The bandit leader's boots crunched against charred earth as he advanced. His massive axe gleamed in the firelight, the blade already stained with blood.
Kael's grip tightened on the broken spear shaft. His arms shook, but he refused to step back.
"You've got guts, freak," the leader rumbled. "But guts won't save you."
He swung his axe in a wide arc. The air itself seemed to split with the force. Kael dove aside, the blade smashing into the cobblestones where he had stood. Shards of stone cut his cheek.
Too strong. I can't block him. I'll have to move… always move.
Kael darted forward, striking at the man's side. The shaft cracked against the iron plating with a useless thud. The leader laughed, backhanding him across the square.
Kael hit the ground hard, coughing blood. His body screamed at him to stay down. Around him, villagers cried out—some in fear, some in despair.
But Kael pushed himself up.
One knee. Then the other.
And finally, standing again.
He spat blood and raised the broken spear.
"I won't… let you take this village."
The bandit leader's smirk faltered. "Hah. Still standing?"
Kael charged. This time, when the axe came down, he rolled beneath it, feeling the wind of its swing tear at his cloak. He thrust upward, jamming the spear's jagged edge into the bandit's thigh where armor didn't cover.
The leader roared, staggering back. Kael didn't stop—he ripped the shaft free and swung again, striking at every gap he could find. Shoulder, knee, ribs. His attacks were wild, desperate, but each one bought another second for the villagers to fight back against the smaller bandits.
The leader's fury boiled over. He grabbed Kael by the collar, lifting him like a doll, the axe raised high for the killing blow.
For a moment, Kael's courage faltered. He saw himself as they saw him—a cursed, broken boy. Worthless. Doomed.
Then he heard it.
A voice. Small, trembling.
"Please… don't give up!"
The boy he had saved earlier stood by the fountain, clutching his mother's hand, tears streaming down his face. But his eyes burned with belief. Belief in Kael.
Something ignited in Kael's chest.
I can't fall here. Not while they're watching. Not while they believe in me.
With a guttural cry, Kael rammed the broken spear upward, straight into the bandit leader's unarmored armpit. The wood splintered deep, the force of his desperation driving it home.
The leader howled, his grip loosening. Kael twisted free and kicked with all his strength, sending the man staggering into a burning stall.
The flames roared as the stall collapsed, burying the armored giant in fire and smoke.
Kael collapsed to his knees, chest heaving, his arms trembling from exhaustion. Around him, the villagers had driven off the last of the bandits, courage rekindled by his defiance.
For the first time, their eyes didn't hold fear when they looked at him.
They held awe.
Kael looked down at his scarred hands, bloodied and burned, and let out a shaky breath.
Not because of how I look. Not because of a blessing or a curse. But because of what I chose to do.
That night, the cursed boy became their light.