The First Bond
The next morning, Elias woke to the hush of dripping leaves. Dawn light filtered pale through the trees, silvering the dew. His whole body ached, though he couldn't tell if it was from the stumble and scrapes of their run or from the lingering weight of the Mist.
Kaelen was already awake, crouched at the edge of the clearing. Their cloak was pulled back, sleeves rolled up, hands busy with the careful work of binding their arm with strips of cloth. Elias sat up slowly, blinking.
"You're hurt," he said, his voice rasping.
Kaelen glanced at him, eyes cool, then back to their work. "Scratches. Nothing more."
But Elias saw the cuts—deep, angry lines across their forearm where shadow had lashed. The sight twisted something in his chest. Kaelen had stood between him and that thing without hesitation.
"You should have told me," Elias said.
Kaelen tied the last knot and stood. "And what would you have done with the knowing? Panicked more? Bled for me? No. Better you kept your strength."
The words stung, though Elias couldn't deny the truth. He looked down at his hands, still shaking faintly.
They broke camp in silence. Kaelen moved with brisk efficiency, as though nothing had happened, as though they hadn't nearly been consumed by shadows the day before. Elias followed, fumbling, every step weighted by memory.
The forest seemed unchanged—the glowing moss still pulsed faintly, the air still thrummed with hidden life—but to Elias, it all felt altered. The world had teeth now.
Hours passed before he finally spoke again.
"Kaelen," he said softly. "Why did you save me?"
Kaelen didn't look back. "Because I swore to."
Elias frowned. "To who?"
"To the oath. To the threads."
"That's not an answer," Elias pressed. "You could have left me. You didn't."
At that, Kaelen stopped. They turned slowly, eyes narrowing, studying Elias as though weighing something. Then they said, "Because I do not abandon those who walk beside me. Even when they stumble."
Elias's chest tightened. For a moment, the forest fell away, and all he saw was Kaelen's face—weathered, scarred, unflinching. Something in their gaze steadied him, like a stone anchoring him in rushing water.
"Thank you," he whispered.
Kaelen inclined their head, then turned and walked on.
By midday, the tension had softened. They stopped near a stream where water glittered over smooth stones. Elias knelt, cupping water into his mouth, the cold shock pulling him back into his body.
Kaelen washed their blade in silence, letting the current run over the silver edge. Elias watched, fascinated. The sword gleamed as though it held its own light, threads of silver winding along the steel, pulsing faintly with every breath of the fighter.
"It's beautiful," Elias said before he could stop himself.
Kaelen glanced up. "It is a tool."
"No," Elias insisted. "It's more than that. The way it shines—like it's alive."
Kaelen studied him for a long moment, then looked back at the blade. "Perhaps it is. The threads bind it, as they bind us all. But it cuts both ways. Beauty, and burden."
Elias tilted his head. "Burden?"
Kaelen's jaw tightened. "Every thread that binds is also a chain. Every vow is a weight. And this sword is made of vows."
The words sent a chill through Elias. He thought of the Mist whispering his father's voice, of the weight Kaelen carried without complaint. He wanted to ask more, but Kaelen's expression shut like a door.
They moved on, deeper into the forest. The path narrowed, winding through ancient roots that twisted like petrified serpents. At one point, Elias stumbled, his foot catching on a stone. He lurched forward with a startled cry.
Kaelen caught him by the arm, steadying him with surprising gentleness.
"You watch the ground as though it will move for you," Kaelen said dryly.
Elias flushed. "Sorry."
Kaelen's hand lingered a moment longer before releasing him. "Do not apologize. Walk with care. This place waits for mistakes."
Elias nodded, chastened. But inside, something small shifted—Kaelen's touch hadn't been cold steel this time. It had been steady, grounding, almost kind.
That night, they camped beneath a hollowed oak. Kaelen built the fire, coaxing flame from moss and resin, while Elias sat close, hugging his knees. The firelight painted Kaelen's face in copper and gold, softening the sharp lines, the scars.
Elias found himself speaking without planning to.
"When the Mist showed me… faces, I almost believed them. I almost let it take me."
Kaelen looked at him, eyes unreadable. "But you did not."
"Because of you," Elias admitted. His throat tightened. "I don't know why I'm here, Kaelen. I'm not brave, I'm not skilled. I'm—" His voice broke. "I'm just… me."
Silence stretched between them. The fire cracked softly. Then Kaelen said, "Do you think I was born with a blade in my hand?"
Elias blinked. "Weren't you?"
Kaelen's lips curved faintly, almost a smile, though it didn't reach their eyes. "No. I learned. And bled. And failed. You will too. That is the only way forward."
Elias stared into the flames. "But what if I fail when it matters?"
"Then I will be there," Kaelen said simply. "As I was yesterday. As I will be tomorrow."
The words settled into Elias like a thread woven through his fraying edges. For the first time since he'd stepped through the hidden door, he felt something steady. Not safety—he doubted safety existed here—but companionship.
As the fire burned low, Kaelen unsheathed their sword and laid it across their knees. The blade's glow reflected in their eyes, making them seem both near and distant, human and something more.
Elias hesitated, then asked, "Do you ever get tired? Of carrying all of it?"
Kaelen's fingers brushed the hilt. For a long time, they didn't answer. Finally, they said, "Every day. But the threads do not loosen, even when I wish them to."
Their voice was softer now, almost vulnerable. Elias felt the weight of it, the admission Kaelen rarely allowed.
He wanted to reach across the fire, to touch their hand, to anchor them as they had anchored him. But he stayed still, afraid of breaking the fragile moment.
That night, as Elias drifted into sleep, he thought of the Mist, of whispers and shadows, of how easily he could have been lost. But when fear clawed at him, another thought pushed back: Kaelen's voice, steady and unyielding—I will not let you be taken.
It was not a promise written in stars or carved in stone. But to Elias, it was enough.
And somewhere in the dark, a bond was woven—thin as spider silk, fragile as breath, but real. A bond that would shape everything to come.