By morning, the birds were gone.
Black Hollow had never been quiet—not even during winter when the snow covered rooftops and the hearths never went cold. But now, the quiet was oppressive. A warning. The kind that slithered up your spine and whispered, flee.
Kael stood on the edge of the forge, the sword concealed beneath a bundle wrapped in canvas at his back. His pack was light. He had planned to leave early that morning—quietly, without ceremony, while the village slept. He reassured himself it was for their protection.
But deep within him, a part of him knew better.
He was evolving.
And he didn't wish for anyone to witness what he was transforming into.
He took a step down the road heading east, mist swirling around his boots.
That's when he heard the scream.
---
They emerged from the fog—giant, distorted figures that moved as animals, but had armor like men. Eyes that glowed like hot coals. Maws too wide, lined with sawed-through bone.
Kael hardly had a glimpse of the first before it tore the butcher's door out. The screams were joined in chorus. Windows exploded. Something huge ripped the roof off the inn.
He ran.
Not away.
Toward the flame.
The first monster charged at him—eight feet tall, double-jointed arms, bark-like skin blackened by fire. Its axe swung through a cart to his side, splinters erupting.
Kael reacted without thinking.
Shadowfire was in his palm before the axe could fall a second time.
And the world changed.
Time dragged. He sensed it—not only the movement, but the intent of the beast. He knew the tension in its swing, the hunger in its mind, the spot its foot would hit before it did.
He walked as wind through high grass.
The blade sang—a note not heard with ears, but with spirit.
And the beast was split in two.
No blood.
Only fire.
The body incinerated from the inside out, the runes down Kael's arm burning like liquid gold.
He spun—and saw three more approaching.
---
Marda was fending off another with a walking staff and a snarl.
Kael launched himself between her and the beast, the sword cutting a crescent of purple light through the air. It hit the creature's chest—
And detonated.
A firestorm shockwave ripped through the mist. The beasts stumbled, screaming. Kael fell to his knees, his skin smoldering with smoke. The sword crackled in his hand, steam ringing off the blade.
Marda gazed at him. At the blade. At the brand on his arm, now shining so intensely it illuminated the sidewalk.
"That thing's summoning them," she whispered. "They didn't come here by accident. They're tracking the blade.
No," Kael said, his voice far away, changed. "They're hunting what keeps it."
---
By evening, the fires had been extinguished. The bodies—man and animal alike—were ash and ember.
Half the village was lost.
The others gazed at Kael as if he were something other. Something to be feared. He saw it in their eyes.
Not awe.
Dread.
He sat beside the forge one final time, gazing at the blade across his knees. It throbbed with satisfaction.
Not triumph.
Hunger.
Marda sat next to him, quiet for a very long time.
"You have to leave."
"I know."
"You saved us," she said. "But you'll kill more than you save if you remain."
Kael didn't protest. He stood, sheathed the blade once more, and gazed again at the village that had raised him.
Then he turned east—toward the mountains, toward the Black Tower, toward the truth.
And as he walked into the darkness, the stars above shifted once again.
As they did the day the gods fell.