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Chapter 3
Three months had passed since his arrival in the city.
Time, slow and relentless, had left visible marks on Kael. His body, though healed from the worst wounds, still bore the weight of weakness. Every movement was measured, every step deliberate. His muscles had not regained their former strength, yet his mind was sharper than ever.
In the shadows of the city walls, he had found refuge—and above all, a new stage to play his part.
The Heralds of Dawn, initially wary, now regarded him as an ally, a discreet but useful presence. Sir Aelric, the leader with the long silver sword, sometimes entrusted him with reconnaissance missions, while the mage Eldrin and the archer Lyra occasionally exchanged words with him during their evening gatherings.
Kael played his role perfectly: the weary traveler, the fragile survivor.
But beneath this mask, his red eyes scanned every detail, every weakness, every opportunity.
That night, the camp was bathed in the flickering light of a campfire, filled with laughter and chatter. Yet Kael did not smile. He watched.
Near him, Lyra busied herself cleaning her arrows, her dark eyes sometimes drifting into the night. He approached quietly and sat down beside her without a sound.
"You know," he began in a low, calm voice, "Sir Aelric once told me you were… difficult to bear."
Lyra looked up, surprised, but held his gaze.
"I'm not the type to please everyone," she replied, a faint bitter smile at the corner of her lips.
Kael gave a smile that did not reach his eyes.
"That's true. He also called you 'weak'—simply because you're a woman with a character he finds… detestable."
She furrowed her brow but remained silent.
"Yet," Kael continued, "he acknowledged your talent. Undeniable."
His voice darkened.
"But face reality, Lyra. The missions ahead aren't a stroll in the park. I wouldn't be surprised if one of them cost you your life."
A heavy silence settled between them. Lyra looked away, her confident mask wavering under this unexpected weight.
Kael placed a nearly brotherly hand on her shoulder, brief but laden with an unspoken promise.
"Prepare yourself. Because this world doesn't give gifts."
He stood slowly and walked away from the circle of light, leaving behind a dying fire and a secret well kept… for now.
But as he departed, a shadowy figure watched them from the darkness. An enigmatic smile spread across their lips.
"The real game begins," whispered the voice barely audible.
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In the following weeks, Kael infiltrated the Heralds' lives with surgical precision.
He shared their meals, offered strategic advice that seemed to come from unexpected knowledge, and listened with feigned attentiveness to every complaint and doubt expressed in passing.
He understood that brute force would not suffice—not yet.
True power lay in manipulation, in sowing doubt, fracturing alliances from within.
During one such evening, he overheard a conversation between Eldrin and Sir Aelric.
"Have you noticed?" the mage asked, eyes worried.
"What?" Aelric replied, fiddling with his sword's pommel.
"Kael. He seems almost too calm… too distant. Like he's calculating every word, every gesture."
Hidden behind a pillar, Kael smiled coldly.
He knew their doubts were growing, and that was exactly what he wanted.
In the days that followed, he planted seeds of suspicion, discreetly hinting at past mistakes, potential betrayal signs among some group members.
Their glances met more often now, charged with new mistrust, and tension slowly mounted like an invisible storm ready to break.
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One morning, Kael received a mission from Sir Aelric himself.
"Go inspect the northern walls," the warrior said with a tone of authority mixed with fatigue. "We have reports of strange movements in the forest."
Kael nodded, easily hiding the shadow of satisfaction that flickered in his gaze.
He knew the area, the weaknesses in the defense, and above all, the secrets no one suspected.
As he walked away, his mind already calculated the next move.
The game of shadows had begun, and Kael intended to lead it to victory… or total destruction.
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Night fell again over the city, but this time, the stars seemed less bright.
In the darkness, Kael stood alone on a tower, the wind brushing his gray cloak.
His red eyes gleamed with a new light—a spark of defiance and promise.
They all think they know me. They know nothing.
The smile that split his face was no longer that of a mere traveler, but that of a master of fate.
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