The tavern was ash and splinters.
Its blackened frame sagged like a wounded beast, still steaming in places where the fire had raged hottest. A window frame hung crooked on a single hinge. Half-burned timbers jutted from the wreck like bones. Smoke coiled skyward into the gray morning.
Kael stood in the center of it all, bloodied and scorched, his breath visible in the cooling air. Heat shimmered faintly from his skin, like the battle clung to him even now. Villagers peered from behind doors and shattered shutters. No one dared speak. No one dared cheer. Only silence remained, thick and heavy.
He moved forward, slowly, down the ruined street.
Every step left a faint imprint of soot. The villagers watched him pass as if a god had walked out of myth and into their dirt-stained lives—terrifying and unknowable. Some shrank back. Others simply stared. He didn't blame them.
He didn't feel human, either.
Then—footsteps.
Light. Measured.
He turned.
Aerin stood a few paces behind him, arms folded across her slate-blue coat. A smudge of soot streaked her cheek, and ink stained the cuffs of her sleeves. Her steel-blue eyes regarded him without flinch or fear.
"You broke the tavern," she said dryly.
Kael wiped a smear of blood from his lip with the back of his hand. "They started it."
"So did a lot of wars."
She tossed him a folded cloth. It was surprisingly clean.
He caught it and dabbed at the blood on his chin.
They walked together through the broken village. The only sounds were the crunch of debris underfoot and the distant creak of a shattered signpost.
"Those men," Aerin said, not looking at him, "they weren't amateurs. Their formation was structured. But your movements—"
"What about them?"
"They were too precise to be instinctive. Like someone taught you to hold back. Not kill."
Kael didn't answer right away. A raven cawed from a burnt beam.
Finally, he said, "Because I'm not a weapon. Not anymore."
She looked at him sidelong. "You expect anyone to believe that, walking around with heat in your veins and gods in your blood?"
He gave a faint, weary smile. "I don't care what they believe."
Aerin pulled out a notebook from one of her belt pouches, already scribbling notes even as she walked. "Interesting. Controlled shockwaves. Arc patterns show directional intent. No civilian casualties."
"Are you studying me?"
"I study systems of belief," she replied, not glancing up. "And you're part of one. You just haven't accepted it yet."
Kael exhaled slowly. "I promised someone I wouldn't become what I was."
Aerin's hand paused over her notebook. She looked at him, really looked, for a moment longer than necessary.
They didn't speak again until they reached the edge of the village, where the hill rose. Atop it, the chapel ruins loomed like a forgotten sentinel, its bell tower cracked but still standing. Ash drifted through the air like snow.
"This place," Aerin murmured, "was once a point of convergence. Old faiths. Sunfire cults. The architects of silence."
Kael raised an eyebrow. "The what now?"
She didn't answer.
Instead, she climbed the broken bell tower with the sure steps of someone who had mapped every inch already. At the top, she turned and gestured for him to follow.
He did.
The view stretched for miles. Smoke curled from the village below, and to the north, the path still bore the traces of retreating hoofprints. The light slanted gold through the clouds. Everything felt... quieter up here.
"There are myths," Aerin said, sitting on the edge of a broken wall. "Of men with sunfire in their blood. Who could ignite and endure. But they all died young. Or disappeared. You're not the first I've read about."
Kael looked at her. "But I'm the first you've seen."
"The first who survived the aftermath," she replied.
He sat beside her, elbows on his knees. "You talk like a historian."
"I am."
"Aren't historians supposed to just write things down? Not stalk living legends."
"I prefer to call it proactive observation."
He chuckled, wincing at a sharp pain in his side.
Aerin glanced over, pulled a small vial from her pouch. Dipped a cloth into it. Wordlessly, she leaned in and pressed it to the cut on his arm.
"Ow," Kael muttered.
"You'll live."
She tied a thin strip of linen over the wound and sat back. For a moment, they just watched the wind move through the ashes.
"Do you believe in fate?" she asked.
"No."
"Choice, then?"
Kael was quiet. "I believe in consequences."
Her gaze drifted down to his forearm. The bandage didn't quite cover a strange mark—half-burned, almost a symbol.
Aerin's expression changed.
She reached out, fingers brushing the edge of the mark. Her voice softened, but there was steel behind it:
"You're not just some relic with fists. You're part of something bigger, Kael. And it's moving faster than you think."
He stared at her. "What is it?"
She pulled her hand back. Stood.
"You said you're not a weapon anymore. I hope that's true. Because weapons don't ask questions."
She began to walk away.
He stood as well. "Why are you really here, Aerin?"
She hesitated at the stair.
"To write. To remember. And maybe... to stop the wrong people from winning."
Kael watched her descend into the fading light.
He turned north again. The dust still hadn't settled.
But now, the silence behind him wasn't empty.
And whatever lay ahead—
He wouldn't face it alone.