The first warm winds of late spring rolled over the hills like a sigh, carrying the scent of fresh grass and tilled soil. For the first time in months, Kael felt no urgency to pack a bag.
They sat on the low stone wall near the house, elbows on their knees, staring down at the familiar paths that wound through the fields. Their father had gone into town early. Rys had gone with him. The quiet was deep enough to hear the insects in the grass.
In their hands, Kael held a folded request letter from the guild's annex. It was for a three-month mission in a country to the west, far from home. Dangerous, profitable, and exactly the kind of thing that used to tempt them.
But not now.
---
When the two of them returned, Kael was still sitting there, the letter untouched on their lap.
"You didn't even open it?" Rys asked, leaning against the wall beside them.
Kael passed him the folded parchment. "I read it this morning."
Rys skimmed the lines quickly. "This is good work. You're not taking it?"
"No," Kael said simply.
"Why?"
Kael stared out at the fields. "Because I need to stay here a little longer. I've been running for years now. After last year, after everything, I think I need to stop. At least for a while."
---
Rys sat beside them, folding his arms. "You're sure?"
Kael nodded. "I'll still take missions close to home. I can't sit around forever. But I'm not leaving for months at a time. Not yet."
Rys was quiet for a moment. "Your father's going to be relieved."
"And you?" Kael asked.
Rys gave a small shrug. "I'd be lying if I said I didn't like the idea of you being around. It's been… good, these months. Even when it's hard."
Kael smiled faintly at that.
---
That evening, Kael told their father.
The older man listened without interrupting, setting his tools aside as Kael explained their decision.
"I'll stay here another year," Kael said finally. "I'll still take missions when they come up, but nothing that takes me too far for too long."
For a long moment, their father just looked at them. Then he reached out, resting a hand on Kael's shoulder.
"You've been carrying too much on your own," he said. "If staying helps you set some of it down, even a little, then stay. I'll never complain about having you here longer."
---
Later that night, the three of them sat around the table. The house felt different now—lighter, as if the decision had taken some invisible weight from the air.
Rys lifted a cup in Kael's direction. "So, one more year with us," he said. "I can work with that."
Kael rolled their eyes, but their smile softened. "Don't get too comfortable."
"Too late," Rys said, smirking. "I've been planning out how to bother you for months. You'll see."
---
The guild's messenger came by the next morning, expecting a response. Kael handed back the folded request with a short note declining. The boy gave a curious look—few people turned down missions with good pay—but didn't press for details.
When the door shut, Kael exhaled slowly, leaning against the wall. It felt like they'd taken the first step toward something they hadn't let themselves have in a long time: stillness.
---
The first week after making the decision, Kael found themselves waking up without thinking about where to go next. Instead of the road, they spent the days doing smaller tasks: fixing fences with their father, helping Rys bring back supplies, walking the boundaries of the property.
And, when evening came, practicing.
The training field they'd carved out behind the barn was where they now spent most nights, experimenting with spells, sharpening control, stretching the capacity of their mana without pushing it too far. The balance was delicate but fascinating—how a day of calm work made their spellwork sharper than weeks of tense travel.
---
One night, Rys came to watch.
"You know," he said, leaning against a post, "if you keep making up spells that efficient, you're going to ruin the reputations of everyone else in the guild."
Kael, sweaty from practice, grinned faintly. "I'm not telling them my secrets."
"Good," Rys said. "I like having an advantage."
---
That night, as they both sat cooling off on the grass, Rys tilted his head back, looking at the stars.
"Do you really think you can stay put for a year?"
Kael shrugged. "I don't know. But I'm going to try. Some things are worth slowing down for."
---
It wasn't a promise to stay forever. It wasn't even a promise to stay safe.
But for now, it was a decision.
And Kael intended to keep it.
---
By the end of that week, their father had begun to plan out repairs and expansions he'd been putting off. The kind of work that didn't require urgency but benefited from an extra set of capable hands.
Kael helped with all of it.
The road, for now, could wait.
---
The days settled into rhythm.
Morning meant breakfast with their father. Afternoon meant smaller guild tasks or errands in town. Evenings meant the training field, where Kael honed magic or sparred with Rys.
