Kael sat on a boulder near the edge of the grove, his breath slow, his body still. Behind him, Verdant Hollow lay quiet and shrouded in early mist. He had meditated since dawn, yet found no peace.
His master, Elric, had been gone for weeks.
The old man had left without ceremony—just a few clipped words and a worn satchel of tools slung over one shoulder. Said he was headed beyond the southern hills to search for rare herbs. Left Kael strict instructions to continue his training, to practice the incantation day and night.
Kael obeyed.
He had no choice.
He had been here for four years.Four years of training. Four years of clawing his way through the nameless incantation—alone.
The Hollow, once a place of quiet discipline, now felt hollow in truth. Without Elric's presence, each day stretched into the next—a cycle of breath, stillness, and repetition. His body had grown stronger. His endurance deepened. And yet, the third level of the incantation stood like a wall he could not scale.
He was no prodigy. Even with years of relentless effort—and the strange tonics Elric had provided—Kael had barely achieved what others might gain in half the time. And now, the tonics were gone. The jars emptied. The whispered guidance silenced.
His progress halted.
He should have felt shame.
But what he felt, more than anything, was unease.
There had always been something strange about Elric's eyes—the way he watched Kael not as one might watch a student, but something... rarer. Coveted. Even loved, in a cold and possessive way.
Kael had once convinced himself it was fatherly affection. Now, he wasn't sure.
Sometimes he caught Elric looking at him not like a person, but a vessel.
A thing.
Still, Kael said nothing.
He trained. He endured. He waited.
But the unease only grew.
One morning, with the Hollow steeped in silence, Kael stepped beyond its bounds. No one stopped him.
There was no one left to.
He wandered the mountain trails—paths he hadn't walked in four years. The trees seemed taller, the wind sharper. Birds called from the canopies, and for the first time in a long while, Kael let himself smile.
He was still young, after all.
He didn't venture far, only as far as the outer ridges that once connected Verdant Hollow to the rest of the sect.
There, tucked beneath an overgrown cliff, he heard it:
Shouting.
The clash of weapons.
Cheering.
Curious, Kael crept closer, his steps silent on moss and stone. The trees thinned—and then he saw it.
An arena of sorts, carved naturally by cliff and root. Over a hundred youths crowded around its edge, shouting encouragement or jeers. Within the circle, two groups stood apart—rival lines drawn not just by training, but by blood, by coin, by pride.
Kael recognized faces.
Wanjin, smug as ever. Liu, his dark skin gone pale from pampered living. And Mero... Mero had grown rounder, louder—but no less bold.
It was like stepping back into another life.
Kael climbed a tree and perched quietly, watching.
Two boys fought below.
One heavy and strong—Mero, Kael realized—swung with wild force. The other, lithe and quick, dodged and darted, looking for an opening.
Nearby, a scrawny boy stood on a rock, shouting advice that no one seemed to heed.
"Kick low! Sweep him now! Idiot, not there!"
Kael climbed down and approached. The boy eyed him, wary.
"Who're you? Haven't seen you before. You from Jadefall?"
"Kael," he said simply. "Used to be in the Hollow. Been training. A long time."
The boy's eyes widened. "Wait—you're that Kael? I thought you died or something!"
Kael offered a shrug. His fingers briefly touched the pendant under his robe—a small, worn leather pouch, where a certain little bottle had lain untouched for the past four years.
The boy grinned.
"Well, you picked the perfect day to come back. This mess? All over a girl. One kid loved her, the other bought her. The first one jumped into the river. His cousin's out for revenge. That's Mero there, with the fists like bricks."
Kael watched in silence as Mero landed a punch that sent his opponent sprawling.
The crowd roared.
Kael didn't cheer.