The pendant's glow had faded to a soft, persistent warmth against Kai's chest, a constant reminder of the power sleeping within him. The following morning, the air in the cave was different. The comfortable routine of training was gone, replaced by a tense urgency that radiated from Lena.
She was already packed, her few belongings stowed in her satchel. She didn't ask if he was ready. She held out her tattered book, open to a specific page.
"Look," she commanded, her voice low and serious.
The page showed a detailed drawing of a warrior, not in Knight's plate, but in simpler, functional gear. In their hand, they held a glowing amulet, from which lines of power radiated, reinforcing a shield and their own body. The caption, in spidery script, read: Sage Artifice: The Unbreakable Vow.
"This is what you did," Lena whispered, her finger tracing the glowing amulet. "Not just reinforcement. Artifice. The Sages didn't just cast spells; they imbued objects with a permanent piece of their soul, creating foci of unimaginable power. It was their highest art. And you did it by accident."
The weight of her words crashed down on him. This wasn't just a new trick; it was a leap into a legacy he didn't understand.
"The Knights hunt for Sage relics," Lena continued, closing the book with a definitive snap. "They're artifacts of a 'dangerous, heretical age'. If they sense what you've done—what you are—they won't just mock you. They will dissect you to learn how you did it, or shatter you to prevent it."
She stood, her violet eyes locking with his. "The cave was a hiding place. Now, you've lit a beacon inside it. We have to go. Now."
"Go where?" Kai asked, his mind reeling.
"Heiying Academy," she said, the name sounding like a prayer and a challenge. "It's one of the last sanctuaries for those who walk the old paths. They can protect you. There you can learn what it truly means to be a Sage, before your own power attracts forces that will destroy you—and everyone you left behind in Shenya."
The mention of Shenya, of Maya, was a deliberate, painful blow. He saw the grim truth in her eyes. Staying was no longer an option. His very existence had become a threat to the only home he'd ever known.
He looked around the cave, at the faded blanket and the chipped cup. It had been a sanctuary, but it was a cradle. He had outgrown it.
Without another word, he began to gather his things. The decision was made not in a dramatic proclamation, but in the silent, solemn act of packing his cloak and his practice sword. He was not running away. He was running towards the only future that allowed him to survive.
He nodded to Lena, his jaw set. "Then let's go."
She shouldered her pack, a look of profound relief washing over her features. The time for lessons was over. The journey had begun.
They skirted the edges of Shenya, slipping past the old mill and the gardens where, this late in the season, only frost and the stubble of failed harvests remained. Kai felt the town's presence like a pressure in his chest, each familiar rooftop or shuttered window a memory trying to tug him back.
At the crossroads by the baker's, the first townsfolk were already awake. An old man sweeping his stoop paused to squint at the pair—two thin shapes, one silver-haired, the other slouched and limping in an oversized cloak. He muttered to his wife, who shook her head and clucked her tongue.
"Hollow's up early," she said, not bothering to lower her voice. "Best keep the doors locked."
Kai kept his eyes on the dirt, pretending not to hear. Lena said nothing, but her hand found his for a moment, squeezing just hard enough to anchor him.
They took the long way around, staying out of sight until they reached the alley behind the orphanage. The kitchen window glowed with the first light of Maya's morning fire. Kai hesitated, fighting the urge to go inside, to sink back into the safety of the old routine.
He made himself turn away. Instead, he ducked under the eaves and wedged the letter—folded, sealed with a smear of ash—into the narrow space between the door and the jamb. He ran his fingers over the wood, remembering every splinter and knot, and then forced himself to leave.
The letter was short, and he'd written it three times before settling on the final version:
Maya—
I'm sorry for running. I'm sorry for the lies.
I have to leave for a while. There are things I need to learn—about myself, about the world.
Please tell Tomas and the others I'll come back when I can, and that I think about them every day.
Thank you for giving me a name. I'll make it mean something.
I promise.
—Kai
He hadn't signed it as "Fischer." He didn't know if he ever would again.
They walked through the thin strip of forest behind the orphanage, Lena guiding him by the hand. The town faded behind them. At the top of the ridge, they stopped, looking back one last time.
Smoke rose from a dozen chimneys. The Cathedral's bell tolled, echoing over rooftops. For a heartbeat, Kai imagined Maya standing by the window, reading his note with a mixture of anger and pride.
Then he turned away, and the town became just another story.
They walked for hours. Lena set the pace, leading him down deer trails and through stands of poplar so dense the sun barely touched the ground. She talked as they walked—sometimes about the Academy, sometimes about the world beyond Shenya, sometimes about nothing at all.
Kai listened, letting her voice fill the space where doubt used to live.
At midday, they stopped by a stream. Lena washed her hands and face, then sat on the bank, staring at the water.
Kai stood apart, watching the flow. He unclasped the pendant and held it up to the light. It glowed, even in the sun, a slow pulse matching the beat of his heart.
He thought of his father, and Maya, and the boys in the training yard. He thought of the pain of leaving, and the hope of what might come next.
Lena called to him. "You ready?"
He nodded, closing his fist around the disk.
They followed the stream north, into country Kai had never seen. The path was hard, and he stumbled more than once, but Lena was always there, catching him, urging him on.
By nightfall, the lights of Shenya were a memory. The world ahead was dark and cold, but Kai no longer feared the unknown. He had a guide, and a purpose, and a piece of the old magic burning at his heart.
They made camp under a leaning oak, using moss and dry leaves for bedding. Lena set a careful fire, just enough to keep them warm. They ate the last of the bread, and then lay back to watch the sky.
The stars above were the same ones he'd learned as a child, but now they looked different. Closer, maybe. Or just more real.
Lena turned to him, eyes bright in the firelight.
"You're not hollow," she said. "Not anymore."
He smiled, the words settling inside him like a promise.
In the morning, they would keep going. The world was wide, and the Academy was far, but Kai felt ready.
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