The sun dipped low behind the mountains, painting the sky in strokes of orange and red. The village square bustled with the last rush of evening trade—merchants closing their stalls, mothers gathering their children, the air filled with chatter and the smell of roasted chestnuts.
Kael walked along the edge of the crowd, a wicker basket of firewood balanced on his shoulder. He kept his hood drawn low, though he could already feel their eyes on him. Whispers followed him like a shadow.
"Isn't that the cursed boy?"
"Look at his face… it's unnatural."
"Keep the children away."
He pretended not to hear. His scarred cheek—half darkened, twisted by old flame—had been his companion longer than any friend. He didn't blame them for being afraid. He only wished fear didn't always look so much like hate.
A sudden cry broke through the noise.
"Ah! Oh dear…"
At a nearby stall, an elderly baker struggled to lift a heavy sack of flour. Her thin arms trembled, knees buckling under the weight. Dozens of villagers saw her, but no one moved to help.
Kael stepped forward.
"Let me carry that for you."
The woman turned, her eyes falling on the scar beneath his hood. She flinched, but before fear could take hold, Kael gently took the sack from her arms. He lifted it with ease.
"…Th-thank you," she whispered, her voice uncertain.
Kael smiled softly. "Don't mention it. Where do you want it?"
She hesitated, then pointed toward her wagon. He carried it across the square, setting it down with care. When he turned back, she was staring—not at his scars, but at the quiet strength in his hands.
For just a moment, he wasn't a monster.
---
That night, Kael returned to his small cottage on the edge of the forest. Alone, he stacked the firewood by the hearth and stared at his reflection in a cracked mirror.
Half of his face pale and smooth. The other half jagged and dark, skin melted into ridges like hardened wax.
He reached up, tracing the scar with his fingertips.
They'll never see past this, he thought. But that's fine. If I can't be loved for how I look, then I'll be remembered for what I do. I'll be the scarred boy who smiled anyway.
A cold wind rattled the shutters. From the village below, faint shouts echoed into the night. Kael froze. Shouts… and then, the unmistakable glow of fire.
Flames licked the sky. Screams pierced the darkness.
Kael's heart pounded as the memories came rushing back—the fire from years ago, the night that had taken his family and left him scarred. His breath caught in his throat.
He could run. He could hide.
But then he clenched his fists.
No. Not this time.
Throwing on his cloak, Kael sprinted toward the village, the glow of fire painting his scarred face.
And so began the night when the cursed boy would carry the light.