The feast had barely ended. The fires were still warm, and Rashad was still trying to explain to a goose why it couldn't be his new mount when Kael stood atop the palace balcony and made the announcement.
"I'm leaving," he said plainly, raising a goblet. "I'll be journeying west."
The crowd laughed, thinking it was one of Kael's signature jokes. But his expression never changed.
"To the empire?" Vireya asked, stunned.
Kael nodded. "Yes. There are things there I must see for myself."
His wives, friends, and even generals began shouting over one another, each volunteering to go with him. But Kael shook his head.
"No. Not this time. I'm only taking twenty soldiers."
"Twenty?" Seriyah scoffed. "What are they made of—lightning and legends?"
"More or less," Kael replied with a grin.
"And him?" Ilya pointed at the old man tuning his broken instrument with a spoon.
Kael raised his goblet again. "Especially him."
As the sun rose, the harbor swelled with rumors. A black ship, curved like a serpent, cut through the fog. Onboard stood Kael, surrounded by the twenty cloaked figures—silent, faceless, eerie in their perfect stillness.
Tavo shouted from the dock, "I hope they can cook at least! You'll miss my soup, Kael!"
"I already do!" Kael called back.
"Be safe!" Seriyah cried, holding back tears.
"You too," he whispered.
Hours into the voyage, the old man finally spoke.
"So why'd you bring me?"
Kael smirked. "Because you're the only person I don't understand. And I don't like unsolved riddles."
The old man chuckled, tapping his cup against Kael's.
"You'll regret it."
Kael smiled, eyes on the western horizon.
"I already don't."
As the coast disappeared behind them, the waves quieted, and the soldiers began to hum in perfect unison—a language Kael had never heard.
The old man stopped smiling.
And for the first time, Kael wondered if he really chose this journey… or if it had chosen him.
To be continued...