The council hall of Yurei was nothing more than a longhouse of dark pine, its roof sagging under the weight of years and its beams carved with faded glyphs no one dared touch anymore. The place smelled of smoke, damp earth, and fear—the kind that seeped in with the villagers before Kael was dragged there.
They did not bind his hands, but the way they kept their distance, as though he were a creature diseased, cut deeper than any rope could. He stood in the center of the circle while the elders sat in their woven chairs, their eyes hollow, their voices hushed.
"Resonance," muttered Old Haran, the gray-bearded leader, his voice gravel scraping stone. "It has returned."
The word spread like embers leaping through dry grass. Some spat on the floor to ward off evil, others whispered prayers too faint to name.
Kael clenched his fists. "I didn't ask for it. It just—happened."
"You lit a lantern with no flame," another elder hissed. "And you claim it just happened?"
"It wasn't just the lantern," Haran added. His stare pinned Kael like a knife. "The soil shook. The river stilled. The air itself bent. These are not tricks of a child. These are echoes of the Broken Ladder."
The silence after his words was suffocating.
Outside, the villagers pressed against the walls, listening, their shadows long under the moonlight. Mothers pulled children close, as if his very presence might unravel them.
At last, Haran lifted his staff. "This village cannot shelter one touched by resonance. The Ladders broke because men reached too high. Their echoes bring only ruin."
Kael felt the words like blows. "So you'd exile me?"
Murmurs rose. Some agreed, their voices trembling with fear. Others hesitated, pity fighting with superstition.
Then a deep tremor rolled beneath their feet—subtle, but enough to rattle cups on the council's table. Kael staggered, clutching his chest. It wasn't the earth; it was him. A heat surged under his skin, spreading like wildfire.
The council leapt up. "Control yourself, boy!"
"I—can't—" Kael gasped. His vision blurred, lantern-light bending, stretching like molten glass. The glyphs on the beams above seemed to writhe, alive with long-forgotten glow.
A chair splintered. Sparks burst from the hearth without fuel. The villagers outside screamed, scattering as though fire had reached them.
Kael's knees buckled. He clutched the floor, teeth gritted as the resonance roared inside him. A sound, low and mournful, filled the hall—not from wood or wind, but from the air itself, vibrating with memory.
For an instant, everyone saw it: a phantom ladder of light rising through the roof beams, broken midway, its rungs shattered into falling shards. Then it was gone.
Silence. Ash floated in the air like snow.
Kael panted, drenched in sweat. "I didn't mean to—"
But fear had already carved its mark.
"Exile him," Haran whispered hoarsely. "Before the Ladder reclaims us all."
Far beyond Yurei, across a ridge swallowed by mist, a figure watched. Cloaked in gray, face hidden by a hood, they stood before a withered tree where strange charms dangled. In their hand, a shard of crystal pulsed faintly—the same rhythm as Kael's flare.
The figure smiled, though there was no warmth in it. "So, one still carries the echo."
They turned back toward the trail, steps light as shadow, vanishing into the dark.
Back in the hall, Kael struggled to his feet. His body trembled with exhaustion, but beneath the fear, something else had taken root—an ember of defiance.
They could exile him. They could curse his name. But the fire beneath his skin would not be silenced.
And somewhere beyond the village, someone already knew.