The silence weighed heavier than bruises.
Kael sat on the bed, the untouched bowl of soup beside him growing cold. His fingers hovered over it , clenched, trembling. Not from fear. From fury. At her. At himself.
She was right.
And that made it worse.
He forced the spoon to his lips. Every bite tasted like ash. Still, he finished it. Shame had a way of turning obedience into penance.
When the tray was empty, Kael rose slowly, stiffly. His body ached. His pride more so.
He walked to the door.
It creaked open. The hallway beyond was dim and narrow, wrapped in eerie silence. Shadows stretched long across the wooden floor.
He followed them.
The hallway spiraled up into a larger room with a hearth crackling quietly, the scent of ash and old paper in the air. A towering bookshelf lined one wall. The auburn-haired girl sat beside a window, a book open in her lap. A dim light outlined her profile.
Kael stood there, unsure how to speak. His throat caught around the words. His broken pride made him feel like a trespasser in his own skin.
She didn't look up. Just sighed. "You're here. I'll take you to Grandpa."
Kael hesitated. She snapped the book shut, stood, and walked over. Her grip locked around his wrist tight, unyielding.
"Walk," she ordered, dragging him toward the door.
He pulled back. "Or what?"
Still not looking at him, she said, calm and cold: "Or I break your hands and legs and drag you there."
He believed her.
He followed without another word. Through narrow corridors that twisted and forked like a maze. The walls felt closer the longer they walked. No windows. No sound. Just their footsteps, and the weight of something unspoken.
Eventually, they stopped at a door.
She let go.
"Go in. Take the stairs up. Someone will guide you to Grandpa."
Kael didn't answer. He opened the door and climbed.
The stairs ended at another door. This one led to a cavern, wide and hollow. Light poured from the exit ahead.
Kael stepped into it and found himself at the edge of a vast forest. The moon loomed overhead, bathing the trees in pale blue. Cool air rushed to meet him, brushing away the stale quiet air behind.
He exhaled. For a moment, it felt like peace.
"Yo!"
He turned.
A boy no older than seven grinned at him, barefoot and humming.
Kael blinked, confused. "Why are there so many kids here...?"
He hesitated, then asked, "Are you taking me to Grandpa?"
The boy nodded. "Sure thing. Follow me."
They walked in silence for twenty minutes. The boy hummed all the way.
Eventually, they emerged into a vast clearing. It stretched for what seemed like kilometers, impossibly wide, impossibly quiet. At its center stood a single tree. Towering. Timeless.
The boy smiled again. "You'll find Grandpa there."
And then he left.
Kael stared at the tree.
And walked.
Kael walked. And walked.
At first, he kept his eyes locked on the tree, its silhouette etched against the moonlit sky, stark and unmoving, its twisted branches clawing upward like frozen screams. But no matter how many steps he took, it stayed the same distance away. Not closer. Not farther. Just… mocking him.
He quickened his pace.
The cold air stung his lungs. His thighs screamed. Blood squelched in his boots, raw blisters tearing wider with every stride. He clenched his jaw and leaned forward into the march like a soldier into the wind. Dirt scattered underfoot. Sweat matted his hair to his brow.
Still the tree loomed, distant and unchanging.
He started to limp. Then to stagger. His breath came in gasps now, each one a fight. He tried counting steps to distract himself, tried imagining the bark beneath his fingertips, but the distance refused to shrink.
Five hundred steps. A thousand. More.
His body begged him to stop. His pride wouldn't let him.
He began to run.
Not a sprint, just the wild, ragged dash of someone trying to outrun the inevitable. He tore across the clearing, ignoring the fire in his legs, the pain in his soles, the screaming from his lungs. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered except forward.
And still , The tree didn't move.
He slowed, then collapsed to his knees, dirt grinding into his palms.
He broke into a run again,stumbling, desperate. His vision blurred. His mind narrowed to a single thought: forward. Just forward. He ran until the cold turned hot and the pain turned numb.
Then he stopped.
He looked up, and the tree was still exactly where it had been.
Like it had never moved.
Like he had never moved.
A tremor ran through him. He spun around. No footprints behind him. No trail in the grass. Had he even taken a single step?
Panic surged. He hurled a rock at the trunk.
It vanished mid-air.
A cruel illusion. A joke.
He let out a broken, gasping laugh, then a scream.
"WHY WON'T YOU LET ME REACH YOU?!"
His voice echoed and died. The forest did not respond. The wind didn't stir. Even his pain felt muted now, like the clearing had drained the world of sound and sense.
He dropped to his knees, fists sinking into the cold dirt.
And at last, the question came ,not shouted, but whispered,tired and small.
But Why ?
But why am I even doing this?
He stopped, breath ragged. His fists clenched at his sides.
Why was he even doing this?
Was it because someone told him to?
No. That wasn't it.
He wanted to see this "Grandpa"? No, he didn't care about that. Not really. He didn't owe these people anything. They had beaten him, insulted him, dragged him through their little maze like a stray dog.
So why keep walking?
Because you want to prove something, a voice in his head whispered.
