The morning mist lingered over the rooftops, pale and silent, when Kael slipped outside. The old door clicked softly behind him—a sound he'd heard a thousand times but today felt heavier, almost final.
For a moment, he didn't move. Just stood, boots cold against battered wood, thumb brushing over the pendant in his pocket—still warm from when Alia had squeezed it last night. He let his eyes close, let the memory of her small fingers and Mira's quiet breathing anchor him.
But the world wouldn't wait.
The road stretched before him, empty and uneasy. It didn't feel peaceful. More like the hush before everything goes wrong.
Kael adjusted his shoulder strap, feeling the hidden shape of his blade beneath layers of old cloth. The air smelled wet, green. But underneath, he caught something bitter: metal, old blood, maybe even a little magic.
He set off, each step dragging him farther from the life he'd been trying so hard to keep—the laughter that bounced off kitchen tiles, Mira's sleepy arm pulling him back to bed, Alia's tiny snores wafting through paper-thin walls.
No time to go back. Not today.
Stories were everywhere now. People in shaded doorways whispered about the Reaper with the Blade of Shadows. Some made him out to be a warning, others a promise, none knowing the truth that haunted Kael's reflection.
He wasn't a fable. He was a man who was tired. A man running out of safe places.
By the time Kael reached the Guild Hall, the sun had barely split the clouds and rumors seemed to flicker in the air like gnats. People saw him coming and their voices fell. Eyes followed, then darted away. Suspicion lived in every glance, every too-quick greeting. He ignored them.
Until a voice, crisp and commanding, cut through the quiet:
"Kael."
Guildmaster Ren. Above him on the stairs, silver hair plaited like armor, cloak trailing behind her as if she'd tamed the wind itself.
"Upstairs. Now."
Kael's boots thudded up the steps, heavier with every landing.
Inside her office it was all shadow and strategy. Curtains sealed out the sun. A map covered the desk, marked by colored pins and criss-crossed threads—chaos bound in string.
Ren never bothered with small talk. She didn't look up.
"You were in the Gulch yesterday," she said.
Kael didn't blink. "Yes."
"Alone?"
"Yes."
She finally met his gaze. Sharp. Not cruel, but seeing straight through him.
"One of the worst corrupted beasts we've seen in months is dead. Explain that."
"Does it bother you?" he replied. Calm, but inside he could feel the weight of the mask pressing colder against his side.
"Only if it keeps happening," she said.
A moment stretched. Then she slid something across the table—a charcoal sketch. Smudged in places, clear enough to recognize.
A shadow. A masked figure.
His legend rendered in lines and fear.
Kael's jaw clenched.
"Reports are piling up," Ren continued.
"Tainted beasts crossing boundaries. It isn't normal."
"It never is," Kael muttered, bitterness leaking out.
She drew herself up, folding her arms. "But now it feels different. Like the corruption isn't just spreading. It's searching."
Her eyes lingered on him.
"And wherever it gets worse... your ghost shows up."
He said nothing.
"I'm not asking if it's you," she added. "Not yet. But if you keep dragging shadows back to us, I will have to act."
He stood his ground, steady.
"You're not afraid of me," he said.
Ren shook her head. "No. But I am afraid of whatever's after you."
She pointed him to the East Ridge—another surge, two scouts lost.
He turned to go, but her voice stopped him at the door.
"Kael… I get wanting to protect something—or someone. But secrets have a way of coming out. Just be sure it'll be worth what it costs."
He didn't answer. Just walked out, the blade a silent weight at his side.
The ridge stank of rot.
No breeze, no birds, only grass that crunched instead of bent—its color washed out, as if hope had been leached from the roots.
Kael crouched low, tracing a track in the mud. It wasn't made by any animal he knew. Three twisted claws, dragging behind like pain itself. Every sign pointed to something that had lost its nature—a beast becoming a nightmare.
He drew the blade free, peeling away old cloth. Black steel caught the sickly light, shivering with restless hunger. The weapon pulsed, alive in his hand, eager to taste corruption.
That's when he heard it—a low growl. Not from ahead.
Behind.
He spun, just in time. There was no hesitation, only muscle and memory and purpose.
Steel sliced. Beast fell.
But as soon as the body hit the ground, shadow pooling from its wounds, Kael knew it wasn't the real threat. There were more. Behind every tree, in every twitch of dead grass.
He wasn't the hunter out here.
He was the bait.
He fought—harder than he wanted, blood staining his sleeve where one monster got close. When it finally ended, he was alone again, surrounded by cooling corpses, lungs burning. The beasts hadn't come for a meal. They hadn't come alone. Someone… or something… had sent them.
Kael stared into the woods, heart drumming.
And then, a sound:
A child's laughter.
Alia's laugh, warm and bright.
He spun—hope, fear, ache colliding. But there was nothing. No one in the clearing but Kael and the darkness in his mind.
He dropped to his knees, the blade slipping from his fingers. His breath shook.
Was he losing his grip? Or had the corruption found a way to twist his love into a weapon?
That night, Kael stood outside his own door.
He didn't go in yet.
He could hear Mira humming a lullaby—something old and comforting, notes drifting through an open window. Alia's real laughter rose, sweet and carefree.
Kael looked at his reflection in the window glass. Blood, dirt, exhaustion—and the deepening shadow behind his eyes.
He reached for the mask in his pocket.
Still cold. Still waiting for him to need it.
Not tonight.
He pushed open the door. The warmth inside wrapped around him, fierce and soft all at once, promising that, for now, this was his world to protect.
He wouldn't tell them about the beasts. Or the voice. Or the truth digging its claws deeper, day by day.
He'd carry it alone.
If that's what it took to keep his family safe—even if, in the end, it broke him.
To be continued…