The road east was dust and silence.
Kael and Leonardo walked side by side, their footsteps the only rhythm in a land long forgotten by flags or kings. Iderra was behind them now—its ashes, its blood, its fading battles. Ahead lay the wilds. The unknown.
They had spoken little since leaving the village. The wind carried their thoughts for them.
At noon, they reached a tall standing stone, cracked down its center. Moss climbed its base. Someone, long ago, had carved the old word for border into it, though time had nearly erased it.
Kael stopped.
Leonardo did too, letting out a long breath. "End of Iderra," he said, with a voice that felt like it carried centuries of war and weariness.
Kael didn't respond at first. He looked out at the vast stretch of land beyond—forests cloaked in fog, distant hills crowned with dying light. Freedom. Or madness. Maybe both. The breeze smelled different here, not of blood or metal, but of pine, loam, and something deeply, unsettlingly clean.
"This is it, then," Kael said, voice quiet, yet thick with weight.
Leonardo nodded, his brow low beneath the brim of his battered hat. "Been riding beside you longer than I expected. Longer than I meant to."
Kael gave a faint smile. "You always said you were a lone wolf."
"I did." Leonardo glanced to the side, brushing a speck of dust from his sleeve. "Turns out the pack wasn't so bad."
There was silence then. A thick one. Not awkward, but meaningful.
Kael looked at the man who'd fought beside him, pulled him from death more times than he could count. The one who had scolded him like a father, argued like a brother, stood beside him like a friend.
"I'm going to miss you," Kael said. No bravado. Just truth.
Leonardo's face didn't change much. But his eyes softened beneath his weather-worn lashes.
"You'll be fine, kid." He stepped forward, placed a hand on Kael's shoulder. "Just don't chase ghosts until you forget who you are."
"I won't," Kael said. Then, quieter, "I can't. Not anymore."
He reached into his cloak and touched the charm Melia had given him. It pulsed—softly, steadily. A reminder that he wasn't walking alone, even if his feet didn't share the path.
"I have to find the Spectre," Kael added. "Not for revenge. Not even for power. But to understand. To stop what's coming."
Leonardo held his gaze. Then nodded slowly. "Then go. Find what you need. Don't let the world turn you into something you're not."
They clasped forearms—firm, final. A warrior's farewell.
Leonardo turned first. No words. No promises. He walked west without a glance back, his figure shrinking with each step until he vanished into the wind-carved haze.
Kael stood alone.
The silence that followed wasn't empty. It was alive—with echoes of laughter, firelit talks, shared kills, narrow escapes, and the quiet trust that only blood and time could forge.
Then he turned east, squared his shoulders, and walked.
---
The land beyond was wild but beautiful—lush grasses, trees tangled with ivy, birds that didn't scatter at his presence. Time moved slower here. The air tasted cleaner. But Kael didn't stop to admire it. His steps were sure now, driven not by rage, but by purpose.
He passed crumbling ruins half-swallowed by roots, empty shrines with burnt offerings, and weathered statues to gods no longer worshipped. The deeper he went, the more the world seemed to breathe.
Each night, he dreamed.
The figure of light always returned, reaching toward him, trying to speak. But the darkness always came faster—stronger. Sometimes, it tried to pull him too. His screams never made it past his throat.
He stopped talking to the dreams. He started answering with action.
On the second night, he lit a fire beneath an old willow and stared into the flames. The charm on his chest glowed faintly, like a heartbeat. He whispered Melia's name once—not as prayer, not as longing, but as a tether. A reason to move forward.
By the fourth day, Kael crested a hill and saw the rooftops of a town nestled in the valley below.
Varan.
---
It was smaller than he'd expected. Wooden houses with tiled roofs sat neatly between fields of barley and wheat, the crops swaying in golden waves. A stream cut through the middle, crossed by a single arched bridge. Children played barefoot in the mud. Traders dozed beside carts full of herbs, firewood, woven baskets.
The town had no walls. No guards. No patrols. Only a single weather-worn sign on the road that read: Varan – Here, We Are Enough.
Kael entered quietly, drawing a few glances—some wary, others curious. His cloak was worn, his sword visible, his boots caked with dirt.
An old man sweeping the steps of a tavern paused. "Stranger?"
"Just passing through," Kael replied, voice dry.
The man squinted, then gestured toward the back. "Rooms are cheap. So's the beer. Don't bring trouble."
"Wouldn't dream of it," Kael muttered.
He took the corner room upstairs. It smelled of cedar and smoke. The floor creaked with age. Outside the window, the sky was turning rose-colored as the sun began its descent.
Kael placed his pack by the bed, set his sword within arm's reach, and leaned against the window.
From here, he could see the entire town. The fields. The forest. And at the edge of the hill—half-shrouded in moss—stood a shrine. Old. Quiet. But not forgotten. A crow perched atop it, watching.
Even from this distance, Kael felt it.
Something there called to him.
But not tonight.
He descended to the tavern's main room, where the fire crackled low and a woman hummed as she stirred a pot. A few locals raised eyebrows but said nothing. The barkeep served him a bowl of stew and bread with only a grunt.
It wasn't home. But it was calm.
And calm, Kael had learned, was rarer than gold.
After his meal, he stepped outside again, walking slowly through Varan's cobbled paths. He passed a blacksmith's forge where a girl barely in her teens pounded iron with surprising strength. A small apothecary draped in vines. An orchard where laughter danced in the air.
But beneath it all, Kael felt it. The quiet tension.
Like the town was holding its breath.
Not afraid. Not cursed.
Just waiting.
He returned to his room as night fell, the stars like scattered fire above. He sat on the wooden sill, watching fireflies drift between lanterns as the town of Varan exhaled into dusk.
He remembered Leonardo's final words. He remembered Melia's gift. He remembered the dream.
And though the night outside deepened, his eyes did not close.
He was not the same man who had entered Iderra. He wasn't even the same boy who had stumbled into Leonardo's camp, half-dead and screaming.
Kael had crossed Iderra.
Now the real journey would begin.