The march stretched on for days, a river of steel winding through the green and gold plains of the lowlands. Every night the soldiers pitched camp near some lonely stretch of forest, and every night Equito found herself sitting by the same fire, helmet set aside, watching the smoke rise into the starlit dark.
The king's banners fluttered overhead, stitched in silver thread. They caught the wind like wings, reflecting the flames that ringed the camp. Around her, the knights spoke in low tones, boasting of past battles or trading stories of women and wine. But when Kael walked by, silence followed him like a tide. Men who had laughed moments ago went still, their eyes turning down.
He did not notice. He never did. He couldn't bother.
Equito turned her attention back to her fire, watching the embers shift and fall. It had been three years since she killed him, three years since the corpse she carried to the capital took a breath in front of her. That memory still clawed at her ribs. The king called it a miracle, but she could not shake the feeling that something older, darker, had reached into the boy and refused to let him die.
She rubbed her temples and tried to focus on the present. The king's orders had been clear. She was to watch Kael, keep him near, and report everything. But what could she report now that she hadn't already? That he didn't sleep? That his reflection sometimes lingered a second longer than it should? That his eyes seemed to change shade with the light?
She sighed.
Across the fire, a younger knight, one of her lieutenants, leaned forward. "You fought beside him before, didn't you? Back on the western front?"
Equito nodded. "If you call what he did fighting."
"What do you mean?"
"He doesn't fight. He erases."
The lieutenant laughed nervously, thinking it a jest, but she did not smile. He fell quiet again.
The night passed slowly. Sometime before dawn, a messenger rode in, his cloak dusted with ash. He went straight to Kael's tent. Equito followed at a distance, stopping just outside the canvas flap. Voices murmured low within, too faint to make out. She leaned closer.
"…burned villages… movement near the southern ridge…"
"…scouts missing… enemy mages confirmed…"
When she finally stepped back, the messenger was gone, and Kael was alone again, sitting before a map spread across the table. His eyes flicked up to hers.
"Eavesdropping?" he asked.
"Guarding," she said flatly. "What did the messenger bring?"
"Orders. We move by sunrise."
"Already?"
"The king wants the eastern passes secured before the harvest ends. He fears the enemy will strike through the valleys."
Equito crossed her arms. "And you? What do you fear?"
He looked at her for a long moment. "That the wrong side will win."
She had no answer for that.
When dawn came, the army moved again. The roads narrowed into broken paths, the grass giving way to gray stone and twisted trees. Mist hung low, swallowing the sound of boots and hooves.
Equito rode beside Kael, her eyes scanning the ridges. "You know what this feels like?" she said.
"What?"
"The air before an ambush."
The ambush came minutes later.
A deafening crack split the morning, followed by a torrent of flame that tore through the vanguard's flank. Men screamed as the fire spread, eating through armor and skin. From the cliffs above, shadows poured like water, armored figures chanting in guttural tongues. Enemy mages.
Equito's horse reared as another blast of fire struck the ground nearby. She drew her halberd, barking orders, cutting down a charging spearman. The air filled with smoke and ash. Through it all she saw Kael walking calmly into the inferno, his armor glowing with heat, his blade drawn.
The flames curled around him but did not touch. Every rune on his armor burned with silver light. He lifted his sword and swung once. The air itself shuddered. The front line of enemy soldiers broke apart like clay, bodies falling in silence.
Equito froze. The heat was unbearable, yet he moved as though it were nothing. His eyes, pale and cold, fixed on the cliff above where the enemy mages stood. They began to scream, their own spellfire turning against them.
When it was over, nothing remained but charred corpses, stone, and silence. The surviving soldiers stared at him, their expressions twisted somewhere between awe and horror.
Kael turned back to the army, his armor blackened but untouched. "Continue marching," he said simply, his voice calm.
Equito could not move. For a long time, she just watched him walk past her, the smoke swirling behind him. When she finally found her voice, it was barely a whisper. "What are you becoming?"
He did not answer.