Rys had been working as a Branch-ranked adventurer for over a year now. Unlike Kael, he'd chosen to stay close to home, taking only assignments that would keep him within a day's travel. It meant he was there to watch Kael's progress every day—and, more importantly, to be present when Kael decided not to disappear again.
---
Halfway through the first month, a message arrived at the guild annex for Kael: a request for help with a two-day mission to clear out a monster nest near a farming village.
Kael hesitated, staring at the letter. It wasn't far, but it would still take them away from home overnight. They accepted anyway.
Their father helped them pack while Rys leaned in the doorway, arms crossed.
"It's only two days," Kael said, not looking up from their pack.
"I know," Rys said. "But I'm coming."
Kael raised an eyebrow.
"You heard me," Rys said. "I'm not letting you walk into a nest alone."
---
When they reached the meeting point, the rest of the group was already gathered. One of the waiting adventurers was a familiar figure: Soryn, a tall, wiry woman with a scar across her cheek and a solid spear strapped to her back.
She blinked, then broke into a grin. "I'll be damned. Didn't expect to run into you again."
"Likewise," Kael said, clasping her hand.
---
Soryn had been one of Kael's companions during their early wanderings—a strong fighter who preferred to keep things simple. As the group began the trek toward the farming village, she fell into step beside Kael, talking like no time had passed.
Her presence was grounding, a reminder of what it had felt like to be out on the road with a group.
Rys stayed on Kael's other side, quiet, listening more than speaking. When Soryn started describing a brutal winter assignment they'd shared years ago, Rys cast Kael a side glance. It wasn't jealous, just curious.
Kael caught it and answered with a small smile.
---
The work was straightforward: a nest of oversized, insect-like creatures that had taken over a patch of land. The villagers needed it cleared before the next planting season.
Soryn led the front line with her spear, Kael anchored the middle with spells, and Rys filled the gaps, Branch-ranked but skilled enough to keep pace with the group.
For two days, the rhythm of the hunt took over. By the second evening, the nest was destroyed, the tunnels burned, and the village safe.
---
Around the campfire that night, Soryn leaned back, her spear beside her.
"You've changed," she said, watching Kael across the flames.
"In a good way?" Kael asked.
She smirked. "Calmer. Stronger. You're dangerous in a different way now."
Kael huffed out a laugh. "Staying home does that, apparently."
"Home," she said with a nod. "It suits you. I like seeing that."
---
The next morning, the group returned to the guild to report the nest cleared.
Soryn paused at the door of the annex, turning back to Kael. "If you ever go back to full-time wandering, look me up. I'd travel with you again."
Kael nodded. "I'll remember that."
---
On the way home, Rys stayed quiet for a long time. When they were far enough from the town, Kael asked, "You've been thinking."
Rys shrugged. "You've spent so much time out there—with people like her. People strong enough to stand on their own. It's… strange, imagining all the things you've done that I wasn't there for."
Kael looked at him sideways. "And yet here you are now."
That earned a small, rueful smile. "Here I am," he said.
---
Back at home, the rhythm resumed. Kael didn't seek out any more missions after that, not for the rest of the first month.
But they trained constantly. Rys joined in most evenings, using the sessions as a way to sharpen his own Branch-level skills.
---
The second month began with smaller, local assignments: repairing damage to village fences, escorting a merchant caravan half a day down the road, and clearing out some wild dogs that had been harassing a farmer's livestock.
None of it took them more than a day to complete, and Rys was there for almost every one of them.
---
It was during one of these assignments—walking a merchant caravan—that Kael noticed something: the way Rys watched over people, without drawing attention to it. Not just Kael, but everyone.
It wasn't flashy. It was steady. And for someone who had spent so much time moving through dangerous places alone, that steadiness mattered.
---
In the evenings, when there were no missions and no work to be done, they sparred.
Sometimes, they just lay in the grass afterward, looking up at the stars.
Kael could feel the closeness growing between them again—not as something sudden, but as something constant.
---
By the end of the second month, the decision Kael had made to stay put for a while still felt like the right one. They weren't restless. They weren't impatient.
And, despite everything, it was starting to feel like home again.
---
By the time the third month of staying close to home rolled around, Kael found a rhythm.
