Steel rang against stone.
The first of the riders reached the bottom of the gully with controlled ease, blade held low, posture disciplined. He didn't rush. He didn't shout. His eyes swept the narrow passage once, measuring distances, angles, exits.
Kael felt a chill that had nothing to do with the cold.
These men were not improvising.
Two more followed, spacing themselves carefully so that no single strike could catch them together. Their movements were calm, professional, utterly unhurried—as if time itself favoured them.
Kael stayed behind the rock, breathing slow, knife clenched tight enough to make his knuckles ache.
Fear is a tool, he told himself. Use it.
The first man advanced.
Kael burst from cover, slashing low for the knee the way Rothmar had drilled into him.
The rider twisted aside.
Steel scraped stone as the man countered instantly, blade flashing in a tight arc that Kael barely avoided by throwing himself backward. The edge cut through air where his throat had been a heartbeat earlier.
Kael hit the ground hard and rolled, ribs screaming.
Too fast.
Too clean.
The man didn't press recklessly. He reset, eyes locked on Kael, blade steady.
"You're improving," the man said conversationally. "But you're still a child."
Kael surged forward again, refusing to let the words sink in.
Their blades clashed—knife against sword—and the impact jarred Kael's arm painfully. He twisted, ducked, struck again, but every movement felt anticipated, countered before it finished.
The second rider joined in, flanking him.
Kael retreated instinctively, heart pounding, mind racing.
This wasn't a fight he could win with technique alone.
A third rider stepped in behind them, blocking the narrow retreat through the gully.
They were closing the net.
"Alive," one of them said calmly. "Orders stand."
Kael's breath hitched.
Alive.
That was worse.
Kael slashed again, desperation creeping into his movements. A blade caught his forearm, slicing through cloth and skin. Pain exploded bright and sharp. He cried out despite himself, stumbling back against the gully wall.
His knife slipped from his fingers and clattered into the dirt.
The riders advanced together now, coordinated, relentless.
Kael's back hit stone.
Nowhere left to go.
His chest burned. His vision blurred at the edges. He could hear his own heartbeat, loud and frantic, drowning out everything else.
This is it.
The thought landed with frightening clarity.
Not a scream. Not panic.
Just certainty.
Something inside him recoiled violently.
No.
Not like this.
Not here.
Not after everything.
Kael's fingers clawed uselessly at the rock as the lead rider raised his blade, angling it carefully—not for a killing strike, but for something precise and disabling.
Kael's mind screamed for Rothmar.
But Rothmar did not move.
Instead, the world shifted.
It wasn't dramatic at first. There was no explosion, no blinding light.
Just pressure.
The air around Kael thickened, compressing inward as if the world itself had drawn a sharp breath. His vision snapped into painful clarity. Every sound sharpened—the scrape of boots, the rasp of steel, the shallow breathing of the men closing in.
Then something answered him.
Not from outside.
From within.
It felt like a door he had never known existed tearing itself open.
Heat surged through Kael's chest, not like fire, but like something deeper—older—coiling awake after a very long sleep. His heartbeat stuttered, then slowed, each pulse heavy and deliberate.
The riders faltered.
"What—" one of them began.
Kael didn't understand what he was doing.
He only knew he was doing it.
His hand lifted—not towards a weapon, but towards the man in front of him.
And the man stopped.
Not hesitated.
Stopped.
His body locked in place mid-step, muscles frozen as if bound by invisible chains. His eyes widened in pure, unfiltered terror.
The second rider crashed into him, swearing, then froze as well.
The third tried to step back.
He couldn't.
Kael stared at them, breath coming slow and steady now, the fear draining away as something cold and precise took its place.
He felt them.
Their intent.Their movement.Their will.
And for a single, horrifying moment—
He felt how easily it could be taken from them.
Rothmar moved.
He was suddenly there, between Kael and the riders, his presence like a blade cutting through the pressure Kael had unconsciously unleashed.
"Enough," Rothmar said sharply.
The invisible grip shattered.
The riders collapsed to the ground, gasping, hands clutching at their throats as if they'd been drowning.
Kael staggered.
The heat vanished as abruptly as it had come, leaving him hollow and shaking. His knees buckled and he would have fallen if Rothmar hadn't caught him by the collar and slammed him back against the rock.
Rothmar's eyes burned into him.
"Do not do that again," Rothmar said, voice low and dangerous.
Kael stared up at him, chest heaving. "I—I didn't know—"
"I know," Rothmar snapped. "That's why it's dangerous."
The riders were scrambling now, panic overriding discipline. One of them looked up at Kael with raw fear etched into his face.
"What are you?" the man whispered.
Rothmar answered for him.
"Something your superiors were afraid of," he said coldly.
Rothmar turned and ended the fight in seconds.
There was no spectacle.
Just efficient, final movement.
When it was over, Rothmar returned to Kael, who was sliding down the rock, barely able to stay upright.
Kael's head rang. His hands shook uncontrollably.
"What… was that?" Kael asked hoarsely.
Rothmar studied him for a long moment, expression unreadable.
"Your bloodline," Rothmar said at last. "Or what remains of it."
Kael swallowed. "I didn't cast a spell."
"No," Rothmar agreed. "You didn't."
Kael's stomach twisted. "I didn't even know what I was doing."
"That," Rothmar said quietly, "is why they tried to erase you."
Kael closed his eyes, the weight of it pressing down on him.
"I could feel them," Kael whispered. "Like they were… close. Like I could reach inside and—"
"Stop," Rothmar ordered.
Kael obeyed immediately.
Rothmar crouched, gripping Kael's shoulders firmly. "Listen to me. That power does not make you strong. It makes you visible."
Kael opened his eyes. "Visible to who?"
Rothmar's gaze hardened. "Everyone who remembers what your bloodline can do."
Kael's chest tightened. "So this is why they're hunting me."
"Yes."
Kael let out a shaky breath. "Am I… dangerous?"
Rothmar considered the question carefully.
"Yes," he said. "If you lose control."
Kael nodded slowly. "Then teach me not to."
Rothmar's lips pressed into a thin line.
"That," he said, "is why you're still alive."
Rothmar stood and offered Kael a hand.
Kael took it.
As Rothmar pulled him to his feet, Kael felt it again—faint now, buried deep—but unmistakable.
Something inside him was awake.
And the world had noticed.