Liora didn't lower her hand.
The faint glow of emerald magic still pulsed at her fingertips—wild and uneven, like a flame starved of air. Her eyes, sharp and suspicious, held Kael's with an intensity he hadn't seen before.
"Who are you?" she repeated.
Kael hesitated.
He could lie. He'd done it before. But something in her voice—frightened but steady—made the lie catch in his throat.
"I don't know," he said truthfully. "But I… remember fire."
Her brow furrowed. "Fire?"
He stepped back from the edge of the clearing. The woods were quiet now, the corrupted thing that had spoken to him gone—but the echo of its words still lingered like smoke behind his eyes.
"The seal weakens…"
Kael rubbed at his arms, chilled despite the summer warmth.
"You shouldn't be out here," Liora said after a pause. She lowered her hand, the magic fading. "Those things… they're not animals. They're wrong. The elders call them shades."
Kael's eyes narrowed. "You've seen them before?"
She nodded slowly. "Only once. A year ago. After the moon turned red. It tried to break into the elder's house… but it burned when I touched it. Like tonight."
Kael watched her closely. "You used magic."
She seemed surprised by the observation. "Yes. I always have. Small things—healing, fire-starting, warding runes. But that… that wasn't something I meant to do."
"You reacted," Kael murmured. "Like a warrior."
Liora gave a soft, humorless laugh. "Hardly. I'm a herbalist with an overactive sense of duty."
But Kael wasn't so sure. There was something in her—deep and ancient, like a bell struck long ago that still vibrated beneath the surface.
They returned to the village in silence.
But silence could not stop the questions from building.
Not in Kael's mind.
He'd spent days trying to ignore the truth. Trying to live like a human. But tonight shattered the illusion. The creature—the shade—had known his name. Not Kael. Not the lie.
Kaelrith.
It was a name carved into history with flame and death. A name that should have died with him.
The Next Morning
Karl awoke to the sound of voices outside the cottage. He peered through the small window and saw a group of villagers gathered near the square. At the center stood Elder Braen—old, hunched, and leaning on a cane made from ironwood.
Liora was beside him.
Kael stepped outside just as Braen spoke.
"…tracks near the northern pass," the elder said grimly. "Burned trees. Blackened soil. A sheep torn apart."
Fear rippled through the crowd.
"They've come again," someone whispered.
"Like last year—only worse."
Liora glanced at Kael. "We need to talk. Privately."
Later, in the Cottage
"They're not going to fight," Liora said quietly. "They'll close the gates and pray the monsters go away. Just like before."
Kael folded his arms. "Then they'll die."
She nodded. "I know. Which is why I'm going to stop it."
He blinked. "You? Alone?"
"I'm not helpless," she snapped, then softened. "And I'm not asking you to come. But I could use your help."
Kael looked down at his human hands. Weak. Mortal.
But he still remembered how the sky used to tremble when he took flight. He still remembered what it meant to protect something with fire and fury.
He met her gaze.
"I'll come."