The wall wasn't supposed to be interesting.
It was background — stone and rune, weatherworn and mildly humming, like half the bones in Kevarith. Kids didn't play near it. Adults didn't talk about it. Vendors kept their carts well away. Even the beggars gave it a respectful three-meter berth, like it had bad breath or old curses.
But Kael stood there. Again.
Second time that week.
---
Riven leaned on his cane, back aching, jaw tight. He was three benches away under a shade awning, sipping burnt tea and pretending he wasn't watching.
The child hadn't moved in twenty minutes.
Didn't fidget. Didn't lean.
Just stared.
At the wall.
Like it was speaking to them.
---
"Shouldn't be that still," Riven muttered. "No kid stands that still unless they're sick. Or planning something."
He took another sip.
Kael shifted slightly. Not away from the wall — closer. A hand brushed the lowest layer of runestone near the base.
Not prying.
Just… feeling.
---
Riven stood. Slowly. His knees hated him for it.
He walked like old furniture — stiff at first, then slightly smoother once the rhythm kicked in. A couple passing workers nodded in greeting. One offered him a piece of fried root. He waved it off.
When he reached Kael, the child didn't turn.
Didn't speak.
Didn't even flinch.
Riven stopped a few steps back.
"Not much of a toy, that wall," he said.
Kael blinked. "It's not a toy."
"No. It's not."
They were quiet for a moment.
Then Kael added, "It's humming."
Riven frowned. "You can hear that?"
Kael tilted their head. "No. I can feel it. Under the skin."
---
Riven scratched his beard. "You from the mages' side?"
Kael shook their head. "Just here."
"Hm."
The silence returned. Comfortable for Kael. Uneasy for Riven.
"Y'know," Riven said finally, "back in the old years, guards were taught never to touch the runes. Even if the stones started glowing. Especially if they started glowing."
"Why?"
"Because sometimes the wall talks back."
Kael turned slightly. "What did it say to you?"
Riven stared.
"Nothing," he said gruffly. "And I liked it that way."
---
For three days after that, Kael didn't return.
Riven almost didn't notice—until he realized how boring his afternoon patrol had become without them.
It wasn't like the child had done anything entertaining. No skipping stones. No tagging walls or daring runes to spark. Just… watched. Silent, attentive. Like the city was a mystery and the wall was its lock.
By the fourth day, Riven gave in and checked the southern ward corner early. Just in case.
Kael was back. Sitting now. Cross-legged. Palms flat on the cobble. Eyes closed.
Riven narrowed his eyes. "Meditating? Already?"
---
The breeze was light, but not warm. Mana drifted subtly around the ward, like a stream too thin to matter — just city-ambient leakage from workshops and charging stations. Riven could feel it if he concentrated, but it was barely more than a trickle.
Still, something twitched in the air.
A pinprick.
An echo.
Kael's head tilted. They stood in a slow, fluid motion. One foot turned to the wall. One stayed pointed toward the street.
They weren't moving toward anything. They were bracing.
Then a thump.
Soft. Subsonic.
The wall didn't move, but the rune at the bottom flickered. Only once. Not a glow — more like a breath being drawn in.
Kael's hands clenched.
Riven stepped forward. "Kid—back away from that thing."
Kael didn't.
"Now."
"I didn't do it," Kael said. "It was already awake."
---
That got Riven's full attention.
"'Already awake'?"
Kael finally turned to look at him. Their expression was unreadable, and Riven had seen enough faces to know when that wasn't an accident.
"You said it used to talk to people," Kael said softly. "What if it still remembers how?"
Riven scratched his chin. "That wall's had three thousand years of faces staring at it. If it remembered every one, it'd be screaming by now."
"Maybe it is."
---
The air buzzed faintly around them, then died again. The disturbance had passed — if it had ever really been there.
Riven exhaled sharply and walked forward, putting himself between Kael and the wall.
"Listen, I don't care what little theory you're turning over in that head of yours, but this wall is older than every name you've ever heard and meaner than all of them combined. Don't treat it like a pet."
Kael nodded once. "Okay."
Too calm. Too accepting. That bothered him more than defiance would have.
"You promise?" he asked.
Kael's answer was quiet. "If it talks again, I'll listen. But I won't touch it."
---
Riven almost cursed. Almost told them off. But something in their voice made him pause.
Not innocence. Not arrogance.
Certainty.
Like Kael already knew it would happen again.
---
Riven didn't make a habit of gossip.
He'd spent too many years hearing drunk guards spout filth about nobles, and too many mornings cleaning up after rumors that ended in someone's blood. But Kael had stirred something in him — not suspicion, not fear. Something older. Harder.
