Timeless Assassin

(2400 Years Ago, Planet Ixtal, Kaelith's POV)

Kaelith rushed through the Lost Forest with the speed of a storm, his footsteps gliding across the moss-laden earth as leaves and dust whirled in his wake, while the faint glow of bioluminescent vines painted fleeting trails of light behind him.

The scent of rain still lingered in the air, heavy and metallic, yet he paid it no mind, for his father's summons had been absolute. When the Timeless Assassin called, one did not linger.

As of yesterday, he had achieved what none before him had. The 108th successful conquest in the name of the Cult, a number that finally surpassed his father's long-standing record of 107.

The feat had been proclaimed across the conquered systems as the dawn of a new era, as elders and soldiers alike whispered that Kaelith, the Conqueror Prince, would soon ascend as the next Sect Master of the Cult of Ascension.

However, the tone of the message that summoned him home carried none of that joy. It carried gravity, and beneath it, an unease he could not name.

Soon, the stone castle of Ixtal came into view as he crossed the final ridge, its dull spires rising from the mist like a fantasy castle.

Kaelith entered without pause, his cloak trailing through the windless hallways as he strode toward the inner chamber. The familiar hum of divine mana echoed all around, deep and resonant, as if the castle itself breathed in tune with the will of its master.

When he reached the grand hall, he dropped to one knee without hesitation. "Father, you called for me."

The Timeless Assassin stood by the great window that overlooked the Lost Forest, his robes still dark as the void, his hair streaked faintly with silver, his presence vast enough to quiet the air itself.

Yet when he turned, there was no victory in his expression. His gaze was calm, but something within it trembled between pride and guilt.

"Yes, my son," he said slowly. "There is something I wish to speak to you about."

Kaelith straightened, confusion flickering across his otherwise composed face.

The Timeless Assassin's tone dropped lower, carrying the weight of silent accusation. "During your last conquest," he said, "did you kill the five-year-old mortal son of Helmuth the Berserker? I have heard whispers that you personally crushed his skull with your palms."

Kaelith's jaw tightened for a brief second, but his eyes remained unwavering as he raised his head. "Yes, Father. I did. The boy drew a blade on me. His age, his weakness, his tears—none of it mattered. What mattered was his intent. He bore hatred toward the Cult, and hatred breeds danger. I eliminated a threat before it could grow. My actions were logical and clean. Just as you taught me."

Silence followed, sharp and suffocating, as the faint crackle of the torches filled the void between them.

The Timeless Assassin's eyes dimmed with a sadness he did not voice, as he reached out with his senses, scanning his son's aura, searching for even a flicker of doubt or regret. Only to find none, as there was nothing around him but calm resolve.

*Sigh*

He sighed deeply, as though the sound itself carried the exhaustion of centuries. For in that moment, he saw not his son, but his reflection, a mirror of his own ruthless youth, carved too precisely in his own image.

"You look disappointed, Father," Kaelith said, his tone low yet sharp. "Why?"

The Timeless Assassin turned away, unable to meet his son's gaze. "Because you remind me too much of what I used to be," he answered softly. "You are everything I once was… disciplined, cold, absolute. You are the son I molded from my own shadow. But perhaps, I have made a mistake. Perhaps I should have strived to make you better than me. More merciful. More human. A ruler that the people could love, not just obey."

Kaelith felt something twist in his chest, a pain that was not quite anger but close to it. "You did your best, Father," he said, his voice trembling only slightly. "If I am your reflection, then I count that as my highest honor. Even if I only ever become half as great as you, that would be enough."

The Timeless Assassin turned back toward him, and for the briefest moment, a single transparent tear escaped his left eye, tracing a faint line down his cheek before vanishing into light.

"I am sorry, my child," he said. "For what I made of you. For what I took from you. I was wrong to think that absolute power was the only path to true strength. But there is still time for you to grow beyond me. You can still be better than I was."

His words carried a faint tremor, but when he straightened, his divine poise returned, the air around him stilling once more.

"In the upcoming Sect Master Ceremony," he continued, "I will appoint Soron as the next Sect Master."

The words hit Kaelith like the swing of a blade through armor.

For a heartbeat, he thought he had misheard. "What did you say?"

The Timeless Assassin's expression did not waver. "Let Soron bear the burden of leadership for once. Let him contribute to this family in a meaningful way.

He is kind. He is gentle. Perhaps, he can be a better leader for this Cult, than either of us…..

And more importantly, with him taking over the Cult, you can finally be free from the responsibilities I pressed down on you since birth.

You can finally be free from my cruelty.

Free from my scrutiny.

Free from my obsession for perfection.

And then, perhaps, you can still grow to be better than me…."

Kaelith blinked slowly, as the meaning of those words sank into him like poison. His breath grew shallow, his pulse thrummed in his temples, as golden threads of fate shimmered faintly around him, weaving a destiny he could no longer control.

"Father…" he began, his tone dangerously calm, "you built this empire through conquest. You built me for conquest. You made me your blade, your heir, your chosen successor. And now, you hand it to him?"

The Timeless Assassin remained silent, his silence speaking louder than any argument.

Kaelith's hands curled into fists, his nails digging into his palms until blood dripped onto the floor. His composure fractured, the faintest tremor running through his shoulders as his voice lowered into something bitter and trembling.

"All my life, I did what you asked. I killed when you ordered it. I conquered the worlds you pointed at. I buried my mercy because you told me it was weakness. And now… now you tell me I was wrong for listening?"

The Timeless Assassin closed his eyes. "Perhaps you were."

The words crushed him more than any blade could.

The torches flickered, their crimson flames turning pale, while the air grew tense with the scent of iron. Outside, thunder rolled across Ixtal's horizon as Kaelith stood motionless, his entire world collapsing in silence.

That was the day his purpose died.

And in its ashes, something far darker was born.

The sky above the fortress dimmed as if the heavens themselves understood what had just been set in motion.

For that was the day Kaelith, the eldest son of the Timeless Assassin, began to dream not of conquest—but of betrayal.