Chapter Two: The Light I Never Deserved
Sunlight kissed the edge of the meadow.
Kael Azrion awoke to birdsong—sweet and haunting—and the scent of blooming orchids mixed with warm earth. He blinked slowly, stretched out in grass so green it seemed false, flecked with streaks of shimmering blue. A violet sky overhead glimmered like opal, dappled with gossamer clouds that glistened with gold.
For a moment, he simply lay there.
Breathing.
So this is what life feels like when it's not trying to kill me.
No rusted chains. No battlefield screams. No burning cities.
Just… peace.
He sat up slowly, white hair spilling over his brow. His clothes were simple—woven linen, tied with soft cord. A tunic and pants, foreign in style but comfortable. He didn't remember changing. His skin looked smooth, unmarked by years of scars.
Even his hands trembled with the unfamiliar absence of pain.
But the Miracle Eye still burned beneath his right eyelid. Always awake.
He stood, taking in the view.
The valley below buzzed with life—dragonflies the size of fists danced over pools of radiant water. Towering tree-shrooms glowed in the distance, their stalks hollow and alive with flickering light. Small deer-like creatures with silver antlers moved gracefully through the brush, occasionally glancing toward him and vanishing when noticed.
Everything was vivid, alive, and impossibly clean.
A sound broke the air behind him—soft footsteps in tall grass.
Kael turned.
A young woman stood on the edge of the treeline, grasping a wooden rod close to the length of a man. She was copper-skinned, hair caught up in big braids worked with minuscule bells. She was wearing a baggy robe made in leafing, and she wore a tiara of wrapped silver thorns.
Her double eye—one green, one amber—glitched onto him.
"You aren't from here," she spoke gently.
Kael stared at her, calculating. The Eye whispered no danger, but her aura shimmered faintly. Magic-born. She wasn't a normal villager.
The Eye flickered—something in her aura throbbed odd, like memory caught in flesh—but it disappeared before he could catch it.
"No," he replied. "But I think I've been here before. A long time ago."
She tilted her head. "You speak like an old man. You look like you're barely grown."
Kael gave the faintest of smiles. "Looks lie."
The girl stepped closer, cautious but curious. "I'm Lira. Apprentice of the Blooming Circle. Healer… sometimes. What about you?"
"Kael," he said simply.
"No title?"
He shook his head. "Not anymore."
Lira watched him for a moment longer, then gestured toward the valley. "You shouldn't be alone out here. The festival's begun. The forest blooms once every twelve years, and the spirits get noisy. Come. You'll be safer with a guide."
Kael hesitated.
His instinct told him to walk alone. To avoid ties. But something in her tone—warm, grounded—felt like something he hadn't known in lifetimes.
Trust.
He nodded once.
They walked shoulder to shoulder to the festival lights, her bells softly ringing out with every step.
The path wound through golden fields of wheat and fruit-laden trees radiating bioluminescent glow. Children ran barefoot in the distance, chasing ribbon-lizards that left trails of glowing silk in the air. Vendors called out with soft voices, selling roasted nectar pods and whispering seeds that bloomed when eaten.
Lira talked easily. "The Blooming Festival marks the passage of the forest's pulse. Every twelve years, it opens, shares its secrets, and then retreats. Some say it breathes like a sleeping god."
Kael listened more than he spoke, storing every detail.
It was beautiful.
But the Eye never slept.
The lizards left no scent. The fruit shimmered unnaturally. Beneath the laughter of the children, a murmur threaded through the earth like a warning.
Something wasn't right.
They entered the village as twilight fell. Lanterns floated above rooftops, tethered by nothing. Music drifted from flutes carved of bone and glowing reeds. Dancers spun in circles of colored fire.
Kael was at the threshold, the happiness so intense it was foreign.
Lira grinned. "You look like a man who doesn't know how to enjoy."
"I don't," he admitted.
She touched his arm. "Then tonight, you learn."
For the first time, Kael allowed himself to be led.
They ate food that hummed on the tongue, drank from leaf-cups filled with moon-fruit wine, and danced beneath the stars to a rhythm that felt older than the world.
Kael laughed—once. Just once. But it was real.
And at that moment, he recalled what it was to be alive.
A dancer's flame was extinguished for an instant, showing a hollow-eyed face beneath the light.
Kael blinked, and it was gone.
But his far above, beneath a shining haze, the Eye showed him a crack in the heavens
Something watched from beyond.
And it remembered him too.