The desert wind howled as Kael and the wanderer sat by the small fire they had built from dry brush. The flames flickered weakly, barely holding against the cold of night.
Kael sat with his knees pulled to his chest, staring at the broken piece of wood that had once been his training blade. He hadn't let it go since the fight. It was no longer glowing, just splintered and useless — yet it still reminded him of the power that had erupted from him.
The wanderer sat opposite, sharpening her sword with slow, steady strokes. Sparks leapt each time steel kissed stone. She hadn't said a word since they escaped the hunters.
Kael couldn't take the silence anymore.
"You knew."
The wanderer's hand paused. Her eyes lifted, unreadable in the firelight. "Knew what?"
"That I wasn't… normal." His voice cracked. "That something like this could happen."
Her jaw tightened, but she said nothing.
Kael's fists clenched around the broken blade. "You've been hiding it from me all this time, haven't you? The mark… my eyes… the way people look at me. You knew what I was."
The fire popped, as if punctuating his words.
Finally, she sheathed her sword and leaned forward, her gaze hard. "And if I did? Would it change anything? Would you stop being Kael?"
"I don't even know who Kael is!" he shouted, his voice raw. "Everywhere we go, people look at me like I'm a monster. Hunters try to kill me. Villagers throw stones at me. I'm not normal, and you know why! So tell me—what am I?"
The wanderer's eyes softened for the first time that night. She studied him, the boy she had carried through the wasteland, the boy who had grown stubborn and sharp like a blade against stone.
At last, she spoke.
"You are Kael. That is who you are. But… yes. You are also more."
Kael's heart hammered. "More?"
She reached across the fire, her fingers brushing the edge of his shirt near his collarbone. The sigil pulsed faintly beneath his skin, as if answering her touch.
"That mark was placed on you the night you were born," she said quietly. "It is not a curse. It is a seal."
"A seal?"
She nodded slowly. "There are powers in this world that kings and priests pretend to understand, but they fear more than they admit. You… were born tied to one of them. That is why they call you cursed. Not because you are evil, but because they fear what you could become."
Kael's chest tightened. He looked down at the mark, glowing faintly through the fabric. "So the stories are true. I really am…"
"Dangerous," she finished for him. "Yes. To some. But not because of what you are — because of what they will try to make of you."
Kael's voice broke. "Then why save me? Why keep me alive, if I'm the thing everyone fears?"
The wanderer's eyes flickered with something he had never seen in her before — regret. "Because when I found you, crying in the wasteland, you were not a curse. You were a child. And no child deserves to be judged by fear and prophecy."
Kael's throat ached, his emotions tangled between anger, grief, and gratitude. "Then tell me everything. No more secrets. I deserve to know."
The wanderer hesitated. Her gaze dropped to the fire, flames reflecting in her eyes. "Not yet. Some truths are heavier than you are ready to carry. But I promise you this, Kael — when the time comes, you will know."
Kael wanted to argue, wanted to demand every answer, but the weight in her voice silenced him. He turned his eyes to the sky, the stars sharp and cold above.
If the world truly feared him… then he would have to decide what to do with that fear.