Chapter Five – Of Swords Once Lost to Time
Part Three – Footsteps Through the Smoke
They left the Doctrine's walls by dusk. No escort. No light.
Only the rustle of pine needles beneath worn boots, and the low hum of mist curling down the ridgeline like smoke that forgot how to rise.
Yolti walked in the middle, adjusting her satchel straps every few minutes—not out of need, but nerves. Her eyes scanned the trees as if each could whisper something useful. Kaelen walked ahead, always just close enough to hear, but never turning around. And Selka, as ever, walked like she was never truly walking—like she was watching herself from somewhere else.
"The reports said it's a small fishing village," Yolti offered quietly. "Cliffside. Half-burnt already from the last breach. Only twenty families left."
Kaelen didn't answer.
She kicked a root. "They say it happened fast. No Rift-surge. No distortion. Just… ash."
Selka finally spoke. "That's not how they move."
"I know." Yolti's voice dimmed. "But the Riftborn weren't the ones the villagers talked about."
The path narrowed. Moonlight filtered through in streaks, glinting against Kaelen's bracers. He slowed. Reached out. His hand hovered above the bark of an old tree—and then he drew his fingers down, carving a mark with his thumb against the softened grain.
A single arc. Then another. Crossed.
Selka stared at it. "You're still doing that."
He didn't face her. "Every time we go out."
Yolti stepped beside him, reading the mark. "He Remembers."
Kaelen finally looked back.
"I don't care if it's a ghost. If it's him—he shouldn't be fighting alone."
Selka's expression didn't change, but the air around her shifted. Not angry. Not sad. Just pulled tight—like a thread stretched too far and about to break.
"Then why hasn't he come back?" she asked.
The wind paused.
Kaelen's answer came after too long: "Maybe he forgot where home is."
None of them spoke after that.
They walked on, deeper into the wood.
Until the wind stopped moving.
And the smell of burning reached them.