The wind had shifted.
By the time Kael could stand again, the clearing felt colder, the trees too still. The shadows no longer clung to him, but the sense of presence had not left. It hovered just behind his breath, like the afterimage of lightning burned into the soul.
He leaned against a tree, heart still pounding.
Lira stood a few paces away, unmoving.
She'd watched the shadow knight rise from his back and kneel beside him, its shape unmistakably divine or cursed. Kael had seen her fight without flinching, seen her tear through beasts twice her size, but now?
She was still.
Too still.
Finally, she spoke.
What… was that?
Her voice was calm, but tight. Calculating.
Kael shook his head. I don't know. It just… happened. I didn't call it. It came on its own.
Lira stepped closer, not with fear—but caution. She studied him, the way one might study a blade that had cracked but not yet shattered.
You made a pact," she said softly. "That was a summon. Not a spell. Not aura. Not even a spirit-bond.
She glanced at the soil where the knight had knelt. It was blackened slightly, as if scorched by shadow.
Then she turned away.
Stay here.
"Where are you going?"
"To get my uncle. Edran will want to see this."
Later, inside the house
The cottage smelled faintly of old pipe smoke and dried meat. A kettle hissed softly on the stove. Kael sat near the hearth, wrapped in a coarse blanket, still recovering from the draw of energy.
Edran was not what Kael expected.
Lean, with a slight limp and the quiet weight of someone who'd seen too much. His beard was short, his face marked with thin scars, and two stubborn strands of hair hung over his brow despite being swept back. His amber eyes were sharp, scanning Kael like he was a puzzle with missing pieces.
"Let me see your hand," he said without greeting.
Kael extended it.
Edran took his wrist, muttered something under his breath, and a faint shimmer of light ran across Kael's skin no flame, no flash, just a whisper of magic checking for corruption.
No burning. No divine rot. Not holy either, he murmured. But marked. Definitely marked.
"Marked by what?" Kael asked.
Edran released his wrist and straightened.
"Shadow. Not the kind that hides in corners. The kind that thinks. Waits."
He turned to Lira. "What exactly did you say appeared?"
"A knight," she answered. "Black armor. Horned helm. Silent. It knelt before him."
Edran didn't blink. He just sighed.
I've only heard whispers. Nothing solid. Just old stories.
Kael leaned forward. "Tell me."
Edran hesitated, then sat.
"They say there was once a god who moved through the world not with light, but with silence. Not with creation, but with balance. Shadow not as destruction, but as memory. A guardian of things forgotten."
He paused, eyes locked on Kael's.
"But he was betrayed. Cast down. Buried in name and truth."
Kael's breath caught.
Lira glanced between them. "Uncle… you think Kael is connected to that god?"
"I think," Edran said slowly, "that the boy's no longer just a boy. He's carrying something. And it's waking up."
He stood, limped over to a small shelf, and pulled down an old leather-bound journal. Dust curled into the air as he opened it.
"There's barely anything left in the old records. They erased most of it. But there's a symbol—here."
He showed them a page.
The ink was faded. But Kael felt it as soon as he saw it.
A broken circle. A sun split in two. Shadows curling from the center like petals of darkness.
It pulsed in his chest. Like recognition.
"What is it?" he asked.
Edran's voice dropped low.
"They called him Aelthar, in the old tongue. It means 'The Silence Between Stars.'"
Kael's throat tightened.
He remembered the voice in the void.
The chained figure.
The presence that had answered his soul's scream.
Edran stepped back.
You've already touched him, haven't you?
Kael nodded.
And the room grew very, very quiet.