Kaelen laughed, a ragged, hysterical sound. He was alive.
The Inquisitor’s eyes widened. “What are you doing?” sovereign bangle deepwoken
Kaelen had never wanted the Bangle. He’d seen what it did to the others—the way their eyes went flat, their wills subsumed into the cold, singing metal. But in the depths of the Eternal Gale, with a Thresher’s maw closing around his leg and the blood seeping into the black salt water, a dying man doesn’t choose his salvation. He grabs it. Kaelen laughed, a ragged, hysterical sound
The descent was rapid after that. He became a tyrant in a week. He used the Bangle to enthrall a crew of Deepwoken, turning their free will into a chorus of obedient drones. They sailed the Sea of Teeth, and wherever Kaelen went, smiles were painted on faces that had forgotten how to form them. He made a duke strangle his own court jester for a poorly timed joke. He made a mother sell her child for a shiny pebble. Each command felt like a splinter driving deeper into his soul. “What are you doing
The Bangle was rewriting him. It wasn't just controlling his actions; it was reshaping his desires. He began to enjoy the screams. He began to crave the flat, empty obedience in a victim’s eyes.
He laughed. It wasn’t his laugh. It was too cold, too sharp.