Chapter 64: Brute Force And Trauma Bonds

Kane looked between the paths, heart hammering.

"This is bullshit," he said suddenly, his voice strengthening.

"Cyrus doesn’t need saving—and he sure as hell wouldn’t leave me behind."

The phantom’s expression flickered with uncertainty.

"The real Cyrus is a pain in my ass, but he’s honorable. He’d walk through fire before breaking a bond." Kane holstered his pistol and stepped closer to the phantom.

"And I know exactly what I am to him—not just an inconvenience."

Kane reached forward, his hand passing through the phantom’s chest—directly where the karmic seal would be.

"I choose neither path," he declared.

The phantom Cyrus dissolved, the false paths crumbling away to reveal a single corridor ahead.

Kane exhaled shakily, pressing his hand to his own chest where the karmic seal pulsed warmly.

"Where are you, you scaly bastard?" he whispered. "I bet your trial is way easier than mine."

The mist receded as Kane walked forward with renewed determination, the echoes of his fears fading with each step.

Across the labyrinth, Cyrus stood motionless as mist coalesced into Elias Thorne’s form, wearing that same smirk from years ago.

"Always alone," phantom Elias said, circling him. "Just as you were meant to be."

Behind Elias, shadows morphed into the faces of those who had once called Cyrus ally, friend, family—all turned away from him.

"The last of your kind," Elias continued. "Too dangerous to be loved, too powerful to be trusted."

Cyrus’s jaw tightened. The shadows shifted again, showing Kane’s face turning away in disgust, in fear.

"Even your little fox will leave. The bond is temporary, but your solitude is eternal."

Cyrus stared at Elias’s phantom, unmoved by its taunts.

With a dismissive wave of his hand, he walked through the illusion as if it were nothing but smoke, dissolving the false images around him.

The labyrinth twisted, walls melting away.

Suddenly, Cyrus stood in a familiar ancient forest—tall pines stretching toward an endless sky, the scent of earth and magic heavy in the air.

He recognized this place immediately: his territory from centuries ago.

The memory solidified with perfect clarity.

It was late autumn, leaves turning crimson and gold.

He’d been patrolling the boundary of his lands when he sensed the intrusion—something small, terrified, and desperately trying to hide its presence.

A silver white fox had stumbled into his domain. Its amber eyes had widened at the sight of him, trembling but standing its ground with surprising defiance.

Instead of driving the creature away as any dragon should, Cyrus had merely watched it, curious about its audacity.

Hunters emerged from the trees, their faces hidden behind shadowed hoods.

The small fox’s eyes widened with terror as they closed in, cruel metal traps gleaming in their hands.

Cyrus stepped forward, crimson flames erupting from his outstretched palm.

The fire surged between the hunters and the fox, forming a protective barrier. The hunters scattered, their cries of alarm fading as they fled into the darkness.

Cyrus approached the trembling fox. He knelt, scooping the small creature into his massive hands.

"It’s alright now—"

Suddenly, sharp teeth sank into his thumb. Cyrus hissed but didn’t drop him.

The fox twisted free, tumbling to the ground and darting away on unsteady paws.

He made it only a few steps before his legs buckled, small body collapsing onto the forest floor.

Cyrus sighed, approaching the unconscious fox. He gathered the silver-white bundle carefully in his arms, cradling it against his chest.

His expression softened as he ran a finger gently along the fox’s fur.

"Always getting yourself into trouble," he murmured. "Some things never change."

The memory shifted, flowing like water into a new scene—Cyrus carrying the injured fox back to his cave nestled high in the mountains.

The cavern walls glittered with embedded gemstones, a dragon’s hoard scattered across natural stone shelves.

Cyrus laid the fox upon a bed of silks, watching its shallow breathing with concern.

For days, he coaxed water between its parched lips, brought fresh meat torn into tiny pieces. The fox refused food, growing weaker.

"Stubborn creature," Cyrus muttered, slicing his palm with a talon.

He let several drops of his dragon blood fall into a small bowl of water, the liquid turning iridescent crimson.

With careful hands, he lifted the fox’s head, tipping the mixture into its mouth.

The memory blurred, centuries compressing into moments, and suddenly Cyrus was in his penthouse, Kane’s broken body cradled against his chest.

Blood soaked through his expensive suit as he laid the fox spirit on his couch.

His hands moved with the same ancient knowledge, drawing sigils of healing across Kane’s shattered ribs and torn flesh.

Cyrus’s fingertips glowed with crimson energy as he pressed them to Kane’s wounds, whispering words in a language long forgotten.

Kane’s breathing steadied, color returning to his ashen face—those same amber eyes, across lifetimes.

The memory dissolved, leaving Cyrus standing alone in the labyrinth. He pressed a hand to his chest where the seal pulsed with increasing warmth. Kane was close.

"Interesting choice of memories," Cyrus murmured to the empty air.

The labyrinth had shown him something he’d nearly forgotten—a brief encounter from centuries ago.

The wall ahead shimmered and dissolved, revealing Kane standing on the other side, looking equally surprised. Their eyes met across the threshold.

"There you are," Kane said, relief flooding his features.

"I’ve been wandering through this maze of psychological torture for what feels like hours."

Cyrus moved toward Kane, a flicker of relief crossing his usually stoic features. "The labyrinth seems determined to—"

A dark shape lunged from the shadows behind Kane.

Before Cyrus could shout a warning, the creature seized Kane by the throat, razor claws digging into his flesh. Kane’s eyes widened in shock as he was violently yanked backward.

"Kane!" Cyrus roared, lunging forward.

The shadows solidified into a massive beast with obsidian scales and empty eye sockets.

It tightened its grip on Kane, who struggled desperately, clawing at the monster’s arms.

Cyrus’s eyes blazed crimson. Transforming partially, he summoned his draconic strength and charged the creature.

His fist connected with the beast’s jaw—only to pass through it like smoke. The momentum carried him forward, off-balance.

The creature’s tail whipped around, catching Cyrus mid-stride and slamming him against the stone wall. The impact cracked the ancient masonry.

Cyrus staggered to his feet, blood trickling from his temple. His brute force approach had backfired spectacularly.

The creature dragged Kane into the shadows, his struggling growing weaker with each step.