Kael did not sleep after the dream.
He lay on the thin straw mat beside his mother, eyes open, staring at the dark wooden ceiling. The hut was quiet except for the faint sound of her breathing and the distant chirping of insects outside.
His heart still beat faster than normal.
Every time he closed his eyes, he felt it again. The heat. The power. The crown that had burned itself into his soul.
He pressed a hand against his chest.
Nothing felt different on the surface.
No pain. No mark. No strange texture beneath the skin.
Yet he knew something inside him had changed.
The warmth that once appeared only when he was hurt or afraid was still there. It lingered like a slow-burning flame, steady and patient.
Watching.
Waiting.
Consume.
The whisper returned, softer now.
Kael swallowed and forced himself to breathe slowly, the way his mother had taught him when he was younger. In through the nose. Out through the mouth.
The warmth responded.
Not growing stronger, but calmer.
For the first time, Kael realized it was listening to him.
Morning came quietly.
Sunlight crept through the cracks in the wooden walls, casting thin lines across the dirt floor. Kael rose before his mother woke, careful not to make noise.
He stepped outside, the cool air brushing against his skin.
The village was just beginning to stir. Smoke rose from cooking fires. A few villagers moved about, carrying water or tools. Life continued as it always had.
Yet Kael felt different.
Sharper.
He could feel the blood in every person nearby. The slow pulse of the old man down the path. The fast, uneven rhythm of a woman arguing with her husband. Even the animals carried that same warmth, though fainter and less complex.
It overwhelmed him.
Kael clenched his fists and focused on the ground beneath his feet. The dirt. The stones. The sound of his own breathing.
Slowly, the sensations dulled.
He frowned.
He had not learned this control before.
It came naturally.
"Kael."
He turned.
Old Bran stood near the well, leaning on his cane. His blood moved sluggishly, weaker than it had been a year ago.
"Come help me," the old man said.
Kael nodded and walked over, lifting the bucket carefully. The rope felt rough in his hands, yet he noticed details he had never paid attention to before. The tension in the fibers. The strain in his arms.
When he lifted the bucket, it felt lighter.
Bran blinked. "You've grown stronger."
Kael did not answer. He was too busy staring at his hands.
They were the same hands he had always had.
Yet they did not feel the same.
The day passed uneventfully, but Kael's awareness never faded.
He noticed things.
How people avoided certain paths. How hunters never went into the Blackwood Forest alone. How the village guards laughed loudly to hide their fear whenever monsters were mentioned.
That night, Kael sat outside his hut, watching the forest.
The trees stood tall and unmoving, their shadows deep and tangled.
Something stirred within him.
Consume.
Kael stood.
He did not know why his feet carried him forward, only that the warmth in his chest grew stronger with every step toward the forest's edge.
He stopped just before the treeline.
The air felt different here. Heavier. Alive.
Kael hesitated.
He was not reckless. He knew the forest was dangerous.
Yet the pull remained.
A small creature darted through the underbrush.
A rabbit.
Its blood flickered brightly in his senses, warm and fast.
Hunger twisted in his chest.
Not the hunger of an empty stomach.
Something deeper.
Kael clenched his teeth and stepped back.
The warmth resisted.
For the first time, he felt it push against him.
His vision blurred briefly. The scent of blood filled his senses.
"No," he whispered.
The warmth stilled.
Slowly, reluctantly.
Kael turned away and returned home, heart pounding.
That night, he dreamed again.
He stood once more on black stone.
This time, the sky above was clearer, the crimson cracks fewer. The shadows before him shifted, some lifting their heads.
The presence returned.
"You resist already," it said. "Interesting."
"What are you?" Kael asked.
A low chuckle echoed across the plain.
"A remnant. A memory. A law that refused to die."
"Am I dangerous?"
The presence was silent for a moment.
"Yes," it answered.
Kael nodded slowly.
That felt right.
The next morning, the village bells rang.
Shouts followed.
Kael rushed outside with the others.
At the forest's edge, a bloodied hunter stumbled into view. His arm hung uselessly at his side, torn flesh visible beneath shredded cloth.
"A beast," he gasped. "A black-furred one. Bigger than a horse."
Panic rippled through the villagers.
Kael felt it before the guards shouted orders.
The blood.
Fresh.
Hot.
Flowing.
The warmth in his chest surged violently.
Consume.
The beast burst from the treeline moments later.
It was massive, its eyes glowing faintly red, its body covered in coarse black fur. Saliva dripped from its jaws as it roared.
People screamed.
The guards raised their spears, hands shaking.
Kael stood frozen.
Not from fear.
From clarity.
He could see the beast's blood clearly. Thick. Powerful. Filled with energy far greater than any human he had sensed.
The warmth screamed.
Consume.
The beast charged.
Time slowed.
Kael moved.
He did not know how.
His feet carried him forward, faster than he had ever run. The ground cracked beneath his step.
The guards shouted his name.
Too late.
The beast's claw swung down.
Kael raised his arm.
The impact should have shattered it.
Instead, heat erupted from his body.
The claw stopped inches from his face.
The beast recoiled, roaring in pain.
Kael stared at his arm.
Dark veins pulsed beneath his skin.
The mark over his heart burned.
And in that moment, Kael understood.
This power was not something he borrowed.
It was his.
The villagers watched in stunned silence as the boy stood before the monster.
Alive.
Unbroken.
And smiling faintly.