When they arrived in Valemire, the sky had already begun to dim… streaked with rust-colored clouds and the slow descent of violet dusk. The village itself was small and modest… a place of soot-stained hearths and quiet fences leaning from years of wind ... but even such humble earth can host great stories.
Kael walked quietly beside the others, his eyes scanning rooftops, the soft glimmer of lanterns swaying like fireflies on old wood. They followed Liam, their Ashborn-ranked guide, who moved with the weary precision of a man who'd seen enough to stop talking about it.
At the end of the road the inn awaited them… old, weathered, and breathing. A crooked sign hung above the door, creaking with every breath of wind. Before they even stepped inside, Kael could smell it: sweat and steel, meat on the fire, the bitter tail of liquor in the throat of laughter.
He didn't need to be told who waited within. He knew.
Warriors.
Men and women who had danced too long with death to remember how to waltz with peace.
The inn's door was half-open, and through it spilled the muffled chaos of another world: tankards clinking, chairs scraping, a low hum of arguments and tales exaggerated with every retelling. The moment they entered, the warmth slapped against their travel-tired skin like a bear's hug from a firepit.
No one noticed them at first… until an old man approached. Bent like a question mark, skin the color of tired parchment.
"Travelers," he rasped, his smile soft. "Welcome. I'm Regard… keeper of this hall. You're new to our dust."
His greeting was cut short.
"They are with me."
That voice didn't rise. It didn't need to. It settled over the room like judgment.
Instant silence.
Every mug halted. Every laugh froze mid-throat. The walls listened. Even the hearthfire crackled a little quieter.
Kael didn't turn. He didn't need to.
The voice had weight. Familiar, and ancient. A gravity that needed no name.
Regard smiled wider now, bowing his head deeper. "Ahh… Captain Segeford. Your rooms are ready, as always. Upstairs."
And just like that, the silence shattered back into noise. But something had shifted. Kael could feel it clinging to his skin. The tension didn't fade… it merely slipped underground like a buried faultline.
They climbed the stairs in a line of weariness. Edward leaned in, his voice barely a whisper.
"Did you see that?" he asked, half-joking, half-shaken. "He just spoke. One sentence. And they stopped breathing."
Kael nodded. "He's like… a lion. No. Bigger. A lion wearing iron."
Edward laughed nervously. "But why does my neck itch when he's near? Why does my stomach twist every time he utter even a single word?"
Kael didn't answer.
Because he didn't know.
But he felt it too. The depth in Segeford's voice, as if it was weighted with something heavier than mass.
Then came Silvy's voice from behind, soft and sharp like wind through reeds.
"The Ladder of Burdens."
She leaned against the stair rail, her eyes distant, voice pulled from memory. "That's what Professor Coren calls it."
Kael raised an eyebrow. "What's that? Another saying from the Academy?"
She nodded. "A philosophy, more like. He says strength doesn't just come from birth or lineage… it comes from what you carry. Pain. Regret. Grief. It adds weight to your soul. Each burden is a rung. The more you carry… the higher you climb."
after a little pause she continued," But that isn't all… more the soul is wounded more the world despise that soul, so it's either the you who crumble or the world itself... Well, that's what Professor told me once."
Edward blinked. "So… the strongest are just the most wounded?"
"More or less," she said. "But there's a catch. If you fall… it breaks you.. buts that's if you fall."
The idea sank deep into Kael's bones. Something about it rang true. Something old… like it had always been there, waiting for someone to put words to it.
"Cursed," Edward muttered. "That's what Segeford is, then. A man cursed by the world… scary."
But fate has a cruel sense of timing.
"You think I'm cursed?"
The voice came again. Closer now.
They turned.
Segeford stood in the hallway behind them, tall as wrath and twice as silent. He didn't glare. He didn't scowl.
He simply… looked.
And that was enough.
Kael felt like a child in a storm. Small. Seen.
Segeford stepped forward, his shadow too wide for the corridor. The walls creaked as if trying to shift out of his path.
"You speak of burdens like poetry," he said. "But you wear no scars. Not yet."
He placed a thick hand against the wood.
"This world isn't built on curses or blessings. There are things beyond such simple names. Some wounds don't bleed. Some truths don't speak. I am… just trying to understand them too. Sometimes there is always more depth than you think there is… although, do not falter i am not mad you or something like that… haha"
They couldn't move. Not Edward. Not Silvy. Not Kael.
"The Ladder isn't a tale. It's real. Every promise broken. Every friend buried. Every night spent alone in lands that scream… adds weight. Some crumble. Others rise. Me?", Segeford spoke looking outside the window on the wall.
He looked at Kael.
"I'm not sure if I climbed it. Or I am just arrogant..."
No one spoke.
Not even the shadows.
Taren found his voice, brittle as glass. "Then what are you?"
Segeford's lips curled… not quite a smile. Not quite a snarl.
"I do not know," he said. "Why don't you draw your blade. Make a few graves, live your life free asking yourself, 'What am I?' and One day, you might end up knowing.", Segeford nodded to them as if he was pushing a bird so that it can learn how to fly.
"Now, rest well kids… i will be going"
Then he vanished down the hall, boots silent. Like a ghost no wall dared deny.
Kael stared after him long after he was gone.
Something had shifted. Deep. Invisible.
That, he thought, was the moment everything changed.
Not with a battle. Not with a prophecy.
But with a man….
Then,
They were summoned just before dawn.
A knock. Firm. Measured.
Taren answered, and within minutes, they were at the table downstairs, seated with the others. The scent of roasted meat and fresh bread hit Kael like a feast of gods. After days of salted rations and bone-dry biscuits, this was divine.
He didn't wait. None of them did. They ate like they hadn't in years.
Then the drinks came… thick brown mead, sweet with local herbs… some took it gladly. Others, like Kael and Silvy, left their cups untouched.
At the end of the dining, Segeford stood up.
He spoke only once.
"From now on… if you wish to return alive, obey my command. No exceptions. Not in the field. Not in the Hollow."
No one questioned him.
What question could they ask?
"But do not worry, I have lived twenty years of my life wandering, killing beasts and completing missions… there are no beasts who can put this team in trouble… we will return back alive"
With those words, Segeford waved his hands and everybody left their seats moving directly to their assigned rooms.
Later that night, Kael lay in the dark. Edward snored beside him. The floor creaked with the memory of footsteps now gone.
Kael didn't sleep.
He stared at the ceiling.
Not thinking of food. Not of the warmth in his belly.
But of him.
The man who didn't blink. Who didn't bow. Who commanded silence with breath.
What was that weight?
What walked beside him?
And what is it that Segeford carries?