The forest surrounding Biwa had grown quieter over the last few days. Even the wind seemed cautious, threading through the pines like a messenger who feared being overheard. Every rustle, every snap of a twig, made Kael's head twitch as if the trees themselves whispered secrets meant only for him. He found a certain rhythm in the silence, a lull that allowed him to notice the small things: the curve of a deer's hoof, the way shadows clung to the undergrowth, the subtle vibrations in the earth that spoke of distant movement.
Kael's stomach growled again, loud and emphatic, cutting through the quiet like a bell in a monastery. The sound was human and ridiculous, yet somehow defiant. Jade, who was kneeling near the fire, nearly jumped. "Honestly," she said, eyes narrowing, "if the demons hear that, they'll think we've summoned something worse than war."
Kael grinned, showing teeth that were too sharp for a boy of his age. "Maybe they'll send a chef instead," he said, voice low and conspiratorial. Then he bent forward and sniffed the air. "Or perhaps they'll send something tastier."
Jade sighed and shook her head, not entirely sure whether to scold him or laugh. Dill, still studying the perimeter silently, didn't even look up. The scholar's hands rested lightly on the hilt of a dagger, as if expecting some unseen threat to arrive at any moment. The tension in the cabin was a living thing, coiling and uncoiling with every creak of the floorboards.
Kael stood abruptly, stretching limbs that had grown tight from stillness. He wandered outside, boots crunching on frost-hardened grass. The world beyond the cabin seemed endless and dangerous—soft hills giving way to jagged forests, rivers that glittered under the sun but hid depths full of secrets, and skies that could turn black in moments, swallowing whole villages in shadow.
The boy's gaze lingered on the horizon. Somewhere out there, the war was moving, shaping the land, deciding who lived and who died. Even from here, the faint sound of distant horns carried to him like a prophecy. Kael's hands clenched briefly. The thought of slaughter, of battles he had yet to witness, made his stomach flip in ways his growling hunger could not explain.
"Kael," Jade called from the cabin door, her tone sharp but worried, "don't wander too far. We need to stay hidden. For now."
Kael waved her off with a lazy flick of his hand. "Hiding is boring," he said, though he knew her warning had merit. Still, the boy had always moved differently, as if the world itself had carved paths just for him to walk. He crouched by a tree, examining its bark and the small animals scuttling beneath. Each observation was part of a mental map forming in his head—a map of movement, danger, opportunity.
Inside, Dill moved quietly. Maps, sketches, notes—everything spread out before him, a silent symphony of information. He spoke rarely, but when he did, it was with weight. "The beasts are organizing," he said, voice flat, "not randomly. There's coordination, a hierarchy. Something or someone is directing them."
Kael raised an eyebrow. Coordination. Hierarchy. He imagined the creatures, claws and teeth, marching like soldiers under a distant commander. The mental image was oddly satisfying, even amusing, and his grin returned. "So we'll need to learn their steps before they learn ours," he said. "Like dancing, but with more stabbing."
Jade glanced at him, exasperated. "You have a strange way of coping."
Kael shrugged. "Better to laugh at a war than cry."
The day passed in a rhythm of small movements. Kael practiced swings with imaginary weapons, each arc deliberate, testing muscle memory. He imagined an enemy before him—a demon with eyes like coals, fangs dripping, and a howl that could tear the night apart. Kael moved fluidly, pivoting, lunging, retreating. Every strike was considered. The imaginary sword hummed in his mind, each swing a whisper of what was to come.
And then he paused. For the first time, he noticed something strange. The air itself seemed to respond to his movement, tiny shivers rippling through the underbrush, almost like it was learning the dance he performed. Kael frowned, curiosity sharpening his expression. Perhaps it was nothing, but the thought lingered: what if he wasn't entirely alone in how he moved, in how he felt?
Even as the day waned, Kael found it hard to rest. Hunger gnawed, yes, but also anticipation. He imagined the chaos that would come when the war truly reached Biwa. He imagined the blinding speed of a battle where Cassian would sweep through the field, the Sagittarius Knight, the Blood Driver, a figure whose reputation already roared louder than any horn. Kael's mind raced: a brother who could slaughter without hesitation, a boy who could swing blades with deadly elegance, a future in which Kael would need to match—or at least survive—the storm his brother could unleash.
Night fell, and the woods seemed to close in, thick and watchful. Kael lit a small fire, the smoke curling in thin lines, and stared into the dancing flames. The cabin behind him was quiet, save for Jade, who finally exhaled in her small, controlled sigh, and Dill, who muttered under his breath while making notes by lantern light.
Kael's stomach growled again, louder this time, a sound that made the shadows twitch as though the darkness itself were startled. The boy laughed softly. "Even the war doesn't silence hunger," he said. And perhaps that was true. Hunger—both of the body and of the spirit—was a constant companion. It drove him to stand, to swing, to move, to survive.
He didn't yet know the full shape of the world outside Biwa, the scale of the battles that awaited, the hidden secrets, or the betrayals that would come. But he understood one thing with perfect clarity: every swing, every lesson, every small, ridiculous moment of humor and hunger would become part of the map he carried inside. And in that map lay his survival—and perhaps, in time, his revenge.
The night stretched on, the wind carrying distant cries and the scent of smoke from beyond the hills. And Kael, sitting quietly in the glow of the fire, felt a thrill at the thought of what was coming. He wasn't ready for all of it, but he would be. Somehow.