The woods beyond Valmont had always been a place of whispered stories and silent warnings. Parents told their children to stay away, muttering tales of beasts and bandits, of shadows that swallowed the unwary whole. Kahel had heard those stories his entire life, but they meant nothing to him now.
He stood at the treeline, fifteen years old and burning with a hunger he couldn't explain. The grass stirred beneath his boots, dew clinging to the edges of his worn pants. The wind sighed through the branches above, carrying the scent of damp earth and rotting leaves.
Kahel clenched his fists, feeling the roughness of the calluses on his palms. His body was small, his frame lean, but his will burned like a forge inside him. He took a breath that trembled at the edges and stepped into the shadows.
The forest swallowed him in an instant. The path behind faded into darkness as branches closed overhead, blotting out the fading light of the evening sky. Every sound seemed sharper here, the rustle of leaves, the snap of a twig, the distant hoot of an owl.
Kahel walked with careful steps, every sense alert. His heart pounded against his ribs, the tension in his chest a tight coil of nerves and anticipation.
He didn't know what he was looking for. Only that he couldn't stay still any longer.
The further he went, the colder the air grew. Mist curled low along the ground, and the trees seemed to lean inward, their trunks gnarled and blackened as if scorched by an ancient fire.
He stopped in a small clearing, breath fogging in the sudden chill. The world seemed to hold its breath, the air thick with a quiet tension.
And then it happened.
A spark.
Not in the air, but deep inside him.
It was faint at first, a warmth that bloomed in his chest, low and steady, like the faintest ember. His breath hitched. His hands trembled. The sensation spread through him, slow at first, then stronger, hotter, until it felt as if his very bones were burning.
He fell to his knees, gasping. His vision blurred, and for a heartbeat, the world seemed to ripple. The trees around him flickered like a flame caught in the wind.
Kahel clutched his chest, eyes wide with fear and wonder.
The ember pulsed, and in that moment, he felt it, a flicker of something ancient and wild, a hunger, a promise. It whispered to him without words, a call to rise, to fight, to burn.
Then the moment passed. The ember quieted, but it did not vanish. It remained, a soft glow in the darkness of his being, waiting to awaken.
Kahel sat back on his heels, breathing hard. Sweat trickled down his spine despite the cold. His heart thundered in his chest, not from fear but from something else.
Hope.
For the first time, he felt it, the faintest sense that he wasn't trapped. That he wasn't powerless. That he could change his fate.
A soft crack broke the silence, the sound of a twig snapping underfoot.
Kahel's head snapped up, his body tense. He scanned the darkness between the trees, but there was nothing. No sound, no shape, just the steady whisper of the wind.
He stood slowly, fists clenched, his breath steadying.
Unseen, from the shadows beyond the clearing, a figure watched him.
The figure's presence was quiet, patient, like the stillness before a storm. A glimmer of cold light reflected off dark eyes. Robes that blended into the night, face hidden in the darkness. The figure made no sound, but their gaze stayed fixed on Kahel.
They did not move. They simply watched.
Kahel, unaware of the eyes upon him, turned and made his way back through the woods, the ember still faintly pulsing in his chest.
The figure lingered a moment longer, a quiet breath stirring the air, before slipping away like a shadow, unseen.