The guild annex had learned quickly that only short-distance missions were worth suggesting. Anything further was politely declined.
So when a caravan needed a short escort to a larger outpost, the request was simple enough to accept.
Rys saw the notice before Kael even mentioned it. "I'm coming," he said.
Kael didn't object.
---
The morning of departure was brisk, the air carrying the scent of wet earth. Merchants gathered at the outskirts of town, loading crates onto slow wagons.
And at the far end of the gathering, a familiar voice cut through the noise.
"Well, if it isn't the one I thought I wouldn't see stand still again."
Kael stopped mid-step. Mirek stood with a calm grin, tightening a leather strap on a packhorse. The older adventurer's hair was streaked with silver, but his posture was as steady as Kael remembered.
For a moment, Kael just looked at him, remembering. Then: "Didn't expect to run into you here."
"Seems like you've settled down a bit," Mirek said, tone light. "Guess the road finally let you breathe."
---
Kael didn't need to explain anything. They had told Rys about Mirek long before now—about those six months after their mother's death when Mirek had been there, teaching and guiding, giving them a way forward when everything behind had collapsed.
So Rys already understood the respect in Kael's nod and the weight in Mirek's tone.
---
As the caravan began to move, Mirek naturally took a place on Kael's right side. Rys walked on the left.
They didn't talk much about the past. Instead, Mirek asked simple things:
"Working nearby?"
"For now," Kael replied.
"And you?"
"Still keeping busy," Mirek said. "The road's hard to leave behind."
There wasn't a need for more.
---
The route was easy, the first day steady and uneventful. Mirek filled the quiet stretches with road stories—not the kind that needed answers, but the kind that drifted in and out like an old song.
Kael listened with that faint half-smile, the way someone does when a familiar piece of music is played after years of silence.
Rys walked quietly, watching the way Kael responded.
---
That night the caravan camped.
Around the low fire, Mirek glanced across at Kael. "You're different now," he said.
Kael shrugged. "I guess I am."
"You've put some distance between yourself and what pushed you to run in the first place," Mirek said. "It's good to see. Doesn't mean you've stopped moving—it just means you're moving steady now."
Kael nodded. "Thanks."
---
The second day was much like the first. Midway back toward town, the caravan slowed while a wagon wheel was checked. Mirek took the chance to pull a bit closer to Kael and Rys.
"Still using that healing spell I taught you?" he asked with a grin.
Kael glanced his way. "I am. Though… I've been working on something new, too."
"Oh?"
Kael hesitated, then said, "It's… more efficient. Less mana for the same effect. I've shown it to my father and Rys, but not many others."
"You made your own?" Mirek asked, eyebrows rising slightly.
Kael nodded.
"That's good," Mirek said, voice warm with approval. "Means you're learning to build, not just repeat."
There was a long pause, and then Kael said, "If you want, I can teach it to you. Consider it thanks. You're the one who started me on that path."
For a moment, the older man said nothing. Then he smiled. "I'd like that."
---
They stopped early that afternoon at a quiet clearing. After helping set up camp, Kael took a stick and drew three lines into the dirt.
"It's simple," Kael said, reciting the words while Rys and Mirek listened.
The lines of the haiku ended with soft rhymes, the sound flowing smoothly, a steady rhythm instead of the clunky structure of the traditional version.
Rys had seen this many times already; Mirek heard it for the first time.
When Kael finished, they gestured toward Mirek's hand. "Small cut?"
The man raised an eyebrow, drew a shallow nick on his knuckle with a small knife, and held it out. Kael whispered the haiku again.
The wound closed almost instantly, leaving a faint tingling warmth where the cut had been.
Mirek exhaled. "That's… smoother than the old version. I felt the difference."
Kael smiled faintly. "That's the idea. Faster, less costly. Safer."
---
They returned to town the next day without trouble. Mirek clasped Kael's shoulder before they parted ways.
"You've come a long way since we traveled together," Mirek said. "Don't lose that balance you've found here."
"I'll try not to," Kael said.
"And if you ever need to get out there again, you know where to find me," Mirek added, eyes glinting with a mix of fondness and respect.
"I do," Kael said.
---
On the walk home, Rys said, "I see why you always spoke of him with respect. It makes sense now."
