The wind was biting, sharp as a dagger against Kael's skin, but it was the least of his concerns. His eyes scanned the scorched earth of Black Hollow, the battlefield where his family's ruin had started. The once fertile plains were now a graveyard of rusted weapons, shattered shields, and scattered bones—a testament to a forgotten war.
A chill ran through him, one that wasn't from the cold.
Kael adjusted the heavy supply pack on his back, the straps biting into his shoulders. His fingers were raw from the cold, and his body ached from the long trek. He could feel the eyes of the others, the adventurers he was with, burning into him—but not with respect. No, they were mocking him.
"Keep up, Flickerfire!" Bram's voice cut through the air, rough and taunting. He was the leader of this ragtag group of adventurers, a seasoned swordsman who had little patience for the weak.
Kael swallowed down the bitterness rising in his throat. He was used to it. Used to the taunts. Used to being the one nobody believed in. His magic, Flickerfire, was supposed to be his strength. But it wasn't. It wasn't even close. A feeble fire spell that barely flickered in the air.
"Don't get in my way," Bram spat as he walked past, brushing Kael's shoulder roughly. The others snickered, a low, mocking sound that made Kael's face burn with shame.
The weak were always expendable in this world. Kael wasn't just weak, though. He was the son of a disgraced noble—an exile, with a name that meant nothing anymore. His family had been wiped out in a single night, their castle burned, their lands stripped away. All because they had angered the wrong people in the Empire. His father had been a fool, a stubborn fool who thought that his family's bloodline and title would shield them from the inevitable fall.
It hadn't.
Kael's life had been stolen that night. Now, he was nothing but a ghost. A shadow of someone who had once mattered. His magical prowess was laughable—a Flickerfire spell that couldn't even light a campfire properly.
That was why he was here. Why he was relegated to these trivial, menial tasks. To carry supplies, to clean, to be a burden to these adventurers. No one had faith in him—not even his mother, who had long since passed from the sickness that took her during their years of exile.
But if Kael was honest with himself, he had hoped—just a little—that this mission would change things.
It was a dangerous mission, one that promised reward, one that would put him in a position where his abilities could finally be seen as valuable. They were here to scavenge the remains of Black Hollow, a battlefield that had been the site of one of the bloodiest confrontations in recent history. Soldiers, mages, and adventurers alike had died in droves, leaving behind riches and forgotten magic. If Kael could find something, anything, of value… he might be able to make a name for himself.
But, as it was, he knew it would be impossible. The only thing he would find here was his own failure.
"You sure you know how to carry a pack, Flickerfire?" Bram's voice broke through his thoughts. "Or are you just going to collapse again?"
Kael didn't answer, though the anger burned through him. He had collapsed earlier on the journey—weakness took its toll, especially when you had nothing to rely on except your own frail body. He wasn't strong. He wasn't brave. He wasn't even a decent mage.
In fact, the only thing Kael could do well was survive—and even that was becoming harder to do as time went on.
"You better keep up," Bram continued. "We won't carry you if you fall behind. This isn't some vacation. You're here to help. Not whine about your miserable little life."
A few of the others snickered. Kael kept his gaze focused on the ground in front of him. Focus. It was all he could do. If he thought about their insults too much, it would consume him. Instead, he buried his frustration deep inside.
Keep going. Just keep going.
A rustling sound in the distance caused Kael to look up. He didn't want to look—he knew what was coming. It wasn't his first time on a mission like this. They were always dangerous, and there were always threats—both human and monster. But there was a difference this time. Something had changed, something he couldn't put his finger on. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled.
Movement.
A figure emerged from the shadows of the wreckage ahead—a shape barely visible against the dimming twilight. Kael's heart skipped a beat, and a chill ran down his spine.
Bram, oblivious, grunted. "Probably another scavenger. Whatever. I'll deal with it."
But the figure wasn't a scavenger. It wasn't anything human.
It was a beast, dark and towering, its glowing eyes fixated on Kael. The beast had the body of a wolf but the size of a small mountain. Clawed paws dug into the dirt, and sharp teeth flashed as it let out a bloodcurdling roar.
Everyone froze.
Kael's pulse hammered in his ears. Instinct told him to run. But his legs refused to move. His fingers went numb. The Flickerfire spell—his only spell—burned in his mind, but the words wouldn't come. The incantation wouldn't flow.
This was it. His final mistake. The moment where he failed, just like every other time.
But as the beast charged, something in Kael's chest snapped. It wasn't a conscious decision, but suddenly, the words came to him. His hands blazed with flame as he shouted, "Flickerfire!"
The spell fizzled weakly—barely a spark—but the beast hesitated. And that hesitation… that split second… was enough.
The beast let out a low growl and lunged.
Wait...
Kael's mind raced.
Something, deep inside, shifted.