Fifteen and a half.
It wasn't much older than fifteen, but six months could change a person, and Sef had been the one to watch it happen.
---
When Kael had come back from the Guild annex on that first day, still carrying the scent of chalk from the training yard and the new badge pressed tight to their chest, Sef had felt pride and a weight both. Pride, because Kael had been preparing for that moment for years. Weight, because he knew what the world would do to someone with eyes that open.
He didn't say any of that at the time. He just clapped them on the shoulder and said, "Well, little runner, time to see if all that training actually sticks."
---
Those first weeks were clumsy.
Kael signed on for any quest the annex posted, the small office in their town serving as a relay between the scattered poor villages and the bigger Guild hall a few days' travel away. At first, Kael tried going alone, wanting to prove that they could stand on their own, but the Guild made it clear: solo work was only tolerated for the smallest, safest jobs, and even then, only for a short while.
The lesson landed quickly.
A single job escorting a merchant wagon outside of town left Kael with two shallow cuts on their arm from a roadside beast and a newfound respect for teamwork.
By the second week, Kael had stopped trying to work alone. They joined small, temporary groups—people they had never met before, and rarely saw again after three missions at most.
---
The rhythm became familiar:
Meet a new party at the Guild office.
Take a mission.
Learn how those people fought, how they watched each other's backs.
Complete the job.
Shake hands and part ways before any of them could become something more permanent.
Sef watched them adapt to it, watched the awkwardness melt away. It wasn't in Kael's nature to cling; they listened, learned, and moved on.
---
The jobs themselves were varied and rarely glamorous:
Clearing small infestations of creatures from abandoned barns.
Escorting traders through rough patches of road.
Delivering goods between towns when the locals were too nervous to travel alone.
But Kael treated each one as if it mattered. They took notes after every mission, sometimes in that little battered notebook they carried, sometimes just in their head, replaying mistakes and lessons both.
---
By the end of the first month, Kael's steps were surer. Their stance when they carried a weapon had sharpened. And by the second month, they no longer hesitated when it came to relying on others. They didn't just fight; they supported, thought ahead, looked out for their temporary comrades.
It was the way of an adventurer, Sef thought. You couldn't choose your companions forever, not at the start. You learned from whoever stood beside you and kept moving.
---
Kael's travels soon carried them beyond the borders of their home.
Most missions began and ended in familiar towns, but a handful stretched out farther: to neighboring villages and beyond. These trips marked the first time Kael saw what life was like outside the safety of their own country.
The difference was stark.
In other poor nations, especially those that distrusted adventurers, Kael saw cold eyes waiting at the gates. They saw posters banning certain groups. They heard whispered words—"mercenary," "troublemaker,"—instead of greetings.
In one border town, guards nearly turned their party away entirely. It was only because the caravan master they were escorting argued on their behalf that they were allowed through. Kael said little during the exchange, but they remembered every detail.
---
In their home country, the small annex was always bustling but safe. In these new places, the Guild presence was reduced to a single rented back room, a small desk and a tired official who barely looked up. It was a reminder that adventurers weren't welcome everywhere, and survival was as much politics as it was strength.
---
Through it all, Kael grew.
Sef saw it in the letters that came home every few weeks, each one written in that same careful hand. They weren't long letters—Kael wasn't the type to waste ink—but the words told the story anyway: new roads, new dangers, new faces. And between the lines: the steady thickening of someone learning to stand in the world.
---
In the half-year since they'd set out, Kael hadn't stayed with any party longer than three missions. That rule wasn't just the Guild's preference—it was Kael's, too. They wanted to learn from everyone, not grow comfortable too quickly. And, though they never admitted it in words, they understood something: attachments could be dangerous on the road.
They'd find their permanent companions someday. But not yet.
---
Sef hadn't expected to miss sparring with them so much. He didn't realize it until he picked up a staff one morning and realized no one else in town moved like Kael. He smiled then, a little ruefully, and thought: Maybe this is what it feels like to watch someone outgrow the place you taught them to run.
---
By the time Kael returned home for a brief stop at the end of their sixth month, their movements were different. More precise. Their eyes had changed too. They carried the weight of things they'd seen, but they still had that spark—still looking past the horizon.
