Toma's survival left the village uneasy. Some claimed the ancestors had shown mercy, others muttered that mercy always demanded a price. Kael heard it all but cared little. Their voices could not touch what he had discovered the night before.
Behind the huts, with only a small fire for company, he sat cross-legged on the earth. Breath slowed, mind emptied, and then it came. A faint rhythm stirred beneath his skin, delicate yet certain. It was not blood but something finer, like light weaving through hidden channels. For a moment the pattern was clear, tracing lines through his arms and chest, before it slipped away.
When he opened his eyes, the world seemed sharper. Smoke carried layered scents, the wind pressed with weight, even his heartbeat struck with new clarity. Something inside him had awakened.
That evening, Seris called for a trial. A wild boar had been seen in the Ashwood Vale, the vast forest east of the village. The Vale was no ordinary woodland. Its trees grew twisted and dark, roots clawing through the soil, and mists hung low even at midday. Elders warned that men who strayed too deep often did not return. To walk its shadows was to be tested.
When Seris named the boys chosen, Dagan's smirk spread wide. "The orphan? What will you do? Trip over your own feet and cry for your dead parents?"
Laughter followed, cruel and eager. Kael said nothing. He adjusted his grip on the spear and stepped forward.
On the path into the Vale, Dagan kept close behind him, voice sharp in the hush of the forest.
"Stay in front, orphan. If you run, the beast will take you first."
A few boys chuckled.
"If you die, at least we will not waste food feeding you anymore."
More laughter rippled through the group.
Kael's face remained still. He listened to every word but offered none back. His eyes stayed on the ground, tracing bent grasses and gouged bark. Inside, the faint pulse stirred again, guiding his steps and steadying his mind.
The boar came like thunder, crashing from the mist with tusks flashing. Boys scattered, spears jabbed without aim. Dagan lunged first, shouting, but his strike glanced off thick hide. The beast roared and sent him stumbling back.
Kael waited. He watched the rhythm of its stride, the pause between lunges. When the moment came, he stepped aside and drove his spear into the joint above its leg. The strike lacked power but was precise. The boar faltered, momentum broken, and the others swarmed. Together they dragged it down in a frenzy of shouts.
Victory cries rang through the Vale. Dagan rushed forward, planting his foot on the carcass as though the kill were his. "We win because we strike together," he shouted, face flushed with triumph. The others echoed him, eager to believe. None mentioned the orphan's strike that had turned the fight.
Kael wiped blood from his hands, expression unreadable. Inside, the pulse still thrummed, steady and real.
Haron, watching from the trees, had seen everything.