They moved quickly across the rubble valley. Brann led with unerring direction, Selene gliding silently at his side. Kael stumbled after them, every muscle aching.
He tried to focus on the ruins around them, to distract from the gnawing hunger. Jagged spires jutted from the ground, some fused together like melted stone. Broken bridges arched overhead, leading nowhere. A giant skeleton lay half-buried in rubble, its skull split open, tusks longer than Kael was tall.
"What happened here?" he asked quietly.
Brann didn't slow. "The Dusk happened. Don't ask for reasons. You'll go mad."
Selene, however, spoke softly. "Some say this was once a great city. A jewel of men before the Dusk swallowed it. The Ash-Bound claim their ancestors ruled here. They believe themselves heirs to its ruins."
Kael frowned. "Then why raid? Why not rebuild?"
Her silver eyes gleamed faintly. "Because power is easier to steal than create. And fear is the only mortar that holds in the Dusk."
The thought made Kael shiver. He'd always dreamed of leaving the orphanage, of finding a place where he belonged. But here? Belonging seemed impossible.
The whispers stirred again. Belong with us. Feed us. We are your kin.
He clenched his fists.
They reached the outpost near false dawn. At first Kael thought it another ruin, but faint firelight flickered within broken walls. A crude palisade of sharpened stakes ringed the structure, though gaps yawned between them.
Figures appeared at the gate—humans. Some in scavenged armor, others in rags. They carried spears, bows, makeshift blades.
"Who goes?" a rough voice called.
"Brann of Hollowspire," Brann answered firmly. "Two with me."
A pause. Then the gate creaked open.
Inside, the outpost was little more than a courtyard with tents and fires. Dozens of survivors moved about, some cooking foul-smelling meat, others repairing weapons. Children huddled near the fires, silent and thin.
Kael's heart twisted. For a moment, it almost felt like the orphanage again—hungry faces, tired eyes, scraps of hope.
A scarred man approached Brann, clasping his forearm. "Still alive, eh? Thought the beasts got you weeks ago."
"Not yet," Brann grunted. "Need shelter. The Ash-Bound are near."
The man cursed under his breath. "Drums carry for miles. You're not the only ones who heard. Half the camp's ready to run."
Brann's jaw tightened. "Running only feeds them faster."
The man glanced at Kael, eyes narrowing. "And this one?"
Kael stiffened under his scrutiny.
Selene's silver eyes glimmered. "A binder."
The man's expression changed instantly—fear, awe, greed, all flickering across his face. Murmurs spread through the camp.
Kael's stomach dropped.
Brann glared at Selene, but the damage was done.
That night, Kael sat alone near the edge of the camp, watching firelight flicker across broken walls. Everywhere he looked, people stared at him. Whispers followed him. Binder. Cursed. Weapon.
He hugged his knees, trying to block it out. But the voices inside him laughed louder. See? They fear you. They want you. Feed on them. Break them.
Brann sat beside him heavily, sword across his knees. For a long moment, he said nothing.
Finally, Kael whispered, "They're afraid of me."
Brann's gaze stayed on the fire. "Good. Fear keeps people alive. And it'll keep them from trying to use you."
Kael shook his head. "Selene said… binders burn out. Lose themselves. Become monsters."
Brann's jaw tightened. "Some do."
"And me?" Kael asked quietly.
Brann finally looked at him. His eyes were tired, hard. "That depends, boy. On whether you master the chains… or they master you."
Kael said nothing. The whispers answered for him