---
And as they unpacked, as their mother tried to keep from fussing over every scratch, and their father tried to look serious but couldn't hide the pride in his eyes, Sef thought that maybe, just maybe, this was only the smallest beginning.
---
Kael spent their two nights at home catching up on things they hadn't realized they'd missed: bread fresh from the oven, Mira's constant questions about the places they'd seen, the sound of Danrel fixing the latch on the barn door.
It felt strange to be in a bed that didn't sway with a wagon's motion or creak under a stranger's snoring.
Strange, but good.
---
On the second morning, Kael woke early and went to the river trail.
Not to run this time.
To walk.
The air had that soft dampness that only came before sunrise. Kael crouched by the water, arms on their knees, and watched the way the current pulled leaves downstream.
Six months.
Six months of traveling, of never staying with the same group for more than a handful of quests. Six months of learning how to read the way a stranger's stance shifted before they swung, how to know whether they would run or hold their ground.
Six months, and the world was already so much bigger than it had been.
---
There had been dangers—more than Kael had expected. Creatures that prowled in the high grass, people who didn't like the idea of outsiders with weapons, even a collapsed bridge that left them stranded for a full day until a caravan picked them up.
But there had also been things worth remembering.
The farmer who gave them fresh fruit for helping herd his animals back into a pen.
The moment a little girl in a far-off village hid behind her mother's skirts and peeked at Kael's face, and then whispered, "You look like someone from a story."
The old man in a market square who told them a route around a blocked road, saving their whole party a day of travel.
These things, Kael kept.
---
After breakfast, Kael walked to the annex to deliver their log book. Even when you weren't doing a mission, Guild rules said you needed to hand in a summary every half year.
Inside, the official behind the desk glanced up and blinked.
"Kael, isn't it? You've been busy."
Kael set the slim, battered book down. "Here's the last six months."
The man flipped it open and skimmed. "Seventeen missions in half a year, spread over five regions. You're trying to see every Guild office before the ink on your badge dries?"
"I'm learning," Kael said. "The best way to learn is from as many people as possible."
The man made a sound that might have been approval. "Well, the other Guild offices are starting to notice you. We've had a few letters come in from branch leaders. They say you don't just work—you pay attention."
Kael nodded once. That was the point.
---
On the way home, a familiar voice caught them by surprise.
"You're faster than I thought you'd be."
Kael turned to see Ryn leaning against a tree near the road. He still carried that faint half-smile, though this time there was no bitterness in it.
"You were gone six months," Ryn said. "I figured I'd see you back at some point."
"I won't be here long," Kael said. "I'm just passing through."
"I know." Ryn's gaze softened. "But it's good to see you anyway."
---
They walked together for a bit, talking about nothing important—the state of the fields, a few changes in town, the way the river had run high for a few weeks.
But under the words was something unspoken. Ryn saw the changes, even if Kael didn't say anything about them. The way Kael moved now was sharper, more careful. They had the quiet alertness of someone who had seen more than they could tell.
"You're going to keep going," Ryn said finally.
"Yes," Kael said.
"Then I'll keep training," Ryn replied, like it was a promise. "So that when you come back, I can at least try to keep up."
---
That afternoon, Kael packed. It didn't take long; their life fit into one sturdy bag.
Before sunset, Mira pressed a loaf of bread into their hands, and Danrel put a small coin purse into their belt, heavier than Kael wanted to accept.
"You can't pay for everything with stubbornness," Danrel said.
Kael hugged them both, grateful but eager.
"I'll be back," Kael said.
Mira touched their cheek. "We know. Just… write."
"I will."
---
By nightfall, they were on the road again.
The sky stretched wide overhead, a deep blue streaked with stars. In the distance, the road split—one way leading deeper into their home country, the other toward the borders of another poor nation that had little patience for adventurers.
Kael took the second road.
---
The next six months would be harder. They could feel it already.
New lands, new dangers, and parties that changed as quickly as the wind.
But that was what they had signed up for.
They walked until the last glow of the sun faded, until the air cooled and the first faint calls of night creatures began to stir.
And when they finally made camp, Kael lay staring up at the stars, hands folded behind their head.
Fifteen and a half, they thought.
Six months behind. A lifetime still ahead.