Chapter 4: Echoes of the Arrow
Dren stirs, his eyelids fluttering like moth wings in the forest's dim light. His groan scratches his throat as he presses a hand to his temple. The world sways around him, trees blurring into shadows. His blurry gaze finds me kneeling at his side, my crimson eyes too bright against the dusk.
"Kael…?" His voice is hoarse, cracked with doubt. "What happened? I remember that beast… the Daedon. Shouting for you to run… and then…" His words trail off, his scar twitching as he turns. Behind me, the monster's corpse sprawls in the undergrowth twelve feet of death, tusks dull in the dirt, felled by something no mortal could claim.
His face drains, pale as the bruised sky. "What…? What happened to it?" He swallows hard, voice dropping. "Don't tell me… you did that."
I lower my gaze, shame and awe clawing at my gut. Did I? My small hands tremble. No man could. Not even Eryndor's best.
"I don't know how, Father," I say, voice small but steady. "I just… threw the arrow. And it happened." My words falter, like spitting out a lie I can't believe.
Dren's fists clench, knuckles white. He grits his teeth, the metallic tang of blood filling his mouth. Damn it, I imagine him thinking, eyes dark with bitterness. Failed again. Couldn't protect my own son. His shame is a weight, heavy as the Daedon's corpse. How pitiful must I look to him? And me awakening at six, a spooky kid with demon eyes. Cruel fate, he'd say if he spoke his heart. I see it the shadow crossing his face and it cuts deeper than any blade. He fought for me, I think. Gave everything, like I never did for Lila, Flora, Michael.
"Father," I say, my voice soft but firm, "why the long face? You think this power came from nowhere? No. I awakened because of you. Those days in the forest, learning your bow, your stillness. Watching you give everything for us, even when it wasn't enough. You're not the strongest, Father, but you're the best. The kind who never stops fighting. That's worth more than strength." My words are a kid's, but they carry Joseph's weight a president's regret for a family lost to the Concord's fire.
Dren's throat tightens, chest burning. A single tear slides down his scarred cheek before he swipes it away with a rough hand. He rises, forcing a smirk.
"Tch. Shut up, boy," he mutters, voice cracking with warmth. "Enough of that mush. Help me cut this beast down. A Daedon? Meat'll feed us for months. Tusks'll fetch a fine price in the market. Good for your growth, too—beast flesh carries eternal energy. We'll be stable for three months, maybe four." His grin shakes, but it's real. A spark I never had in Eryndor. Family, I think. Worth fighting for.
We work together, carving the monster's bulk. The stench of blood clings, heavy and metallic, soaking our clothes. My small hands fumble with the knife, but Dren guides me, his blade steady despite trembling arms. He sets the tusks aside, holding them like relics.
"These," he says, voice low, "are yours, Kael. Sturdy, light, sharper than iron. I'll forge you a sword from them. A weapon for the path you've stepped onto." His eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I see pride, not shame. A sword, I think, heart thumping. A start.
We drag the meat back, wrapped in hides, the forest's silence trailing us like a ghost. The village greets us with stares whispers of "cursed child" and "limping blade" hissing from doorways. A kid points, giggling, "Look, the demon boy's got blood on him!" I smirk, letting my crimson eyes burn. Let them talk, I think. They'll see.
Elara waits at the hut, her gaunt face blanching at our blood-soaked clothes, the bandage on Dren's torn ear. She rushes to me, hands checking my small frame like I'm still a babe.
"What happened?" Her voice trembles, caught between fury and fear, her braids swaying as she kneels.
We explain. The Daedon. Dren's fight. My impossible arrow. Her hands shake as she cleans Dren's wound, lips a thin line.
"You faced that beast?" she whispers, eyes darting between us. "And Kael… you felled it?"
She turns to me, sternness breaking. She cups my face, kisses my forehead, her breath warm.
"Oh, my little storm's grown. Felling a Daedon with one arrow? I wonder how strong you'll become, Kael Voss."
Her smile is soft, but her eyes heavy, as if she sees the demon blood they all whisper about. I smile back, faint, warmth mixing with the shadow of what I've done. Power, I think, Luke's voice echoing. This is what you meant.
Two hours earlier
The arrow didn't vanish. It cut the air, a scream of wind and will, tearing through clouds, carving across mountains. Its path stretched beyond reason, beyond what any mortal arrow should touch. Where's it going? I'd wondered, my kid's mind reeling as I threw it. Now I know it wasn't just an arrow. It was me.
Far off, in a world of mist and fire, it reached the Crimson Ash Sect. One of the Great Ten. A black mountain looms, cloaked in ash and flame, its peak piercing the bruised sky. A lone figure meditates, long black hair rippling in the wind, a jagged scar beneath his right eye. Golden irises burn like molten zyrite.
Klen Drake, they call him a name that weighs like a blade.
His eyes snap open. The air hums. His hand shoots out.
The arrow strikes his palm.
It evaporates, bursting into ash that sears his flesh. He hisses, staring at the burns etched into his skin, lips curling half pain, half intrigue.
"An arrow… from the other side of the world?" His voice is deep, cold, carrying a sect leader's weight. "No qi. No eternal power. Just raw will. Yet it burned me."
He flexes his scarred hand, golden eyes narrowing. "Even I couldn't catch it without injury."
The ashes drift upward, caught by the wind, scattering like whispers of my existence. His scar tugs as he smiles, a predator sensing a rival's stir.
"The world's getting scarier, kid," he murmurs. "Boy or man… I wonder if we'll meet."
The mountain's firelight flickers, the sky swallowing my arrow's echo. Crimson Ash Sect, I think, not knowing how I know. They'll see me coming.
Back in the village, night falls. The hut's oil lamp spits shadows. Elara cooks Daedon meat, the scent thick, almost sweet, mingling with smoke. Dren sharpens his blade, the grind of stone steady as a heartbeat. I sit by the stove, my small hands tracing the tusks he set aside.
A sword, I think, crimson eyes reflecting the flame. A weapon for the path.
The Heavenly Path Sect's banner haunts my mind, its red letters burning: Pride in Strength. Death in Weakness. This world's law power walks, weakness dies.
I think of the market, its blood and screams. The Enforcers, their jade sashes gleaming. The Daedon, its killing intent choking the air. And my arrow, tearing through it all.
I was too weak once, I think, Joseph's failures clawing at me. The Concord's bomb, Lila's smile, Flora's warmth, Michael's eyes gone. Not again.
Dren's pride, Elara's kiss they're mine to protect.
This world will bleed before it breaks Kael Voss.