Chapter five: Embers in the Dark
The scent of smoke guided him.
It was faint—slipping through the air like a whisper, curling through the underbrush and threading between trees. Each step Elarion took brought it closer. Warmer. More real.
Someone was out there.
Not a beast. Not a memory.
Someone living.
He moved quietly, instinct guiding his steps. Even the forest, as hostile as it had become, seemed to hush itself for this moment. The trees still loomed like sentinels, but they no longer reached for him with cold suspicion. Now they simply watched.
He crept toward the flickering light ahead, weaving through thickets and tangled roots until the first crack of orange fire broke through the branches.
A clearing.
Small, surrounded on all sides by thick brush and low-hanging limbs. At its center, a campfire burned in a tight ring of stones—neat, deliberate. The flames danced low, carefully fed, casting long shadows across the ground.
And beside it…
A figure.
Wrapped in a dark green cloak, seated on a stump, back half-turned to him. Not tall. Lean. And armed—Elarion spotted the glint of a short blade resting against a pack near their feet.
He stepped too hard on a dry branch.
Snap.
The figure turned instantly.
A face came into view—young, but older than him. Maybe fifteen? Seventeen? Sharp brown eyes. A thin scar across the bridge of the nose. Hair tied back in a rough tail.
Not startled. Not afraid.
Just alert.
They stood slowly, one hand brushing against the hilt of the blade but not drawing it. Their voice, when it came, was low and even.
"…You don't walk through these woods by accident."
Elarion swallowed.
"I wasn't trying to find you."
The figure studied him. Eyes scanning his face, his clothes, the dirt on his hands, the tension in his stance.
"You alone?"
Elarion nodded once.
A beat of silence. Then the figure gestured toward the fire.
"Sit. If you were dangerous, you'd be holding a weapon already."
Elarion moved cautiously into the clearing, every step uncertain. He sat across the fire, watching the flames more than the person across from him.
For a while, neither of them spoke.
Then the stranger reached into their pack and pulled out a flask, tossing it over. "Water."
Elarion caught it, hesitated, then drank. It was cool. Clean. Better than anything he'd tasted in days.
"You're not from around here," the stranger said, matter-of-fact.
"No."
"You don't remember where you're from either."
Elarion stiffened.
That got a faint smile. "Didn't think so. You've got that look."
"…What look?"
The stranger tapped their own temple. "Like something's rattling around in your head, just out of reach."
Elarion said nothing. His fingers curled around the pendant beneath his shirt.
"You can call me Kael," the stranger said finally, poking the fire with a stick. "I've been out here a long time. Too long, maybe."
Elarion hesitated. "Elarion."
Kael raised an eyebrow. "Nice to meet someone with a name. Most folks I find out here can't even remember that much."
Elarion looked up.
Kael stared into the fire. "There's something wrong with this forest. Everyone feels it. The ones who come in either vanish… or leave changed."
He paused.
"Or not at all."
A gust of wind blew through the trees, stirring embers into the night.
Elarion stared at them as they floated upward—like stars born in fire, trying to return to the sky.
"What are you doing here?" he asked.
Kael didn't answer immediately.
Then: "Looking for someone."
Elarion waited, but no more was offered.
The silence returned, deep and comfortable. But beneath it, something shifted—unspoken, but understood.
Neither of them was truly alone anymore.
And both of them were running from something.