The Message He Left Behind
Before the sun rose, Kael returned to the village one last time.
He did not sneak in, nor did he try to speak with anyone. The air was still, wrapped in the kind of silence only those with guilt or purpose walk beneath. Kael carried both.
At Mera's doorstep, he paused. The house was quiet—she'd likely just woken. The warmth of her care still lingered in his memories, but something colder now governed his spine. This place, once a cradle of comfort, now felt like a cage.
He left the message on the wooden door: a folded cloth with dried herbs she once taught him to use for wounds—and a note, hastily written in charcoal:
"Thank you for everything. But I don't belong here. Not anymore. — K."
He didn't wait.
Didn't linger.
Didn't hope.
Because he knew… part of her would understand. The other part would mourn him as already lost.
And maybe she'd be right.
Into the Forest of Echoes
Kael entered the forest at dawn.
He followed the trails the slavers left behind—wagon grooves in the mud, scraps of cloth snagged on thorns, and once, a child's broken wooden toy half-buried under fallen leaves. It twisted something in his chest.
His pace was deliberate.
He was no longer hiding his presence. Let them feel the weight of something hunting them for once.
The air thickened the deeper he went. Branches stretched like arms trying to pull him back. But Kael pressed forward, senses sharp, the ache behind his eyes growing stronger.
The farther he went, the louder the forest whispered.
And finally, he saw them.
A clearing lit by firelight. Five slavers—armed, laughing, tired. They sat near a makeshift pen made of rough iron bars, where at least seven children, dirty and bound, huddled together like frightened animals.
Kael's hand tightened around the blade on his back.
He didn't rush.
He walked into the clearing.
The Fight That Taught Them Fear
One of the men turned. "Who the—?"
He never finished.
Kael's blade unsheathed in a single breathless moment. Shadows clung to it—not magic, not something known—something deeper. A black reflection of something buried in him.
The first slaver's head rolled before the second could scream.
Then the others scrambled.
One drew a crossbow, but Kael kicked it from his hands before it could fire, twisting mid-spin and carving a deep gash across the man's chest. The slaver gasped, blood spraying the fire, then collapsed into the dirt.
Another tried to grab a hostage.
Kael's fury turned surgical.
He vanished in a blur, reappearing between the man and the cage. His eyes met the slaver's—and there was no hesitation. Kael drove the blade through the man's throat with such force that it pinned him to a nearby tree.
Two left.
They ran.
Cowards.
Kael didn't chase immediately. He turned to the cage. One of the kids—a small girl with silver braids—clung to the bars, trembling.
Then something shifted behind him.
A howl.
The last two had circled and returned with something larger—a beast. A mutated warhound, its body stitched with alchemical plates, glowing with venomous runes.
Kael exhaled, lowering his stance.
The beast lunged.
It was fast—faster than most men.
But Kael… was something else entirely.
He dodged the first pounce, rolled beneath the second, and drove his blade upward through the creature's jaw, shattering bone and sorcery alike. It spasmed, then crumpled.
The two slavers screamed, charging together.
Kael let them come.
Then moved like a whisper.
He ducked beneath the first strike, countered with a sweep that cleaved through one's thigh, and shattered the other's wrist with a brutal elbow. When both fell, he stood over them—not triumphant, just breathing hard.
Not from exhaustion…
…but from restraint.
They looked up at him with horror.
"Please—don't—!"
Kael stared.
Then whispered, "You made them bleed. You made them beg."
And without emotion, he finished it.
No more running.
No more mercy.
The Aftermath
The fire was dying when Kael finally approached the cage. He broke the lock with a swing of the blade and stepped back.
For a moment, no one moved.
Then one child—a pale boy with cracked lips—crawled out. Then another. Soon, seven children stood blinking in the ash and moonlight.
Kael said nothing.
He crouched and pulled out some rations he had taken from the slavers' packs, handing them to the oldest girl.
"You'll follow the trail west," he said quietly. "There's a trader's camp half a day's walk from here. They're not good people… but they won't harm you. Not anymore."
One boy clutched his arm. "W-Who are you?"
Kael didn't answer.
He simply turned his back and walked away.
The children watched him go in silence.
Who Defines Mercy?
The forest swallowed him once more.
And Kael walked—alone, again—hands stained in blood, blade heavy on his back, and eyes sharper than ever.
At the edge of a stream, he stopped.
Stared at his reflection in the water.
"You kill monsters," he said aloud, "and they call you a hero."
He tilted his head. "But if those monsters look human… then what are you?"
No answer.
Just the sound of water running over stones.
Kael sighed.
"I never asked to be born this way. But I'll use it."
He drew his blade and let it rest against the water's surface.
"I'll devour what this world hides. Every lie. Every cruelty."
A spark of something darker flickered in his eyes.
"And if they call me cursed…"
He smiled faintly.
"…then let them pray to whatever gods they worship that I never find them."
The moon rose above him—silver and cold.
And Kael Vorrin disappeared into the woods, not as a boy running from his past…
…but as a shadow walking toward his future.