Kael walked in silence, the soles of his worn boots crunching against dry leaves and wind-scattered gravel. Though blind, he never stumbled. The path unfolded before him not in sight, but in sensation. The air spoke in subtle pulses, in pressure changes, in echoes that kissed his skin and told him of branches overhead, of the curve of the earth beneath.
The relic bound to his soul had stolen his eyes—but gifted him something... other. Not quite sight. Not quite magic. A sixth sense bred of silence and memory.It whispered to him now.
They're watching again.
He didn't flinch.
Ever since leaving the ruins of Orune, he'd felt eyes—unfamiliar, curious, sometimes cautious, sometimes afraid. But none approached him. Not until today.
The wind shifted.
He stopped at the edge of a clearing bordered by silverwood trees. The ruins here were older, devoured by vines and time. Shattered pillars jutted from the moss like ribs of a buried beast. Birds had gone silent. Only the wind remained… and the faint rustle of movement not his own.
He didn't draw a weapon. He had none—not yet.
Instead, he lowered himself to one knee, pressing his hand against the earth. His breath slowed. His presence vanished.
Then he heard it.
A soft footfall. Deliberate. Controlled. Female.
And then—a voice.
"You're not from here." Soft, clear, and edged with suspicion. But beautiful. Ethereal, even.
Kael tilted his head slightly, not rising. "Neither are you."
She didn't speak again right away. He could feel her studying him. He imagined what she might see: a tall figure, lean but solid, cloaked in earth-toned robes with a dark wrap over his eyes. His jaw sharp, cheekbones sculpted, hair black as cinders and falling loosely to his shoulders. The relic's mark—an ember-shaped brand just below his collarbone—glimmered faintly beneath torn fabric.
He knew how he must look. Ragged. Worn. Dangerous.
And yet, she didn't flee.
"You're blind," she finally said.
He didn't answer that.
Then she added, "Yet you knew I was here before I made a sound."
Kael rose slowly. "You made a sound. You just didn't know it."
A pause.
Then she stepped closer. "What's your name?"
He hesitated. Names held weight in the old ways. But something in her voice—perhaps the gentleness beneath the suspicion—tugged at him.
"Kael."
Another pause. "I'm Arinya."
Her name fell soft as the breeze, and yet the moment he heard it, the relic in his soul pulsed once—just faintly. He filed that away.
She drew closer still. "Kael… you've got the scent of ash on you."
"It doesn't wash off."
She tilted her head. "That relic you carry… it's not ordinary."
"It cursed me."
"I doubt that's all it did."
Kael gave nothing away. But he was listening.
He could hear the details in her tone—the way it shifted when she circled him. The confidence in her words. She wasn't just some curious villager. She was trained. Or born of power.
And someone else had noticed her, too.
From the tree line, a second presence stirred. Heavy, armored, and not hiding. A rival heartbeat. Steady. Closer now.
Kael turned toward it. "Your guard?"
Arinya sighed. "Not mine. He just follows."
A figure stepped forward. Tall, armored in ceremonial gold-trimmed black. A scar crossed his cheek, and his left gauntlet shimmered faintly with spellmetal.
He didn't introduce himself.
"She has no business speaking with outlanders," the man said curtly.
Kael said nothing.
The man continued. "You're cursed. It's obvious. The sigil on your chest—I've seen it before. You're one of the Ash-Bound."
Arinya interjected. "He hasn't harmed anyone."
Yet the suitor—Kael could tell by his posture, his unearned possessiveness—stepped forward. "You think that matters? Creatures like him don't belong near sacred ruins."
Kael's head tilted slightly. "Creatures?"
The man sneered. "I'm giving you a chance to walk away, blind boy. I won't give it twice."
Silence followed.
Arinya glanced between them, tension rising. "Let it go, Dorien."
But Dorien was already stepping forward.
Kael didn't move—until the man reached for his shoulder.
In a blur, Kael turned his wrist, fingers snapping into a grip, and Dorien's armored hand was twisted downward and pinned in a heartbeat. Dorien shouted in surprise, and Kael stepped in, pressing the man's elbow back until a pop echoed through the clearing.
Dorien stumbled back, clutching his arm.
Kael released him without a word.
Arinya exhaled. She hadn't even seen him move.
Dorien glared, his face red with rage. "This isn't over."
Kael turned back toward the ruins and began walking. "It never is."
They watched him go.
Dorien looked to Arinya. "You defend him because he's intriguing. But you don't understand what he is."
"I understand more than you," she said quietly.
Then, without another word, she followed Kael.
They sat later that evening beside a small stream that trickled through the ruins. The air was cooler now, laced with the scent of damp moss and fireflies. Kael had built a small fire without asking her help. His movements were efficient, practiced. Monastic.
"You were trained," she said after a while. "Not just in fighting. But in patience. In listening."
Kael nodded faintly. "I was raised in silence. Taught to hear what most ignore."
"What happened to them? The ones who taught you?"
"They're ash now."
She didn't ask more.
But then, unable to help herself, she said, "Do you… know what I look like?"
He turned slightly, and though his eyes were covered, she felt the weight of his attention.
"No," he said honestly. "But I've heard your voice. It's soft. Controlled. There's beauty in that."
She looked away.
Then he added, "And Dorien called you 'Lady Arinya' once. Which means you're noble. He wouldn't chase someone beneath his station."
Arinya smirked. "So you pieced it together."
"I don't need eyes to understand people."
"You might be the first blind man who's ever unnerved me."
Kael didn't smile, but the firelight caught the faintest twitch at the corner of his lips.
Somewhere deeper in the woods, a bird called out once and fell silent.
Kael's fingers brushed the relic scar on his chest. He could feel it pulsing faintly. Reacting to her. Why?
He didn't know yet.
But he knew this: the wind had changed when she spoke his name.
And the next time they were attacked, it wouldn't be a suitor with pride to wound.