Ashseekers come like shadows. Without warning. Without mercy.
Kael's fingers twitched.
The low rustle of leaves didn't come from the wind. He turned his head toward the sound, muscles tight. Footsteps—silent but hurried—stalked around the clearing. The fire sputtered at the center, casting erratic shadows that danced across their camp.
Arinya's soft laughter had just faded, still echoing faintly as she tucked away a small herb pouch into her cloak. Dorien leaned on a tree nearby, arms crossed, skeptical as ever.
Kael's breath left in a whisper. "We're being watched."
Before the words could sink in—
The first blade screamed through the air.
It shattered through the edge of the firelight, aimed straight for Kael's throat. He moved before thinking. The relic bound to his soul flared faintly—its heat pulsing like a second heartbeat—as he ducked under the strike and kicked upward, catching the attacker under the chin with a brutal snap.
The enemy crumpled, but four more replaced him in a blink. Clad in dark, soot-stained armor and bearing sigils scorched into their skin, the Ashseekers had found them.
"Scatter!" Dorien barked, drawing twin daggers.
Too late.
Ashseekers surged into the clearing like an avalanche. Their blades glimmered not with steel, but with a black haze—corruption that devoured the light.
Arinya moved too, eyes glowing faintly as she thrust her hand forward. "Lōmina—!"
A burst of radiant energy exploded from her palm, sending two Ashseekers flying into trees with bone-crunching force. Another lunged for her from behind—but Kael was already there.
He couldn't see the blade, but he heard it, felt the distortion in the air. Kael caught the attacker's arm and twisted. The man's scream was short-lived as Kael's knee collided with his solar plexus. He dropped without a sound.
Then—
A flash of memory.Stone hallways. Screams. A girl crying. A staff in his hands—his hands—swinging like wind and flame.
Kael staggered.
The relic inside him pulsed again—stronger this time.
He gritted his teeth. "Not now…"
The fight became chaos.
Ashseekers poured in. Dorien fought with grim precision, carving lines of red through their numbers. Arinya's power flared again—a sphere of protective light shielding them temporarily. But even as she held it, sweat beaded her brow.
"Too many!" she gasped. "We can't hold them!"
Then, a whimper.
Kael's head turned. A small child—a village girl with soot-covered cheeks—crouched behind a rock, trembling. One of the Ashseekers turned toward her, blade raised.
Kael moved before thought.
He launched across the battlefield, intercepting the attacker mid-swing. No weapon in his hands—just instinct. His elbow shattered the man's jaw. Another moved in—Kael twisted, grabbed a dropped spear, and hurled it without pause.
It struck clean through.
He dropped beside the girl. "Stay low. Don't run."
Her wide eyes blinked up at him, and despite everything, she nodded.
"You're scary," she whispered. "But I think you're good."
He almost smiled.
By the time the Ashseekers retreated—scattered by Arinya's final burst of light and Dorien's relentless assault—the clearing was scorched. Smoke rose from fallen trees. The fire had gone out.
Arinya dropped to one knee, breath ragged.
Kael walked toward her slowly, his shirt torn, blood on his knuckles, his blind eyes still locked straight ahead.
"You okay?" he asked.
She looked up at him—and froze.
"You—" Her voice caught. "Your face…"
Kael tilted his head. "What about it?"
Before she could answer, Dorien snorted. "Don't feed his ego. He's already too good-looking for a man who can't see."
Arinya blushed, but smirked.
Kael blinked. "...Wait. I'm good-looking?"
Silence.
"I mean," she muttered, "...your face is...chiseled. Like a war statue. But in a good way."
He turned toward her voice with a faint, deadpan expression. "That sounds mildly threatening."
A soft laugh escaped her lips—unexpected and light.
Moments later, as they patched wounds and surveyed the area, a figure stumbled from the treeline.
A scout—armor singed, eyes wide with fear.
He dropped to one knee before Arinya, ignoring Kael and Dorien entirely.
"My lady—Arinya of Lumaire—we were attacked. The capital burns. The Ashseekers are spreading. We think they're after your bloodline. You must return. Now."
Kael stiffened.
Arinya's face paled. "My father—?"
The scout hesitated. "Missing."
Then his eyes slid to Kael. He recoiled.
"Why is he here?" he hissed. "He wears the mark! He's cursed—Ashbound!"
Kael stepped forward, the air subtly shifting around him.
"I'm not your enemy."
The scout's hand went to his blade, but Arinya blocked him.
"He saved us. Twice."
"Lady—!"
"That's an order," she snapped, voice cracking with authority.
The scout dropped his gaze.
As they prepared to move, Arinya walked quietly beside Kael. Dorien scouted ahead, grumbling.
"Thank you," she said.
"For what?"
"For saving that child. For trusting me. For not letting the relic consume you."
Kael didn't answer at first. His fingers brushed the hidden binding under his tunic.
"I don't trust easily," he said at last. "But you... you have a beautiful voice."
She blinked. "...That's random."
He shrugged. "I figured if people are going to keep talking about how I look, I get one compliment too."
She laughed again—genuine, tired, and lovely.
The path ahead led toward Lumaire. Toward a kingdom under siege. Toward war, truth, and whatever fate the ashes still whispered about.
Kael walked on.