Kael stood over the still form of the silver-eyed boy, blood still warm on his hands. The moment lingered like a curse—unshakable, etched into his bones. He hadn't meant for the boy to die. Not exactly. But death clung to Kael now like a shadow, and it would not be the last time it followed him.
He had devoured him—fully. Not just the life. Not just the ability. He had taken everything. The boy's emotions, fractured memories, and sensations still echoed through Kael's veins like a second heartbeat. A tremor passed through him as he blinked, eyes colder than before. The ground beneath him seemed heavier.
The wind rustled through the half-burnt trees as Kael reached for the blood-soaked shard that had pierced the boy's side during the scuffle. It was curved, serrated—clearly not a village tool. Not even forged nearby. Kael turned it in his palm. Markings. Etched deep in crimson. Symbols of the Crimson Coil.
They had been here. They had left him. To die. A test subject.
The Next Morning
Kael walked alone through the village path, dry leaves crunching beneath his worn boots. The sky was overcast, gray and bloated like an unhealed bruise. His face bore no expression, but inside, thoughts spiraled endlessly.
Children played near the communal well. Elders whispered from shaded porches. But when they saw Kael, conversations paused. They looked away.
He was not loved. He had never been feared either—not yet—but something about him always lingered too long in people's minds.
Mera watched him from the distance. Her expression unreadable, lips pressed thin. Kael gave her a subtle nod, but she didn't return it.
She had noticed the change.
Hunter's Return
By midday, the hunters returned.
Three of them.
Only three.
One was limping, blood staining the furs around his waist. Another had a broken spear, and the third was silent, his eyes darting toward the trees as if expecting something to leap out.
The village gathered as the horn sounded—low and trembling.
Mera pushed through the crowd.
"What happened?" she asked the eldest hunter, a scarred man named Orin.
"Ambush," he spat. "But not by beasts."
Whispers broke out.
Kael's fists clenched at his side. His eyes flicked to the trees.
Crimson Coil. It had to be.
But he said nothing.
The bleeding hunter collapsed at Mera's feet. His mouth moved but no words came—only blood.
Confrontation
That night, Kael sat on the flat roof of the storage hut, watching the stars that peeked through clouds.
Mera found him there.
"You saw something," she said.
Kael didn't respond.
"You came back… different."
"I was learning," he repeated, voice calm.
Her brows furrowed.
"You're hiding something. There's a darkness in your eyes."
He turned to her, silver hair catching the moonlight. "Would you still stand by me if you knew?"
"I want to," she whispered.
He looked away. "Then don't ask."
The Secret
That night, Kael returned to the edge of the forest. To the place the boy had died.
He dug a grave with bare hands, dirt mixing with blood. He didn't bury the body whole—he had already absorbed most of it—but he buried the memory. The cloth. The name.
The boy's final thought still echoed in his mind: "Please… not again…"
Kael stood and stared at the grave.
He whispered a name that never existed.
Then walked away.
Toward the deeper forest.
Toward the truth.