There was nothing.
Not rubble. Not ruin. Just a flat, pale gray plain where a village once stood.
Not even ash. Not even heat.
Just… absence.
Kael didn't move. He didn't speak. His eyes were dry, wide, blank.
The boy had never seen death. Not truly. He'd seen animals slaughtered, birds fall from trees, a soldier limp with wounds in the training yard. But this — this was erasure. A silence so complete, it pressed against the inside of his skull.
He stepped forward slowly, past the invisible line where the path ended and the world simply… stopped.
No trees. No birds. No sky overhead — just a grayness that dulled even the sun.
Joran followed behind, equally silent. His steps were heavier, as if the land no longer trusted him to walk upon it. He'd carried Kael down from the waterfall, expecting laughter at the end of the trail. Maybe a meal. Maybe a scolding from Lady Miriel.
Now there was nothing.
"Joran," Kael said at last, but his voice was barely a whisper. Not out of fear. Not out of sorrow.
Just disbelief.
He crouched where the village gate used to be — the gate he used to sneak out of at night. Where he carved his name on the post two years ago.
The wood was gone. The stone was gone. Only dust remained.
He picked up a handful. Let it pour through his fingers.
"This doesn't feel like fire," he murmured. "Or explosion. Or magic."
Joran didn't answer. He was crouched nearby, sifting through the ground with callused fingers.
He found a sliver of metal — the corner of a brooch. The one Kael's mother wore.
He didn't show the boy.
"I can't even tell where the houses were," Kael continued, almost to himself. "The forge. The school. The bakery…"
He turned.
"Where's the garden?"
Joran glanced up.
"My mother's herbs — the ones she made me water. She kept a ribbon tied to the rosemary bush so I wouldn't forget…"
His fingers curled into the soil. "Why is it all gone?"
Still no tears. Still no screams. Kael wasn't built for dramatic grief. He was too proud. Too stubborn.
But his breath caught.
Not because of emotion.
Because of emptiness.
---
They walked the length of the ruin for what felt like hours. Found no bodies. No signs of struggle. No claw marks or blood.
No smoke.
Just absence.
Kael eventually sat at the center of what might've been the main square — where children used to play with sticks and songs. He sat cross-legged, elbows on knees, staring at the horizon.
"What did we do?" he whispered.
Joran sat beside him.
"There were kids. There were chickens."
"There was soup on the fire," Joran said softly.
Kael said nothing more.
---
That night, they didn't sleep. Not truly. Kael sat at the riverbank, staring at the water while Joran prepared a small fire. It flickered weakly, like it didn't belong in this world anymore.
The wind was quiet. Not peaceful — just tired.
"I should've been there," Kael muttered.
"No," Joran replied.
"I could've stopped it."
"No," Joran repeated, firmer. "You would've vanished too."
Kael didn't answer.
But his jaw tightened.
---
Somewhere Far — Temple Grounds
The temple boy swept dust from the stone tiles. His broom moved with quiet rhythm, his bare feet silent on the floor.
The sky had shifted. The stars above looked different tonight — like an eye had blinked.
He paused.
The breeze carried something strange. Not a smell. Not a sound. Just a gap. Like a song missing a note.
He looked westward.
The abbot approached, robes trailing.
"You felt it," the old man said.
The temple boy nodded.
"Something was taken."
The abbot handed him a scroll — a map older than the boy himself. On it, hundreds of villages marked in ink.
One had faded.
"Elarin," the abbot said quietly. "It has no trace. Not even to the gods."
The temple boy looked down at the vanishing name.
And something inside him stirred.
Not sadness.
Not fear.
Recognition.
---
Back by the fire, Kael stared at the flames.
He hadn't eaten. Joran offered food, but the boy hadn't spoken since dusk.
Not once.
Until:
"She was there."
Joran looked over.
"She was waiting for me. Told me not to be late."
"I know."
"She wouldn't leave."
"I know."
Kael shifted.
"She's gone."
He didn't cry. Just said it like a truth he couldn't fight.
And it broke Joran's heart more than any scream.
---
In the trees beyond, something watched.
It had no eyes.
But it saw him.
Kael.
A subject.
A variable.
It blinked without blinking.
And moved on.
---
Elsewhere — Night Forest
Lady Miriel's caravan moved under the cloak of trees.
No torches. No noise. Just hoofbeats on soft moss and the creak of wood.
She sat in the center, her expression unreadable. Her cloak was pulled tightly around her. Her hands — so used to writing letters and arranging flowers — now held a blade across her knees.
She glanced briefly to her collar. The brooch was gone. And she hadn't noticed when.
The servants did not ask questions.
She looked back once.
Just once.
Toward where her home used to be
.
And said nothing.
---
Kael watched the stars that night.
He did not sleep.
But he did whisper:
"I saw you."
And far above, something paused.
A pause before the next move.
---
[End of Chapter 7]