The wasteland was unnervingly silent that morning. Kael stood atop a jagged cliff, the broken wooden sword in hand, his eyes scanning the horizon. The wanderer crouched beside him, her gaze sharp, every sense attuned to the slightest movement in the distance.
"They're close," she said quietly, her voice a whisper carried on the wind.
Kael's heart hammered. He had trained, learned restraint, controlled the pulses of power surging beneath his skin — but this was real. These were not hunters, not villagers. These were the Shadow Legion scouts, trained killers sent to track him down.
"They don't know what they're about to face," Kael muttered, the faint pulse of silver light beneath his shirt responding to his rising fear and anger.
The first scout appeared on the ridge below, cloaked in black, moving like a shadow against the dusty terrain. Then another, and another. Within minutes, a small contingent surrounded the base of the cliffs.
Kael swallowed hard. "What now?"
The wanderer's hand tightened on her sword. "Now… we fight. But carefully. You stay behind me. Remember your control."
The scouts advanced, their movements precise, silent, and deadly. Kael's stomach twisted, but he felt the familiar rhythm of his power beneath his skin, ready to answer him, not control him.
A sudden rustle caught Kael's attention. He swung the wooden sword experimentally, channeling a small pulse of light. A scout froze mid-step, his blade halting inches from Kael's chest. The light recoiled, harmless yet commanding.
The wanderer glanced at him, eyes wide. "Good. Keep it steady. Don't let it overwhelm you."
The scouts pressed closer, forming a semicircle. Kael felt the first twinge of panic, but he remembered her lessons: breathe, focus, feel the mark — do not fight it.
He exhaled slowly, letting the silver light settle, bending to his will. When the lead scout lunged, Kael's pulse flared, a controlled burst of energy spiraling outward. The scout stumbled backward, the ground beneath him cracking slightly.
The others hesitated. Kael saw the flicker of doubt in their eyes. The legends, the whispers — they had underestimated him.
The wanderer moved like a shadow beside him, cutting down one scout after another, her movements precise and deadly. Sparks flew as blades met, steel clashing with steel, yet Kael could see the openings, the patterns in the enemy's attack.
His pulse flared again, stronger this time, as he extended his hands, sending a wave of energy outward. The force knocked two scouts to the ground, their armor dented, eyes wide with disbelief.
"Kael!" the wanderer shouted. "Focus it! Not everything at once!"
He forced the energy to contract, pulling it back like a coiled spring. The scouts' hesitation turned into retreat. Slowly, they began to back off, regrouping at a distance, wary now of the boy they had come to capture.
Kael's chest heaved. His arms shook, but the mark beneath his shirt pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat, calm now, obedient.
The wanderer crouched beside him, her gaze fierce. "You held your power, Kael. You did not lose control. That is your first victory against them."
Kael lowered his gaze to the broken sword, still glowing faintly. "It's not enough," he whispered. "There are too many of them. Next time…"
"There will be a next time," she said, her tone solemn. "They will not give up. And neither can we."
Kael nodded, determination flaring in his chest. The wasteland stretched endlessly before him, and somewhere in the distance, the main force of the Shadow Legion waited.
But for the first time, Kael felt a spark of confidence amidst the fear. He could face them. He would face them.
And the cursed star child would not be hunted quietly into oblivion.