Snow crunched softly beneath their boots as the four of them made their way back toward the barbarian camp. The mountain wind whispered through their cloaks, playing with trailing fabric as though testing the new rhythm in their steps.
Now that Kel's curse was gone, his gait was no longer measured to conserve breath—each step bore quiet certainty, a lightness he had never allowed before. The air around him felt different too, as if the absence of the curse had made space for something deeper.
Winter seemed to listen when he walked.
Reina walked to his left, fingers brushing the shaft of her spear, her eyes occasionally shifting toward him, studying the subtle ease in his movement. Landon followed on his right, broad shoulders relaxed yet alert, his stride steady like an anchored mountain. Sera walked a step behind, her white hair catching the falling snow, silent for most of the journey until—
"Kel."
Her voice cut softly through the quiet.
Kel did not stop, but the faintest movement of his eyes signaled that he was listening.
Sera continued.
"Why did you make a contract with the guardian of Scarder Lake?"
Her tone was calm. Not accusatory. Just… curious. But beneath curiosity, there was the faint vibration of someone who understood too intimately what it meant to be bound by something ancient.
Reina's gaze shifted toward Kel.
Landon's eyes followed, though his expression remained unreadable.
For a few steps, Kel did not speak.
Instead, the falling snow filled the silence.
Then—
"…I was thinking," he said quietly, "how lonely it must be."
His voice was even, but the air felt heavier around those words.
"To stay in one place for centuries," he continued, "guarding something because fate said so. Without anyone to talk to. Without anyone willing to listen."
Snowflakes descended onto his hair, melting softly.
Reina watched him from the corner of her vision, her eyes faintly widening at the tone—he did not speak with pity. He spoke with understanding.
"Loneliness," Kel said softly, "is more dangerous than any curse."
He turned his gaze toward Sera.
"And I know how that feels."
Sera's footsteps slowed briefly.
Her fingers clenched.
Then released.
He looked forward again. "So I proposed a contract."
To offer her a way to see beyond the lake, he thought silently, and to gain access to what she once protected as my own.
But those words were not what he voiced.
He spoke only the truth meant to be shared.
"She has guarded that lake since it formed. Longer than most civilizations survive. The world changed around her—yet she remained."
Sera nodded slightly.
Landon's eyes lowered.
Reina's grip tightened around her spear, as though remembering a moment when she too had been forced to stand still while the world moved on.
"Most would have tried to take power from her," Kel said. "But… I wanted to ask if she wished to walk further."
His expression did not soften.
But the stillness in his breath hinted at something quiet beneath.
Understanding.
"And she listened?" Sera asked.
Kel's steps slowed then, just enough to glance back.
"Yes."
A ghost of a smile touched his lips.
"She listened."
And for the first time since the cave—
the contract presence stirred faintly, like ripples on still water.
Sairen.
Her gaze lingered from somewhere unseen, not intervening—only watching through him.
He spoke of you to the world, she whispered silently.
Kel did not react outwardly.
But his heart beat once, steady.
He faced ahead.
They continued walking.
After a minute, Reina spoke quietly.
"Would you still have made the contract," she asked, "even if you hadn't lost your curse?"
Kel did not turn this time.
His answer came like breath on frost.
"Probably sooner."
Sera blinked.
Landon's eyes shifted.
Reina stared at his back.
Kel added nothing else aloud.
But in the silence of his mind—
I am not foolish.
As a player of Destiny, I know the value of mythical contracts.
A contracted entity grants power, skills, blessings, passive enhancements…
I've secured that foundation. Now, I need to earn her trust enough to unlock her blessing fully.
She saw through power seekers countless times before. If I approached with greed alone—she would deny me.
But sincerity…
That, she had not been offered in ages.
Which was why his words worked.
Win for her.
Win for me.
Perfect.
He did not feel guilt.
He did not feel shame.
Because—
His honesty was real.
And his ambition was necessary.
Sera broke the silence again, just as the barbarian camp's perimeter fires came into view.
"You said loneliness is more dangerous than any curse," she murmured.
Kel walked forward.
"Yes."
A faint smile.
Sera exhaled softly.
"For someone who carries so little outwardly," she whispered, "you speak like someone who carried too much."
Kel did not answer.
But the snow seemed to fall slower around them for a moment.
Reina stared at his back.
Landon watched his faintly drifting footprints.
None spoke further.
They resumed walking toward camp.
As they approached the wooden palisade reinforced with bones and iron, warrior silhouettes turned toward them, eyes wary but no longer hostile.
It seemed word had spread.
Kel nodded once toward the guards.
They allowed passage.
But as he stepped beyond the threshold, a soft ripple brushed the back of his consciousness.
Sairen.
"Even now," came her quiet thought, "you weigh sincerity and utility in the same breath."
Kel's gaze did not shift.
I do.
Her voice lingered.
Not rebuking.
Simply acknowledging.
"You are… efficient."
Kel's expression remained calm.
Inside, he replied—
I had to be.
A quiet pause.
Then—
"Do not forget," she whispered like mist over still water, "that even those who choose to walk beside you are not instruments."
Something in his step slowed for half a heartbeat.
Reina noticed.
Landon did too.
He said nothing.
He walked on.
I know, he thought.
And that knowledge was both truth—
and warning.
To himself.
The wind shifted.
Ahead, camp fires flickered, casting amber onto snow.
They had arrived.
But as Kel crossed the threshold, a faint whisper followed him, like a single ripple across winter stillness.
"Do not become the curse you once escaped."
Kel did not respond.
He simply exhaled.
And stepped into evening.