Ash drifted like snow.
It fell in slow, weightless spirals, painting the jagged stones a dull gray as the sky cracked above — a ceiling of dead light and silent thunder.
Kael stepped through the rift.
Five years. That's how long they'd left him in the Ashfold — the cursed scar of a world that devoured everything it touched. Nothing lived here. Nothing sane, at least.
And yet, here he stood.
Not as a man.
Not entirely.
The cloak hanging from his shoulders was more burn than fabric now, and the blackened steel at his hip had no name, no maker, and no reflection. His eyes — once clear and royal — now glowed faintly, flickering like dying coals beneath the hood's shadow.
He exhaled. The breath came out warm. Warmer than it should've.
The wind didn't move. The trees didn't grow. But something watched.
They always watch, now.
Whispers. Faint. Feral. Forgotten. He ignored them.
The border wasn't far. He could smell it — the iron tang of guard towers, the sting of lantern oil. Civilization. It felt alien.
Kael stepped into it.
The outpost was small — three men, one tower, and a crooked wooden gate that would've collapsed in any real war.
Two guards stood at the entrance. One leaned on a spear. The other picked ash from his teeth.
They didn't see him at first. Not until the lantern flared.
"What the hell—?"
A shape in the fog. Cloaked. Burned. Walking calmly across land that no man returned from.
"Stop there!" the first guard barked, voice cracking.
Kael didn't stop.
"You deaf, freak?" the second shouted, stepping forward. "This is a restricted zone! Turn around or we'll—"
The lantern shattered.
No flame touched Kael. It parted around him like water. The ash thickened. The ground hissed with rising heat.
"Gods," the first whispered, "he's one of them—"
Steel slid from its sheath. A spear raised.
Kael didn't move.
The flame did.
It licked across the stones, slow at first — then fast, ravenous. The air screamed. One guard fell, thrashing. The other tried to run.
He didn't get far.
The fire burned in silence. No roar, no crackle. Just heat. Wrath. Memory.
When it faded, only ash remained.
Kael turned from the smoke. His blade had never left its sheath.
He walked alone for a while. No footsteps behind him. No path ahead. The world felt smaller somehow. Or maybe it was just quieter.
A shape circled above — a black bird with ashen wings and hollow eyes.
"Watching again," Kael murmured.
The bird cawed once. Then vanished into the clouds.
He looked down at his hands. They weren't shaking. Not anymore.
Not since the gods stopped speaking in words.
Not since they left pieces of themselves behind.
"They will know I've returned…"
"…even if they no longer remember my name."
And as the last flame died behind him, Kael Virelion walked into the kingdom that had tried to forget him — unaware that forgetting would be its greatest sin.