A kind of alarm that didn't make noise but still made sleep feel pointless.
So he asked questions. Carefully.
Nothing dramatic. Just casual phrasing dropped into small talk. Just enough to trace a thread.
---
"Know the kid that lingers near the southern wall?" he asked Old Breel, the fruit vendor who sharpened knives on slow days.
"Which one?" Breel asked, eyes narrowed. "Oh, that one. Strange eyes? Never the same twice?"
"Something like that."
"Quiet one. Parents live two streets up the slope. Noc'thera, poor devils. Still free, though. Tarren and Mira, I think. Kept their heads down for years. Good sorts."
"You ever talk to the kid?"
Breel chuckled. "Tried once. Like talking to smoke. Didn't say much, but made me feel like I was the one being interviewed."
Riven grunted. "Sounds about right."
---
Later that day, near dusk, Riven lingered by the lower market bend where old rain barrels sometimes became makeshift stools. That's where he heard them — Kael's parents. The voices were low, but the breeze helped.
"…people keep staring," Mira murmured.
Tarren's voice followed, deep and calm. "They always will."
"Because of us. Because of what we are."
"No," he said. "Because they don't understand what they're seeing."
Mira sighed. "Sometimes I don't, either."
There was a long pause.
Then, quietly: "Do you think it's the curse?"
Another pause.
"…Maybe. But if it is, it's not hurting anyone. And Kael's still Kael. That's all that matters."
Mira sounded more tired than convinced. "I just want them to be safe."
"They will be."
---
Riven stepped away before he heard more. He didn't like eavesdropping, and he'd already heard what he needed.
The kid was different.
And their parents knew it.
But they weren't scared.
They were ready.
---
That night, Riven sat with a half-finished mug and stared at the old ledger he kept of his guard years. Not for nostalgia — for names. Faces. Incidents that didn't add up.
He didn't find Kael's name in the book, of course.
But he found two others from years ago — both marked unresolved anomalies near wall anchor points.
Same part of the city.
Different generations.
Same humming.
---
The next morning, Kael was back at the wall.
They didn't look at Riven. But when he approached, they said without turning, "You talked to people."
Riven folded his arms. "That bother you?"
Kael shrugged. "No. You were careful."
"You watched me do it?"
"No. I guessed. It's what I'd do."
Riven didn't like being predictable. But he respected the answer.
"You still think the wall remembers?"
Kael looked up at him finally.
"I think everything does. Some things just need the right person to remind them how."
---
It happened at dawn.
Before the market tents went up, before the air warmed, before the city remembered to start being loud again.
Kael was already there. Riven wasn't surprised anymore. The kid came and went like weather — sometimes early, sometimes late, but always when it mattered.
He hadn't meant to check the wall that morning. He'd told himself he was just walking to ease the stiffness in his back. But his feet brought him there anyway, the way a river remembers an old path.
Kael stood still.
Eyes shut.
Face tilted slightly toward the wall.
And then—
A shudder.
Not in the earth. Not in the wall.
In the mana.
---
Riven felt it like a wrong note in a perfect song — too sharp, too sudden, and gone too fast to grab.
The rune nearest Kael gave a single pulse. Dim blue. Not reactive — reflective. Like it had caught light from something distant.
Kael didn't flinch. Just whispered, "Someone screamed."
Riven's blood chilled. "What?"
Kael turned slowly, eyes clear and unblinking. "Not here. Far. But the wall caught it. Magic was torn."
"You sure you didn't imagine it?"
Kael looked down, thoughtful. "If I did… so did the wall."
---
There were protocols for this.
When a mana flare touched a rune grid — especially old stones like these — city wardens were supposed to be alerted. It meant a large spell had gone wrong. Or a ward had collapsed. Or worse — forbidden magic had been used.
But Riven didn't move.
He'd been a warden once. He knew how that machine worked. What it did with outliers. With anomalies. With unlicensed users — or unexplainable ones.
If Kael was right… and the wall had caught a scream from miles away…
What would the system do if it knew?
More importantly — what would it do to Kael?
---
"Don't tell anyone else," Riven said gruffly.
Kael nodded once.
"You'll forget what I said?" they asked.
"No. But I won't repeat it."
Kael seemed satisfied with that.
Riven sat on the stone ledge nearby, half-facing the wall, half-facing the kid.
"You ever think maybe you weren't meant for this place?"
Kael smiled. Not happy — knowing. "Sometimes I think I was meant to fix it."