He picked up a rock and flung it at the tree again, screaming. It vanished mid-air, swallowed by the illusion like everything else in his life.
"Why won't you let me reach you?!" he muttered.
The sound died in the vast silence. The trees didn't rustle. The air didn't stir. Only his panting breath and pounding heart remained.
Kael dropped to his knees. The dirt felt cold beneath his hands. His muscles screamed in protest. His soul screamed louder.
Why am I still alive?
Did I survive yesterday? Or was I spared?
He remembered her face. That same flat stare. The disgust in her voice: "You were spared. Because your sister made the hard choice."
His throat tightened. His eyes burned.
"I should've protected her," he whispered. "I should've known. When things started going bad… I should've taken her and left."
He saw flashes of memory, his sister curled up in bed, crying when she thought he couldn't hear. The nights their mother didn't come home. The day they buried their father, and the house fell into quiet, unbearable decay.
I should've run. I should've taken her hand and gotten us out.
But he didn't.
He stayed. He told himself it would get better.
He told her that it would get better.
And she believed him.
He buried his face in his hands, knuckles scraped raw.
"Goddamn it," he choked. "I let her die."
He remembered her last words. The scream never fully left his throat.
Maybe that girl with the auburn hair, with her iron fists and sharper tongue was right.
"You're weak because you didn't value anything enough to protect it."
But it wasn't just weakness, was it?
It was fear. It was hope, weaponized against reality.
And now he was here, trying to reach some ancient tree in a forest he didn't understand, just to meet a man he didn't know.
Why?
Because you want to prove her wrong.
You want to believe there's a reason you're still breathing.
You want to believe your sister didn't die for nothing.
The words came like thunder in his skull.
He didn't care about Grandpa.
He didn't care about answers.
He wanted, no he needed, to prove he deserved to be alive.
Even though he didn't.
Even though every part of him whispered that her life was the price for his cowardice.
It should've been me.
I should've died protecting her.
He slammed his fists into the earth. "I should've died!" he roared.
Then, the world seemed to pause.
The air shivered, like the forest had been listening.
A breeze rolled through the clearing for the first time, brushing past his face.
Kael looked up.
And the tree?
The tree was closer.
Not by much, but enough to be noticed. Enough to say something had changed.
His breath caught. Not from surprise.
But from understanding.
It was never about reaching the tree.
It was about why he wanted to.
And now that he'd stopped lying to himself, the path had shifted.
He stood slowly, knees trembling, dirt clinging to his skin like guilt.
The tree had moved, or maybe he had.
No illusions shattered, no great magic revealed. Just a truth laid bare: the path wasn't made of steps, but of surrender.
Kael clenched his jaw and started walking again.
The ground no longer felt endless. His strides, though heavy, found purpose.
I should've run away with her.
The thought rose again, not as self-pity this time, but clarity. His jaw loosened.
I saw the signs. I just didn't want to believe them.
Another step forward. The tree grew nearer. Close enough to see the texture of its bark now, black and gnarled, like it had lived a thousand lifetimes and still hung on.
I told her everything would be fine. I lied.
His throat tightened. He didn't push the thought away. He let it hurt.
The breeze picked up again, cooler, gentler. It circled him, and the forest began to feel less like a prison, more like a presence. Watching.
Testing.
He kept walking.
I told myself I was strong, because I had to be. But I wasn't. I was scared.
His pace slowed. Not from hesitation, but from the weight of truth settling into him like bones finding their proper place.
The tree loomed now. Close enough to reach in a minute, maybe less. The moonlight gleamed along its bark like silver veins.
Kael stopped again.
His hands hung at his sides, open.
I wanted her to think I could protect her. That I could fix everything.
A broken laugh slipped out, cracked and dry.
But I couldn't even protect myself.
He closed his eyes.
"I was afraid," he whispered. "I was a coward."
The word felt foreign. Final. Like saying it might break him.
But it didn't.
It freed him.
He looked up.
And the tree was right there.
He stood at its base now, close enough to touch.
The bark rippled faintly, almost breathing.
Kael reached out and laid his hand against the trunk. It was warm. Solid.
Real.
The silence no longer pressed down on him. It held him.
And in that stillness, he realized something else:
He could never undo what he failed to do.
No amount of blood would ever make him worthy of her sacrifice
But he could stop running from it.
He could carry it forward. Not as punishment, but as proof.
Of who he had been.
And who he would never be again.
Kael leaned his forehead against the tree and closed his eyes.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "But I'm still here. And I won't waste it."
The silence lingered, but it no longer felt empty.
Then, from behind the tree, a voice, old, quiet, and deep enough to carry weight without volume.
"Some truths can't be forced."
Kael stiffened.
"You faced the weight of silence and walked through it," the voice continued. "That's good enough, for now."
A figure stepped from behind the trunk, wrapped in layers of worn robes the color of ash and bark. His face was lined like cracked stone, his white beard tied loosely at the end. His eyes… sharp. Watching. Patient.
"Only those willing to lose everything," the man said, "deserve to find anything."
Kael stared, breath caught in his throat. He didn't need to ask.
This was him.
Grandpa.
And he had been waiting.