The campfire sputtered in the heart of the ruined vale, its orange light painting weary shadows across Kael's companions. Beyond the shallow ring of flame, the night stretched vast and unyielding, every whisper of wind carrying the memory of battle.
Kael sat with his blade across his knees, crimson eyes fixed on the fire as though seeing something far beyond it. His silence was not unusual, but tonight it weighed differently—like a pillar the others leaned upon even when they did not realize it.
Seliora, wrapped in her hooded cloak, watched him carefully. Her own hands trembled faintly as she traced sigils into the dirt with a stick, symbols only she could understand. When the fire hissed, she murmured almost to herself.
"The air still bleeds of black host sorcery. Even victory leaves scars."
Darius grunted from where he was sharpening his spear. "Sorcery or no, a corpse is still a corpse. We've left plenty behind us."
Kael's gaze shifted up, the faintest glint of red cutting through the smoke. "Do you think numbers alone mean the end of them?" His tone was steady, but behind it lay something sharper—unspoken certainty.
Aric, seated closest to the fire, lifted his chin. His boyish face was drawn with fatigue, but he forced strength into his words. "We survived. Together. That counts for something."
The fire crackled.
Darius gave a dry laugh, scraping steel against whetstone. "The lad's right. Even if it's just a moment stolen out of the jaws of the dark, it's ours. That has to count."
For a while, none of them spoke. Only the fire whispered, the weight of silence drawing them closer rather than apart.
Then, Seliora's voice cut the quiet, softer than usual. "Do you ever wonder," she said, "why Kaelen chose Kael that night? Of all broken souls in the ruins of war, why him?"
Aric frowned, as though the question unsettled him. Darius lowered his spear, looking toward Kael with the wariness of a man probing at a wound.
Kael did not answer immediately. His fingers rested on the hilt of his blade, tracing the edge as if in thought. Finally, he spoke, his voice low but clear.
"Kaelen didn't choose me. Darkness already had. He only taught me how to face it."
His companions sat in silence, each of them turning that truth over in their minds. Seliora's eyes narrowed, as though testing the meaning. Aric leaned forward, eager to press for more but hesitating under Kael's piercing gaze. Darius muttered under his breath, "Facing it is one thing. Carrying it… that's another."
The night stretched onward, the fire burning lower, but none left its circle. They did not say it aloud, but all of them felt the same thing—that as much as Kael's path was forged in shadow, it was the bond between them that gave those shadows shape.
And for the first time in days, Kael let his shoulders ease, just slightly, as the silence between them settled into something steadier than words.