Kael nodded. "He was there when I needed someone most. It's strange, though… to realize how much I've changed since then."
"You've changed," Rys said, "but he still sees you."
Kael smiled faintly at that.
And the two walked the rest of the way home in companionable silence.
---
The fifth month brought warmer winds and with it, a request from the guild annex for a string of scouting missions around the hills south of town.
Kael glanced at the list on the board and said, "Looks like these need a small party. It's too spread out for just two."
Rys nodded. "We'll need one more. Who do you think—"
"Kael!"
The voice came from behind.
When they turned, Sef was standing there, leaning on her spear with that easy grin she always carried.
"I heard you've been sticking close to home," she said. "About time I got to steal you for a while."
Kael raised an eyebrow. "You looking to join?"
"Absolutely," Sef said without hesitation.
---
It felt almost like old times. The three of them set out early the next day, covering ground across the low hills and rocky trails.
Kael had traveled with Sef often enough in the past that their rhythm came back easily. She had a way of keeping a group sharp without it feeling like work—a good counterbalance to Kael's thoughtful quiet and Rys's steady practicality.
---
They moved fast during the day, searching for signs of creatures that had been raiding supply carts. Most of what they found were tracks, worn paths, and a few half-abandoned dens.
But in the quiet of evening, once camp was set and the fire was going, they finally had time to talk.
Sef sat cross-legged, resting her chin on her hands, looking between Kael and Rys with a mischievous smile.
"You two have been at this a while now, haven't you?"
Kael glanced up from stirring the pot of stew. "Training?"
"That too," Sef said. "But I was talking about… you know. You two."
Rys chuckled softly but didn't answer.
Kael rolled their eyes. "You make it sound more dramatic than it is."
---
The next morning, after a long sweep of a ridge and a few skirmishes with smaller creatures, they came down toward a stream.
The mission had been long. Dirty, scratched, but alive with the thrill of being out there again, Kael leaned back against a rock while Rys came to stand close.
Rys reached out, tilting their chin just slightly. "Hold still," he murmured, brushing a streak of dirt from Kael's cheek.
Kael smiled faintly and—without thinking—closed the distance between them, pressing their lips to his.
The kiss wasn't long. It was quiet, almost soft, the kind that happens when neither person wants to say a word.
But it was long enough that when they broke apart, they realized Sef had come around the bend of the stream, eyes wide, frozen mid-step.
---
To Sef, what she saw was a man and another man kissing. Her spear clattered lightly against the rocks as she caught herself, then laughed once—awkward, surprised.
"Didn't think you two had that in you," she said, her tone somewhere between teasing and trying to make sense of what she'd just seen.
Kael stood slowly, brushing their hands on their trousers. "You do remember the curse, right?"
Sef blinked. "Right. Right. It's just—" She rubbed the back of her neck. "You know, sometimes I forget. You look so much like—well."
"Your ideal," Kael said. "That's how it works."
"Yeah," Sef admitted. "In my head I still think of you as—well, like this. It's easy to forget there's more to it than what I see."
Kael stepped closer, voice calm. "I'm both. Always both. The curse just chooses what people want to see."
Rys, for his part, stayed quiet, letting Kael speak.
---
Sef exhaled slowly, shaking her head. "No, it's fine. Just surprised me. Caught me off guard, I guess."
Kael gave her a faint smile. "Fair. You don't have to act like you didn't react. Most people would."
"I'm not judging," Sef said quickly. "It's just… strange when your eyes see one thing and you remember another."
"That's the curse," Kael said softly.
---
The three of them sat by the stream for a while after that, letting the tension dissipate.
Sef eventually chuckled. "You know, it's kind of funny. Everyone talks about curses like they're these simple, scary things. But yours? It's complicated. It's messy. It makes people look at themselves as much as they look at you."
"That's a pretty accurate description," Kael said.
---
The rest of the trip was uneventful. They returned to town with their scouting maps and reports, the annex clerk more than satisfied with the thoroughness.
Before parting ways, Sef clapped Kael on the shoulder. "It was good to be out there with you again. Both of you."
Kael nodded. "Same."
Rys added, "Don't let it be too long next time."
Sef smirked. "I'll hold you to that."
