Behind him, the threads trembled.
The Hero gained a crown.
The Demon gained an army.
And Kael?
He gained time.
---