By the fourth day of his exile, Kael's feet were raw and blistered. His clothes hung in tatters, his body worn thin by hunger. Yet there was a steadiness in his stride that had never existed before. The memory of the bandits lingered—not as trauma, but as proof. He had survived. He had fought. And for the first time in his life, he had won.
As the sun dipped low, he crested a ridge and saw it: Embervale, a small village nestled where the forest broke into fields. Thin columns of smoke rose from chimneys. Lanterns flickered in windows as the day faded into dusk. To Kael, it looked like salvation.
But he knew better than to walk carelessly into the world of men.
The Ardentis Clan's shadow stretched far. Even a nameless exile could not assume safety. Worse still, his bond with Nytheris was something no villager—or priest—would ever understand. The power of shadows was not a gift the world accepted; it was a curse whispered of in old tales.
So he pulled his hood low, tightened the belt around his battered sword, and stepped onto the dirt road leading down into Embervale.
The village was small but lively. Merchants closed their stalls, children chased one another through narrow streets, and the smell of bread and smoke filled the air. Kael's stomach twisted painfully at the scent, reminding him how long it had been since he had eaten.
He made his way to the inn at the center of the square. Its sign, carved with the image of a stag, swung gently in the evening breeze. Warm light spilled from its windows, along with the sound of laughter and clattering mugs.
Inside, the inn was bustling. Farmers and hunters filled the tables, trading stories after a day's labor. A fire roared in the hearth. The innkeeper, a broad woman with shrewd eyes, looked up as Kael entered. Her gaze swept over him—his ragged clothes, his tired frame, the worn sword at his side.
"A traveler, eh?" she said, voice firm but not unkind. "You look half-dead. Got coin?"
Kael hesitated. He had none. The Ardentis had stripped him of everything when they cast him out.
"I can work," he said quickly. "Chop wood, carry water, guard your door. Whatever you need."
The woman studied him for a long moment. Then she sighed. "Hells, you've got the eyes of someone who's seen worse than hunger. Fine. A day's work earns you a meal and a bed."
Relief washed through him. He bowed his head. "Thank you."
Later, with stew warming his stomach for the first time in days, Kael sat quietly in a corner of the inn. He listened more than he spoke, observing the life of ordinary people—the kind of life he had never been allowed to know.
Hunters boasted of wolves brought down in the northern woods. Farmers complained of taxes and weather. A pair of soldiers from the local garrison drank noisily, their armor dull but serviceable.
And then, Kael heard a name that froze him.
"Ardentis."
His head turned before he could stop himself. At a nearby table, the soldiers were speaking in low tones.
"They say one of the sons was cast out," one muttered. "Exiled. Some disgrace to their name."
"Aye. Can you imagine?" the other scoffed. "The Ardentis don't tolerate weakness. Best for the world if the boy's already dead. If he isn't, he'll be hunted soon enough. Can't have their shame walking free."
Kael forced himself to look away, his hands tightening around the mug in front of him.
They already know. Word travels faster than exile itself.
He kept his head down for the rest of the night, retreating to the small room the innkeeper offered. But sleep did not come easily.
The shadows stirred around him, restless.
"You see now," Nytheris whispered, his voice curling from the corners of the room. "Even far from your father's fortress, their gaze hunts you. You cannot hide what you are. But you can make them fear it."
Kael sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the darkness gathering near his feet. "If I show what I am here, they'll brand me cursed. I'll be hunted not just by my clan, but by everyone."
The god's laughter was soft, dangerous. "Then do not show them everything. Walk in their light when it suits you. But never forget—the shadows are yours to command. And when the time comes, no village, no garrison, no clan will stand before you."
Kael exhaled slowly. He did not trust Nytheris—not entirely. But the words rang true. If he was to survive, he would need to live two lives: the stranger who chopped wood and drank ale… and the shadow-born heir who carved his destiny in secret.
The next day tested that balance sooner than he expected.
He had been splitting logs behind the inn when the alarm bell rang through Embervale. Shouts echoed from the square. Kael dropped the axe and hurried forward.
A massive boar, tusks wicked and eyes wild, had broken from the forest and was charging through the village, scattering people in its path. Livestock pens splintered, carts overturned, and a child screamed as the beast barreled toward him.
Without thinking, Kael ran.
The boar lunged, tusks gleaming. Kael threw himself between it and the boy, drawing his battered sword. For a moment, fear surged—this blade isn't enough.
Then the shadows stirred. The steel darkened, edges sharpening as Nytheris's whisper filled his mind.
"Strike."
Kael slashed. The blade carved through the beast's tusk as if it were glass. The boar howled, thrashing wildly, before Kael spun and drove the shadow-wrapped edge deep into its neck. Darkness flared. The beast collapsed in a spray of blood and dust.
The square fell silent. Villagers stared, wide-eyed, at the ragged youth who had felled a monster before their eyes.
Kael stood frozen, his chest heaving. The sword still pulsed faintly with shadow.
Then the boy he had saved tugged at his sleeve. "Mister… thank you."
Kael blinked. Slowly, he lowered the blade. The shadows receded, leaving only a battered weapon once more.
The villagers surged forward, cheering. Farmers clapped his back. Hunters hailed him as a warrior. Even the soldiers muttered in reluctant respect.
To them, it was simple: a drifter with surprising skill had saved a child.
None saw the truth. None saw the god's gift that had turned the tide.
But one thing was certain—Kael was no longer invisible.
That night, alone in his room, Kael stared at his hands. The cheer of the villagers still echoed in his ears. For the first time, people had looked at him not with scorn, but with gratitude.
Yet in the corner of the room, Nytheris whispered.
"They praise you now. But should they glimpse what truly guides you, their cheers would turn to screams. Do not forget, Kael. Light accepts only what it understands. And you… are mine."
Kael closed his eyes. The god was right. He had stepped into the world—but he would forever walk its edge.
The boy of Ardentis was gone. The exile had begun his path.
And in the shadows, the first whispers of his legend stirred.