The wasteland gave way to jagged hills and scattered ruins — remnants of a forgotten age swallowed by time. The wanderer, cloaked in dust, found shelter in the hollow of a crumbling tower.
There, with only the crackle of a small fire and the howl of the wind outside, she studied the child she had found.
He no longer cried. His small chest rose and fell steadily, though his breaths were shallow. His fragile face, softened by the glow of the fire, bore none of the malice people claimed cursed children carried. He looked like any other newborn, innocent and quiet, save for the strange sigil etched into his chest.
The mark of the broken star.
The wanderer leaned back against the cold stone wall. Her mind wrestled with unease. "Why did fate place you in my path?" she murmured. "Are you truly cursed… or chosen?"
The infant stirred at the sound of her voice, his tiny hand lifting weakly before falling back against the cloth. A faint coo slipped from his lips, so soft it barely reached her ears.
Something within her heart shifted. A warmth she had long forgotten.
She had wandered across kingdoms, carrying her sword but no home, her heart hardened by betrayal and loss. Yet this child, left to die under the stars, clung to life with a strength that defied reason. It reminded her of herself — cast aside, yet unwilling to bow to despair.
"You cannot remain nameless," she whispered. "Even a cursed child deserves a name."
She stared at the star-mark again, its glow faint but unyielding. The heavens had marked him, but perhaps she could give him something more — an identity, a hope beyond fate's cruel design.
At last, she spoke.
"Kael."
The name lingered in the hollow tower, soft but steady. "It means 'light in the ruins' in the old tongue. May you become a light that no curse can extinguish."
The child's eyes fluttered open, as though answering her words. His gaze, unfocused yet calm, locked briefly with hers before slipping shut again.
The wanderer allowed herself a rare smile. "Then it is decided. You are Kael."
---
Days passed. The wanderer hunted small beasts in the wasteland, gathering roots and herbs to survive. At night, she fed Kael with what little she could prepare, whispering stories of distant lands as though he could already understand.
But the wasteland was never truly silent. Strange shapes moved in the distance — beasts drawn by the child's faint glow, shadows prowling where no life should be. More than once, the wanderer tightened her grip on her sword, her sharp eyes never straying far from the infant who slept beside the fire.
One evening, as the crimson sun sank behind the broken hills, she heard it — the echo of hooves.
Her body stiffened. No beast of the wasteland carried hooves. That sound belonged to men.
She gathered Kael quickly, wrapping him in her cloak, and pressed herself against the ruined wall. Torchlight flickered on the horizon, accompanied by the clang of armor. Riders. Soldiers.
The wanderer's heart sank. She had traveled far enough to recognize the sigils etched on their banners: the crest of the very kingdom that had cast Kael away.
They were searching.
For him.
Her grip tightened on her sword as Kael shifted quietly in her arms. His mark pulsed faintly, as if answering the presence of those who sought him.
"They will not have you," she whispered fiercely. "Not while I still draw breath."
The firelight from her shelter flickered and died as she smothered it with dust. The tower sank into silence once more, leaving only the distant sound of soldiers scouring the wasteland.
Kael slept peacefully, unaware that his life — and the fate
of kingdoms — already balanced on the edge of a blade.