Rain started falling before they reached shelter.
It wasn't the heavy, stormy kind—just a cold drizzle, like the sky couldn't decide whether to cry or spit. The dirt path turned to wet sludge under their boots, and every time Kael stumbled, the girl slowed just enough to glance back.
Not out of kindness.
She was watching him.
Studying him like a wild animal she'd accidentally dragged home.
They reached a small cottage hidden behind a ruined fence and a collapsed shed. Moss climbed up the wooden walls. The windows were shuttered. Smoke rose from a crooked chimney, curling into the trees.
Lira kicked the door open and motioned him inside.
"Sit. Don't touch anything."
Kael looked around as he entered. The inside smelled like damp wood and burnt herbs. A table made from uneven planks sat in the center of the room, half-covered in bandages and broken vials. A crude map of the region was nailed to one wall, marked in red ink and charcoal. The fireplace crackled weakly, barely warming the room.
He sat down on a stool by the fire. The heat stung his wet skin.
Lira slammed the door shut and locked three different bolts. Then she turned to him, dagger still in hand.
"Start talking."
Kael looked up at her. Her copper hair was tied in a messy braid that stuck to her face from the rain. Her eyes were bright—too sharp for someone her age.
"Name?" she demanded.
He blinked. "...Kael."
Her eyes narrowed. "Kael what?"
He paused.
Technically, he didn't even know the full name of the body he'd woken up in.
Just that it wasn't his.
"Kael's fine," he said finally.
She crossed her arms. "You used forbidden magic back there. That soldier decayed like he got hit by rot magic—and that's banned in every kingdom from here to the capital."
Kael didn't flinch. "If I hadn't used it, you'd be dead."
"And if someone saw you do it, we'd both be dead."
He didn't respond.
She sighed and dropped her bag on the table. "You're lucky I was desperate enough to drag a half-dead stranger into my hideout."
Kael watched her pull out herbs and supplies. Her hands moved fast—trained. Not noble, but not street trash either. She knew how to patch wounds like it was routine.
He glanced at his reflection in a shattered mirror on the wall.
Different face. Leaner. A long scar ran down his jaw. His eyes were still the same shade of steel gray, but everything else… unfamiliar.
The System had put him in someone else's skin.
Kael touched his chest. No heartbeat irregularity. No pain. He felt… alive. But the moment he focused inward, he felt the System pulsing—like a dark river beneath calm ice.
> Status Unstable.
> Soul-Bond Active.
> First Spell Used: DEATH CLASS - "Decay"
> Consequence: Corruption Level +1%
He blinked. Corruption?
Before he could explore more, Lira slammed a bowl of hot water on the table and tossed him a cloth.
"Clean yourself. You stink like grave dirt."
Kael raised an eyebrow. "Charming."
She didn't smile.
As he cleaned the blood and mud off his arms, he glanced at her again. "You're not just some runaway."
She froze. "Excuse me?"
"That map, the supplies, the way you handled yourself when the soldier attacked... You've done this before."
Her lips tightened. "And you're not just some peasant who woke up with death magic. What's your point?"
Kael smirked.
They sat in silence for a while.
The fire crackled. Rain tapped on the windows.
Finally, she broke the silence. "You're in the borderlands, just outside the Lioren Highlands. There's a civil war brewing in the east, and the Emperor just sent his personal knights across the region last week."
Kael's smirk faded. The Emperor.
His father.
The man who watched him die without blinking.
So the Empire was moving already. Which meant the execution had gone public. The betrayal was real. His name would be stricken from the royal records.
Good.
It made burning everything easier.
Lira sat down across from him. "Look. I don't care who you are. But if you're cursed, or infected, or being tracked by some cult—tell me now."
Kael leaned back in the chair.
"I'm not cursed."
She raised an eyebrow.
"I'm just… not supposed to be here."
That wasn't a lie.
She looked like she wanted to press further, but held back.
Kael decided to turn the tables. "And you? Who are you, really?"
"Lira." She said it too fast. "Just Lira."
He gave her a slow, unimpressed stare.
She rolled her eyes. "Fine. My full name's Lira Thorne. Daughter of Baron Edric Thorne. But that title doesn't mean much anymore since our land got annexed and my father got assassinated by the same empire you clearly pissed off."
Kael blinked.
Oh.
So she was hiding, too.
"You're a noble?" he asked.
"Was." She stood and grabbed a bottle from a shelf. "Now I'm just a ghost with a knife."
The bottle clinked as she poured a clear liquid into two cups. She handed one to him. "It's not wine. It's bitter root tea. Helps with pain."
Kael sipped. Instantly regretted it. It tasted like old bark soaked in regret.
She laughed—just once.
He liked that sound more than he wanted to admit.
They sat there in quiet understanding. Two ghosts in a storm, wrapped in secrets.
Then a knock shattered the silence.
Three sharp taps. Pause. Two more.
Lira's eyes widened.
"That's not good," she whispered.
Kael stood slowly, the cup still in his hand.
The knock came again. Louder. Then a voice.
"By order of the Inquisition, open the door."