The fire crackled softly, its glow dancing across the stone hearth and casting long shadows that flickered up the walls. Outside, the wind whispered through bare branches, and frost clung to the windowpanes like veins of glass.
Kael sat near the warmth, wrapped in a coarse blanket, though the cold outside had little to do with the chill beneath his skin. The remnants of the shadow still pulsed within him, quiet but steady, like a second heartbeat buried deep in his chest. Every breath felt tight, every thought edged with weight.
Across from him, Edran stood by the table, one hand resting on a weathered leather journal. Lira lingered near the far wall, arms crossed, gaze fixed on Kael. The silence in the room wasn't strained, it was expectant. Waiting.
"You've awakened something rare," Edran said, voice low. "But not unknowable."
Kael didn't respond.
Edran continued. "There's a reason it responded to you. A reason it didn't kill you."
He turned the page of the journal, revealing a rough sketch, half-erased runes surrounding what looked like a dark spiral, broken at the edges.
"In the old eras—before the Empire was even a whisper, this god, Aelthar, left behind pieces of himself. Not relics. Not weapons. Fragments."
Kael looked up.
Edran nodded. "Memories. Anchors. Echoes of what he was. Hidden across the continent, buried in old ruins, sealed behind trials no ordinary man can pass."
"And you want me to go looking for them," Kael said flatly.
"No," Edran said. "I want you to survive."
A silence settled.
Kael stared into the flames. He saw his family's courtyard again. The massacre. The firelight dancing on steel. His father's sword breaking. His mother screaming.
"I didn't survive for this," he said. "I didn't claw my way out of that night just to chase ghosts and whispers."
He stood, fists clenched.
"I have one purpose. Just one. The Empire. Their traitors. Their dogs in noble armor. I'm going to burn them for what they did to my family."
Lira tensed at the sharpness in his voice, but said nothing.
Edran didn't flinch.
"You can't," he said plainly.
Kael turned toward him, eyes blazing. "You think I won't?"
"I think," Edran said slowly, "that if you go now, angry, blind, and full of pain, you'll die before you reach their gates. And worse, you'll die without even understanding what you've become."
Kael's jaw tightened.
Edran pointed to the faded sketch. "You made a pact with something no one living understands. That shadow knight wasn't a trick of power. It was the first sign of who you're becoming."
He stepped forward, voice firm now. "You want revenge? Then you'll need more than rage. You'll need clarity. Control. Power."
Kael looked away.
"What you carry isn't mortal," Edran said. "It's old. Older than any king. Older than the Empire. You want to stand against them? Then know what you are."
Lira finally spoke, her voice calm.
"He's right, young master. The fragments are your best chance. Even if you only want to strike back… you'll need what they hold."
Kael didn't answer for a long time.
The fire popped. Shadows danced.
When he finally spoke, his voice was low.
"…Where do I start"