---
Back home, that evening as the sun dipped low, Rys nudged Kael's arm. "You handled that well," he said.
"I just told the truth," Kael said.
Rys smiled. "Still. It's not easy, being seen differently by everyone around you."
Kael leaned against him, letting the weight of the day settle. "It's my reality. All I can do is remind people of it when they forget."
"And remind yourself?"
"Sometimes," Kael admitted. "But right now, I don't need reminding."
---
Six months had passed since Kael's decision to stay close to home.
The seasons had cycled through rain, sun, and long quiet evenings, and now, with the year nearly complete, the weight of another birthday loomed closer than it had in years.
This time, instead of ignoring it, Kael was getting ready.
---
For the past week, Kael spent every morning clearing the yard—sweeping the stone walk, straightening the edges of the grass, dragging out the old wooden tables to check which ones needed mending.
Rys caught them there one late afternoon, leaning on the gate while Kael pushed the last of the dust out of the way.
"You've been at that since dawn," Rys said.
Kael stopped to catch their breath, leaning on the broom. "Just making sure the space looks decent."
Rys stepped forward. "You're planning something."
Kael nodded. "In a week, I'll be nineteen. I want it to be ready."
Rys blinked. "You're actually going to celebrate this one?"
Kael nodded again, this time more firmly. "First time since leaving. It feels like this one matters."
"Why?"
"Because this year has been different," Kael said. "I've spent a long time running. Now I want to stop long enough to notice the people still here."
---
The days that followed blurred into a steady rhythm of preparation.
Kael and their father worked side by side to repair the long table. They sanded the top smooth, rubbed it with oil, and braced its legs until it stood steady.
Rys carried in bundles of cloth for the tables, extra wood for seating, and small supplies from the market. Lanterns were strung from the roof of the house to the far fence, the lines gently swaying when the late-summer wind moved through.
At night, the three of them sat together on the porch steps, watching the light shift across their work.
"This feels… like home," Kael's father said on the third evening.
Kael glanced over. "It is home."
"And it's good to see you building it instead of leaving it."
Kael didn't answer right away, but the corners of their mouth softened.
---
Invitations went out through the annex two days later.
Kael spent a whole afternoon at the desk, handwriting each letter.
I'd like to mark another year with the people who made this one matter. If you can make the trip, I'd be glad to see you again.
They sealed each letter with care, delivering them to the annex so couriers could send them out to Sef, Mirek, and a handful of others Kael had traveled with over the last year and a half.
"Think they'll come?" Rys asked that night.
"Some will," Kael said. "I don't want a huge crowd. Just the ones who matter most."
---
The two days before the birthday were spent finishing the final touches.
Kael's father patched chairs, Rys helped hang the last of the lanterns, and Kael made sure the tables were steady and the paths were clear.
When all was done, they sat on the steps one last time before the day came.
Kael looked at the soft glow of the lanterns swaying in the breeze. "I didn't think I'd ever do this again," they said.
"You were always running before," Rys said quietly.
"And now I'm trying to breathe," Kael replied.
---
The evening before the birthday, Kael returned from the annex with two letters. One was Sef's familiar handwriting, promising to make the trip. The other, written in precise, careful strokes, was Mirek's acceptance.
Rys saw Kael reading them on the porch. "Good news?"
"They're coming," Kael said softly.
---
That night, as Kael's father retired early, Kael and Rys stayed out under the lanterns.
"You've done a lot in a year," Rys said, voice low.
"I've had to," Kael replied. "After everything, I needed this year to be… slower. More deliberate."
"Think it helped?"
Kael nodded. "It did. Even if it didn't fix everything, it feels like I finally caught my breath."
---
Rys glanced up at the lanterns, then back at Kael. "Tomorrow, it's not just your birthday. It's a reminder of what you've survived to get here."
Kael studied him for a moment, then smiled faintly. "Thanks for staying."
"I said I would," Rys said. "You're stuck with me."
---
They sat together until the lanterns burned low, the night around them quiet.
Inside, the house smelled faintly of fresh bread and the preparation of food for tomorrow.
Kael closed their eyes for a moment, breathing in the familiar scent.
This time, the birthday wouldn't just be a number.
It would be a promise—to themselves, to the ones who had stayed.