The drake's carcass lay in the shadows, steaming faintly in the cool night. Kael crouched beside it, his breath slowing, the wild edge of the hunt ebbing away. Now came the part he didn't want to think about — what it meant that he'd enjoyed it.
He'd killed before, of course. Hunting for meat, fending off wolves that got too close to the village, even drawing a bow on raiders during lean winters. But this… this was different. The hunger had been more than instinct; it was a command from somewhere deep inside, and the satisfaction now wasn't relief or necessity.
It was pleasure.
The abyss spoke softly, as if it had been watching him think.
Do not waste time mourning the parts of you that will not survive. They were weak.
Kael's jaw tightened. "I didn't agree to become a monster."
No. You agreed to live. Monsters live longer than men.
The truth of it stung more than he'd admit.
He glanced toward the distant shapes of the camp. They were safe — for tonight — because he'd gone out here. But what would they think if they'd seen him with his mouth red and his eyes burning like embers?
"What do you get out of this?" he asked finally.
The abyss's answer came like the shifting of deep waters. I am bound. My voice cannot touch the waking world except through a host. Every dragon you slay loosens that chain. Every feast of their essence feeds us both.
"Us."
We are not separate now, Kael. You carry my hunger. I carry your will. Together, we will cut the heart out of their kind.
Kael let the silence stretch between them.
At last, he said, "If I do this, I choose the targets. No innocents. No feeding on anything I'm not willing to kill as a man."
The abyss didn't laugh, but Kael felt as if it wanted to.
Make whatever rules you like. In the end, all that matters is that you keep feeding.
Kael stood, wiping his blade clean on the drake's flank. The wound under its jaw was still leaking slow, dark rivulets. He thought about how easily it had moved, how sharp its teeth had been. This was one of the small ones.
He wondered how he would fare against the black-winged monster that had destroyed his village.
By the time he returned to the camp, the survivors were stirring. Dawn's first light painted the hills in pale gold. Halric eyed him as he approached.
"Anything?" the blacksmith asked.
Kael shook his head. "A few tracks. Nothing big."
Halric nodded but didn't look convinced. His gaze lingered on Kael's hands, as if searching for something. Kael kept his face blank, moving past him toward Elara.
She was kneeling by the cart, adjusting the blanket around the boy she'd saved. She looked up as Kael approached, her eyes unreadable.
"You were gone a long time," she said quietly.
"Scouting," Kael replied. "Better me than leaving you unguarded."
Her gaze flicked to his pack. "Then you won't mind if I check it?"
Kael's grip tightened slightly. "Looking for something?"
"I'm looking for the truth," she said. Her voice was calm, but there was a steel edge beneath it. "Back in the village, you moved faster than I've ever seen anyone move. Last night, I thought I saw your eyes…" She trailed off, shaking her head. "Never mind. Forget it."
Kael didn't answer.
They broke camp shortly after. The day's march took them into thicker woods, the canopy blotting out most of the sun. The ground grew damp, the air heavy with the scent of moss and old rain.
By midday, Kael's heightened senses caught something ahead — not danger, but voices. Men's voices.
He motioned for Halric to halt the group.
Through the trees, a narrow road came into view. Three riders in chainmail were approaching, their surcoats marked with a sigil Kael recognized from old stories: a golden tower on a field of black.
The Abyss spoke with sudden interest.
These are not wandering knights. They serve the Warden of Blackspire.
Kael stayed still, listening. The riders dismounted, speaking in low tones. He caught fragments: "…dragon sign near the river… orders from the capital… anyone passing through to be questioned."
One of them, a broad-shouldered man with a scar over his eye, turned toward the trees. His gaze swept the underbrush — and lingered.
Kael stepped out before the man could shout. "Travelers," he said evenly. "Refugees from the south."
The scarred man's eyes narrowed. "Name?"
"Kael of Thornhollow."
The man studied him a moment longer. "We've heard rumors," he said finally. "A village burned. A dragon sighted. But also… talk of a man who stood against it and lived." His voice held no admiration — only suspicion.
Kael forced a shrug. "Rumors are cheap."
The knight didn't move. "Perhaps. But the Warden likes to hear them firsthand."
The abyss's voice slid through Kael's mind.
If they take you, you'll be caged before you can hunt again. Do you want that?
Kael's fingers twitched toward his knife.
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